Emperor's Bane

Chapter 820: The Indescribable Angel's Scream

The Archangel quietly boarded Horus's warship without alerting anyone.

This was not a difficult task for him.

Vengeful Spirit: This ancient war behemoth was considered by Sanguinius to be a holy place comparable to Baal. A considerable portion of the best years of his life were spent in the bluestone corridors painted with the Moon Wolf emblem and under the giant arches made of iron ingots. As time passed, it was covered with a blurred veil, and a vague beauty of distance was created.

The Archangel of Baal spent his first few years after his encounter with the Great Crusade aboard the flagship of the Wolf Shepherd, and in three years he learned how to survive in this incredibly complex emerging empire and the responsibilities of being part of a great conquest.

Compared to the Emperor, Malcador and the teachers and instructors they sent, Horus, Abaddon, Torgaddon and the tens of thousands of Luna Wolves behind them were the first things in this galactic hegemony that left a deep impression on Sanguinius.

The Sixteenth Legion taught him the history and nobility of being a Terran, as well as the ferocity and cruelty of being a legion. If it weren't for his friendship with Ezekel, Tarek and others, he probably wouldn't have been able to muster up enough courage to welcome back his legion on that rainy night.

Thinking about it now, that was actually more than a hundred years ago.

In the forty-fifth year after the start of the great crusade, the Archangel of Baal chose to join it, and three years later he completed his studies, returned to the legion, and won the first war of his life.

A century later, he and his brothers bid farewell to their common father and lord on the lands of Ullanor and Nikea, experienced a tragedy destined to be forgotten, and ushered in a new era that was more independent, freer, but also more confused.

The Emperor was no longer the supreme ruler in their lives, his position was replaced by a new concept called the Warmaster, but Horus' rule was weak. He relied on friendship rather than prestige to maintain the loyalty of the Primarchs, and promised them more freedom.

Poor Magnus, if he could have foreseen all this, perhaps he would have been more humble on Nikaea: the archangel always sighed like this, although there was no friendship between him and the Scarlet King, the tragic experience of his brother was always heartbreaking.

But then again, Sanguinius’ own life wasn’t all plain sailing.

The sudden change in the situation during the Great Crusade threw the Archangel into a completely new world. In this new world, he had his own country for the first time. It was no longer a temporary military zone that required Terra's tacit consent during the Great Crusade. Instead, it officially hoisted the flag of the Ninth Legion and built statues of him, Radolon and others. It was a country composed of tens of millions of people and admired by tens of millions of people.

His power and responsibility spread at an amazing speed. He was no longer just the Primarch responsible for 120,000 Blood Angels warriors and several expeditionary fleets. The people he needed to protect and lead suddenly expanded to the sky above tens of thousands of hives and towns based on star sectors.

From now on, the life and death, honor and disgrace of hundreds of millions of people he had never met depended on his thought, his words, or his command.

It’s amazing, it’s intoxicating: it’s also terrifying.

He must be responsible for the most desolate scorched earth recognized by the entire galaxy, and for the countless people struggling to make a living on this scorched earth, and bring them a brighter future: just as he did on Baal, just as he had promised on the rainy night of Tegal-Pantaurus.

(Tegal-Pantauros: the place where the angels and the Ninth Legion reunited.)
To be honest, Sanguinius didn't have much confidence in himself: Although the archangel thought that he didn't have many advantages: but self-knowledge was definitely one of them.

Since he was a child, he had no experience or interest in governance and rule. Whether it was Morgan or Guilliman, Horus or Perturabo, or even people like Jonson, Leman Russ and Lorgar, they were a hundred times better than him in governing the country and herding the people.

The Archangel had neither fanatical ideals of heaven nor unique political ideas in his mind. He adapted to his throne in a clumsy but effective way: quietly lurking beside the two successful cases of the Far Eastern Frontier and the Five Hundred Worlds to see how his brothers did it.

He sent a large number of diplomats and intelligence personnel, under the guise of friendly visits, to record in detail the governance policies of the two most successful primarch nations for their poor areas. After getting the reference answers, he modified them slightly according to his actual situation and implemented them one by one.

Some experiences are useful, but some are counterproductive in this land: Sanguinius strives to learn from his mistakes, knowing that every failure of his will be paid for by others, which makes the angel feel very uncomfortable.

He sent a large number of warriors led by Amit out to wipe out pirates, which was more suitable for them than governing the country. He selected officers from his mortal auxiliary army who were good at managing the army and had family background in education, and asked them to serve as governors and local officials, and offered generous conditions in terms of taxation.

As for Terra's request?
Perhaps it was because the region of space where the Baal star region was located was too remote and dangerous. In any case, so far, the tax collectors under Malcador had not sailed here: even the high lords of Terra turned a blind eye to Baal's taxes.

The Archangel had the worlds he governed establish trade networks and even apply for humanitarian aid, and at least they managed to find some supplies that could improve people's livelihood from Avalon, the Wolf Kingdom, and Nostramo, who had turned a blind eye.

His brothers would always give an answer that exceeded their expectations: just like the wandering merchants under their command would always offer a price so low that they would inevitably lose money, and then return home to collect their own subsidies.

When the patrols of the Luna Wolves and Midnight Lords were inspecting the border, they would spontaneously help the Baal people disperse the roaming pirates, and then leave quietly. The aid supplies from Macragge and Avalon always liked to be labeled with a more high-sounding name to avoid embarrassment.

Even Perturabo occasionally lends a helping hand: in the name of the lifelong Archon of Caelifhani, the Iron Lord's good intentions are hidden in the arrogant iron mask and grain transports.

But none of this made the situation in the Barr enclave any better: it just allowed more people to survive the next night.

The Archangel has no ability to grow food in the sand and wasteland, nor can he improve the deep-rooted mutant bloodline in the residents. He can only tip the balance little by little, trying his best to give them a place to shelter from the wind and rain, a bowl of nutritious porridge that is hard to swallow but can fill their stomachs, and a portion of supplies that the Blood Angels have proactively saved.

In many cases, some worlds are so harsh that even such basic needs cannot be fully met. Sanguinius can only walk among his people, comfort them with a smile and a voice, apologize to them softly, listen to their expectations, and give his promises as much as possible.

He was not sure if this would work, but at least with the passage of time, this desolate wasteland with the Baal galaxy as its core gradually became stable: the rampant pirates fell under the guns of Amit and others, and the riots and protests that had been happening one after another were replaced by numb silence and the rustling sounds of eating.

Did he do well enough? Sanguinius asked many of his descendants and subordinates, but there was no reassuring answer.

But this is not the worst. The silence and calmness are temporary phenomena. If the people of Baal cannot see a brighter future, no one knows when the illusion will be torn apart: but Sanguinius cannot provide such a future, and he is at a loss about what will happen next.

Ruling was not fun, he could not enjoy it, and he had no idea how Morgan and Guilliman had managed to stay in such a position for so many years: at least in the Archangel's own opinion, when Horus's letter of desire for reinforcements arrived, he almost jumped out of his chair with joy.

The same was true of his legion.

The Ninth Legion threw itself into supporting the Moon Wolves with great enthusiasm, and the Archangel mobilized 80,000 warriors for this purpose, enjoying the long-lost war time with him: the taste of victory and blood is certainly nostalgic, but some deaths also covered their hearts with dust.

Sanguinius was not surprised by the loss of the 9th Legion on Murder Star. As an army characterized by assault operations, such losses were commonplace. Perhaps what made him feel even more uncomfortable was the death of Torgaddon. In the Archangel's heart, he had lost a friend.

A friend who had given him comfort and support when he first returned to the Empire.

In memory of him, after stepping onto the deck of the Vengeful Spirit, Sanguinius first came to the Hall of Commemoration of Warriors. He smeared ashes on his cheeks to express his condolences, and carefully avoided the aggressive crowd: the Sixteenth Legion was in a state of excitement because of its failure and the desire for revenge.

At the memorial site for Torgaddon, the angel only encountered a few soldiers from the Second Company, all of whom were veterans of Torgaddon, as well as Loken and Tarvitz who were on duty that day: these people looked at him with surprise, and after the archangel explained his purpose, the Moon Wolves witnessed his mourning in silence, and the faces of those Cthunians were filled with inexplicable excitement.

In their opinion, this might be the greatest honor that Togarton has ever received in his life.

But Sanguinius thought otherwise.

After mourning, the Archangel specifically found Loken and Tarvitz: the latter had tried their best to recover the remains and relics of their fighting brothers before retreating from the Murder Star. Although it was only a small part, the Archangel still expressed his gratitude for the red ones in it.

Tarvitz was flattered to receive the sincerity from a Primarch, and until his successor came to take over his position, the Emperor's Child seemed a little dazed: but this was not something the Angel would pay attention to, and his next plan was to go see Horus.

Wiping off the holy ash, Sanguinius began to recall his life aboard the Vengeful Spirit. When Torgaddon was still alive, he and Ezekiel would sometimes take the archangel through the ship's alleys to quietly observe and experience the communities where mortals lived, or to participate in private gatherings of the Moon Wolves.

With these past experiences, Sanguinius successfully bypassed the most crowded places and easily came to the side door of Horus' room. This was the most hidden entrance and exit, with only two elite Gastalins guarding here. The angel signaled them not to make a sound, and then quietly pushed the door open and walked in.

Gastalin looked at each other and returned to his post as if nothing had happened: Similar things have happened before.

Compared to the palace outside, Horus' room was colder, and the lower temperature made the archangel's wings feel comfortable: having experienced the scorching heat of Baal since childhood, Sanguinius preferred a colder environment.

He did not go to find the Wolf God immediately, because he knew that Horus was probably still having a secret conversation with Fulgrim: the Warmaster did not like to hide things from his closest brother, and after the Archangel came to this galaxy, Horus informed him of all his upcoming itinerary.

Not only that, Sanguinius also knew that Morgan could arrive here at any time: thinking of the silver-haired cousin gave the angel a headache, their relationship was not good, not to mention standing in front of the famous Lady Macbeth, the archangel still felt a little guilty.

Sanguinius curled his lips, feeling a sense of emptiness due to his unhappy mood. He passed through the first archway hung with white silk and came to a small compartment with exquisite decorations: there were countless similar compartments or small lounges in Horus' room, and he would face visitors of different statuses at different tables and chairs.

As a Primarch, the Wolf God naturally did not have to worry about the cleaning and maintenance of the hundreds of tables, chairs and benches in his room. There would always be someone to help him take care of everything: and this gave Sanguinius a convenient condition. He only needed to walk into a compartment and move his nose to find what he wanted.

Ah, very good.

The fruit plate in this cubicle looked like it had been replaced just half an hour ago.

In fact, it doesn't matter if it's kept longer: not everyone is so extravagant that they take it for granted that fruit should be thrown away overnight. But there is a problem: although I don't know how they did it, the fruit plate was placed high up, a place that Sanguinius might not be able to reach even if he stood on tiptoe.

The Archangel was silent for a moment.

Is this a defense against him: what a chilling distrust.

Just like he would steal food!
……

In response: He is obliged to destroy this carrier of distrust!

Sanguinius snorted to express his dissatisfaction. While listening carefully to the discussion between Horus and Fulgrim in the center of the room, which was mixed with laughter, he raised his finger and moved his mind slightly. The invisible psychic hand lifted up the fruit plate placed high up.

------

"..."

In the room, Horus, who was laughing with the Phoenix, suddenly moved his eyebrows.

The next moment, he continued chatting with Fulgrim with a normal expression.

------

"Hmm... it tastes good."

"He finally listened to me and started importing fruit from Avalon."

Sanguinius, holding a fruit plate in one hand and fruit in the other, leisurely approached the two primarchs' discussion. He was wearing a simple pure white toga with a red gold chain around his waist. His wide wings extended to both sides to save effort, revealing the ends of the feathers connected to his back.

The archangel deliberately suppressed his psychic perception and breath. He stood in a place that was neither far nor near, chewing the grapes between his lips contentedly while listening to the words of Horus and Fulgrim.

It was obvious that Horus and Fulgrim had already discussed the most important part of their topic, and were now chatting about anything and everything, so that even eavesdropping on some of their conversation would not be considered offensive.

After all, the Primarchs' sense of confidentiality had never been strong. Considering that they were all creatures of pure emotional value, almost every Primarch had moments when they could not control themselves and spoke things out without restraint when people were present who should not have heard: sometimes they even dragged people in themselves.

As the absolute top structure of the human empire that rules the entire galaxy, the Emperor and his descendants are just so...natural.

Sanguinius took this well, perhaps even the most endearing part of the Imperium in his eyes: he listened with peace of mind as Fulgrim discussed the development and future of the Maelstrom, and frowned at his brother's alleged extravagance.

In the eyes of a Primarch who often frowned at planetary-level food, water and humanitarian crises, Fulgrim's talk of grand ceremonies of spectacle, welfare life and no actual output sounded so harsh.

The supplies burned in these few sentences alone are enough for the several star systems under his command to live in peace until next year: And Phoenix is ​​just holding a so-called art festival? To cultivate the sentiments of his descendants?
Tsk... I can't understand...

The angel shook his head and did not complain: he knew that Chemos had once been a very difficult world, but Fulgrim had successfully saved it, not only saving his people from the crisis of survival, but also allowing them to look forward to a more distant future.

Phoenix is ​​indeed wasteful: but he has also fought for this qualification to be wasteful.

In comparison, Horus' words were undoubtedly more appealing: Sanguinius could hear that the Wolf God was trying to find a way to win Fulgrim over to his side and gain an extra bargaining chip in the match with Terra, and although the Phoenix Lord did not make a decision immediately, he was obviously very pleased with the Warmaster's flattery.

Considering that Fulgrim has always been dissatisfied with Terra's inefficiency and incompetence, especially the aggressiveness of the High Lords, the Badab Crisis that forced Guilliman to surrender happened right at his doorstep: I believe that the Phoenix, which is in the same boat as the Lips and Teeth, will soon turn to the Warmaster.

The Archangel did not care about these things. He did not care about the so-called political charm, and supported Horus only out of personal emotion: even if Terra was the winner in the end, as long as they could guarantee the lives of the people of Baal, Sanguinius would be happy to hand over all his power.

Rather, he was afraid that he would be responsible for this land forever.

Don't do that kind of thing...

Unconsciously, as another fruit disappeared, he continued his eavesdropping journey amid the angel's constantly moving lips and teeth, listening to Horus and Fulgrim evaluating each brother and legion in turn, and silently giving his own thoughts in his heart.

And when the Warmaster followed the atmosphere and led the topic to the astonishing territorial expansion of Lorgar and the Word Bearers in the Silent Star Region, the Archangel was unconsciously drawn into it: the Word Bearers had actually opened up so much territory in such a short period of time, and while ensuring their rule, they were also able to pay enough taxes. Everyone wanted to know the secret behind this.

Sanguinius especially wanted to know.

He was so engrossed that he didn't even notice the fluctuations behind him.

At the place where he had just walked in, although the door was not opened again, a flash of the Warp rift sent a silver-white figure into Horus's room: her eyes froze for a moment when she saw the angel, and a dangerous smile immediately surfaced.

One step... one step... and another step...

Silent as leopards: Jonson and Conrad created their own secret footsteps while hunting between forest and city, and the two primarchs taught their secrets to one another at the same time.

Now, this person came silently behind the angel.

"..."

"?"

"!!!"

When Sanguinius finally reacted, it was too late: a pair of soft yet irresistible hands had already clung to the archangel's back, twisting like a snake, easily circling the place where the archangel's wings met the white skin.

The feeling of cold fingers touching hot flesh was an unprecedented experience for the archangel: how could the fingers of a living creature be so cold? It was as if her pale skin could appear directly before his eyes. Sanguinius had to bite the tip of his tongue to prevent his voice from being heard by Horus not far away.

But the person behind her did not stop because of the archangel's embarrassment: on the contrary, she took advantage of the situation and pressed forward, almost pressing her entire body directly against the archangel's back. The dense hair on the outside of her forearms rubbed against each other, making an extremely low rustling sound, and she swayed with ease, until she used her shoulders and elbows to completely confine the heel of Sanguinius' wings in her arms.

Her fingertips made a circle and pressed against his shoulders again. Her two arms turned into silver bracelets, encircling the Archangel's wings for flying. Her whole body acted as a stabilizing force to suppress the Primarch's next move: Sanguinius bit his lips tightly, because the person behind him was rubbing his soft spot on his waist with his shoulder with evil taste. The Archangel couldn't help but tremble with instinctive reaction.

Only then did the iron boot tap his heel disdainfully, and Sanguinius could feel the round chin rubbing against the back of his protruding shoulder blade, and upward, moist heat brushed across his neck, blooming mockingly beside his earlobe.

【Long time no see, my blond Shakespeare. 】

She giggled, and the sound of her tongue licking her teeth caused a trace of cold sweat to appear at the corner of Sanguinius's smiling mouth.

[I heard that your works are selling well in the Galaxy these days: Hmm?]

【Would you like to share a little with me, the fickle Lady Macbeth? 】

【But remember to keep your voice down. 】

【After all, Horus is there.】

She moved closer, her bent elbow touching the soft spot under Sanguinius' armpit, intentionally or unintentionally.

[You don't want him to hear, doubt, and then notice what's going on here: right? ]

The soft, lush, and extremely aggressive silver hair touched forward and vaguely entangled with Sanguinius's golden hair, entangled and biting each other like snakes, and finally both were captured by gravity and fell into the darkness below.

(End of this chapter)