Chapter 213: You See, I

No one could ignore the figure standing tall in the tomb chamber.

White wings tinged with faint blue hung low behind him, trembling unconsciously, causing the chains, incense burners, and silver ornaments above to chime softly.

The armor, forged from electrum, had been restored to pristine condition, gleaming like morning sunlight, inlaid with countless rare gems; the Terra Eye on his chest no longer bore cracks, its crimson gaze seeming to scrutinize every impure sinner present.

Golden hair stirred with the breeze from the warp, his pure face revealed beneath a headwrap woven of gold—he was so pure, noble, sacred, and powerful.

Without doubt, he was a Primarch, one of the mightiest among the Emperor's exalted sons.

Merely standing there, he filled the tomb chamber with the radiance of hope, like a warm star burning fiercely yet without heat.

Yet his lips curled slightly into a smile, tinged with a hint of mischief.

"Ten thousand years."

"Ten thousand years have passed since I died aboard the Revenant's Soul."

"Now, I, Horus Lupercal, have returned!"

Instantly, the tomb chamber fell silent.

The World Eaters' Berserkers seemed to forget their rage, frozen in shock and disbelief.

The Bloodletters also hesitated, for they truly felt Horus's power emanating from the Primarch before them.

Angron's dwindling intellect, crushed beneath the Flesh Taker's Nail, struggled to comprehend the scene.

Caen stared at the towering figure with a dazed expression.

Mephiston's eyes flickered with confusion; Seth was utterly bewildered.

Zhou Yun silently pulled out his mechanized device, his finger resting on the button marked for the star Adalia.

The towering figure noticed Zhou Yun's motion, his eyelid twitching slightly.

"Lord Horigles Lupubar, you are the least qualified among us to remain silent at my joke."

The holy Primarch looked at Zhou Yun and spoke softly.

A flicker of mischief, visible only to Zhou Yun, passed through his eyes—as if repaying Zhou Yun for his earlier jest.

Zhou Yun's lips curved into a faint smile. It was him.

"And you—all of you—ten thousand years have passed. Have you learned nothing but anger?"

The silence shattered. Caen roared in fury, having been tricked, raising his plasma pistol and aiming it at the Primarch's head.

Even a Primarch, if not daemonized, remains flesh and blood.

At such close range, the plasma pistol's blast would surely—

Caen spat blood, never registering what had happened, before being flung backward with tremendous force and crashing to the ground.

He struggled to rise, trembling slightly, as ancient memories began to awaken.

For the first time in ten thousand years, Caen was awestruck by his own courage—he had just tried to kill a Primarch with a plasma pistol??

"Caen, you were once the most clear-headed among the World Eaters. Why have you also become so easily ruled by rage?"

Sanguinius's wings had opened without notice, golden light—both real and illusory—burst forth, a gale sweeping through the entire tomb chamber.

The Spear of Finis appeared in his hand, its tip gently touching the ground, emitting a low chime like a sacred bell.

Instantly, the silence of the tomb chamber was broken.

The World Eaters' Berserkers surged forward again, consumed by rage, hurling themselves at the Primarch atop the dais.

Only Caen knew this was pure folly—

Before Caen could form a complete thought, his chest exploded with pain.

His crimson power armor ruptured, blood gushing out violently.

In that instant, Caen's intuition seemed to glimpse a white light—within it, the spirit of Angral the Tall beckoned to him from the highest heavens.

Old friend, am I coming to join you?

Despair flashed across Caen's eyes as he tumbled like a broken doll into the warp rift, unconscious within its depths.

The other World Eaters' Berserkers were reduced to piles of shredded flesh within moments, drenched in blood.

The demons had already turned to ash the instant Sanguinius spread his wings.

Mephiston, Seth, and the few remaining Flesh Eaters stared in stunned silence at the scene before them.

They felt their souls trembling.

Even Mephiston, a powerful psyker, could not comprehend what had just occurred.

When had Sanguinius flapped his wings? When had he taken up the Spear of Finis? How had the World Eaters died?

This was not even a battle.

The gap between a Primarch and an Astartes was greater than that between an Astartes and a mortal.

Yet there was not merely one Primarch present.

Angron, already manifest in the material realm, was no slower.

The Sanguine Spear and the Spear of Finis crossed midair, blood and warm light colliding.

Angron's skull bones clattered with horrifying noise.

The silver chains on Sanguinius jingled, crisp as raindrops.

The Lord of Red Sand and the Archangel crossed paths within the tomb chamber, yet no one could discern their strikes.

Their speed was so great it raised doubt whether this battle even unfolded within the material universe.

A low growl echoed—the first instant of Primarch versus Primarch ended.

Angron was drenched in blood, his wounds from the Spear of Finis grotesque and horrific, nearly chopping him into paste.

Yet the Archangel stood at the chamber's center with an elegance Angron could never match.

A few feathers drifted down; his golden armor was splattered with blood, his face bore a shallow wound, his arm another—but nothing more.

Yet Angron's flesh was healing.

No—this was not flesh of the material universe. It was a body forged from warp energy, an aetheric vessel, a fragment of the Blood God.

In the blink of an eye, he was restored as if Sanguinius had never harmed him.

The beast let out a low, guttural roar, thick with bloodlust and murderous intent.

Yet all present understood the meaning behind the roar.

This planet was drowning in a terrible war—countless slaughtered, countless dead, countless rivers of blood and skulls falling.

And the Blood God's gaze was fixed here—everything fed Angron's strength and healed his wounds.

". re you proud of your master's charity, Angron? Has the gladiator of Nuceria fallen so low?"

The Archangel sighed with pity, then a flicker of mischief danced in his eyes.

"But look," Sanguinius chuckled softly: "I too have been blessed."

A winding sound echoed.

Zhou Yun had appeared behind Sanguinius without notice, the acceleration spring driven deep into the Archangel's lower back, twisted sharply.

"Now it's fair."

The Archangel's lips curled into a smile as he gripped the Spear of Finis and pointed it at Angron:

"Now, I am also a Daemon Prince."

(End of Chapter)