Chapter 559: Are You Even Worthy??

The rose-pink wooden door creaked open, revealing white wings slowly unfolding, light spontaneously bursting forth and instantly illuminating the entire Blood Ravens' reliquary.

The artifacts hidden with extradimensional demonic power recoiled beneath this radiance, as if no defilement could endure within its glow.

Gabriel Angelos stared in shock at the figure of Sanguinius, for he had not yet called out for aid.

But Gabriel Angelos quickly realized: this must be the legendary prophetic ability of Sanguinius at work.

No wonder he was the genetic father of the Blood Ravens since ancient times!

Sanguinius stepped forth from the rose-pink portal, golden hair woven beneath a silver-threaded headcloth, beneath which lay a face too exquisite for words, two molten-gold eyes fixed upon the towering figure cloaked and wielding the Broken Furnace.

"Fulgrim, Fulgrim, my brother's clone," Sanguinius's voice was calm, clear as silver bells.

The hooded figure froze slightly in place.

Yet he finally let out two soft laughs, slowly raising his hand to remove his hood, revealing his face.

Instantly, the radiance upon Sanguinius seemed to recoil before that visage.

Gabriel Angelos and every Blood Ravens Terminators drew a sharp breath; even Anrakael, the necromancer, was momentarily stunned by the sight.

Though unwilling, Gabriel still had to admit: that face's beauty rivaled Sanguinius's.

Pure white hair like snow, a long, elegant face, violet eyes, lips thin and curved—half-smile, half-sneer—noble, graceful, dazzling.

If Sanguinius's beauty was holiness, this man's beauty was brilliance.

Sanguinius was like a divine sovereign, an angel, an absolute perfection beyond mortal reach.

He was the archetype, the ideal, the ultimate embodiment of human beauty.

Primarch Fulgrim—the white-haired man's name echoed in Gabriel's and all present's ears.

Fulgrim's slender lips moved slightly, speaking in a sincere, melodious tone: "Sanguinius, I have long yearned to meet you—the most perfect of all our brothers."

"I thought you'd say the most perfect was yourself," Sanguinius replied, gazing at that face.

Had Guilliman been here, he would have torn that face apart without restraint.

"No—I am still learning, still growing. Until I achieve true perfection, you remain my model."

Fulgrim's words were humble, even flattering.

Then he made a slight gesture—as if pointing to someone—and continued:

"As for him, his fall came because he was not perfect."

Sanguinius frowned slightly, exhaling a faint sigh.

He clenched the Spear of Vengeance in his hand.

"I came here following the guidance of our Father, brother."

Fulgrim sensed Sanguinius's revulsion and spoke softly in explanation:

"I am not like him. My soul, my mind, my body remain loyal to our Father—and to you, my brothers."

"I wish to be your student, your servant, to accept your teaching—to prove my loyalty."

"Brother, you once gave your fallen son a chance to become perfect and holy. Why deny the same chance to your brother?"

Fulgrim's words were earnest, sincere; though every soul present knew the Primarch's crimes, all were subtly bewitched by his charm—except one.

"Tell that to Ferrus. To me, you are merely a repeated mistake. I should kill you now, to end this threat forever." Sanguinius's voice carried fury laced with sorrow.

The air stilled for an instant.

Then Fulgrim sighed softly.

"I understand. But I will not wait to die."

Fulgrim raised the Broken Furnace slightly, yet his violet eyes still fixed on Sanguinius:

"Brother, I am truly no longer like him."

"You are not my brother." The only reply was a low growl—and the Spear of Vengeance, hurtling through the air.

The tear-shaped spear, forged by the Emperor himself for Sanguinius, pierced the void at a speed beyond the visual limits of mortals or even Astartes.