Warhammer: My Mother Sanguinius

I was there when my mother returned to the Empire.

(I—Captain of the Fourteenth Company of the Ghost Legion, Terra veteran Garnet, the content of this chapter is in the first person)

This is the reception hall of the Sixteenth Legion's flagship Silver Wolf. It is gorgeously decorated. Marbles collected from the equator of Terra support its ceiling. Rugs made of beast furs hang from the walls on both sides. All the honors the Silver Moon Wolf received during the Great Crusade.

people--

All kinds of people crowded this spacious and bright hall.

There are strong servitors with tattoos on their heads, narrators holding cameras or narrative tablets in their hands, official dignitaries of the parliament, and proud warriors of the Silver Moon Wolf wearing silver-white armor.

Of course, the most important thing.

The most gorgeous one among the crowd is still wearing the "Serpent Scale" Terminator armor, the master of Legion No. 16, Horus, the returning son of the Lord of Mankind.

He stood among the crowd, shining brightly and making it difficult to look directly at him.

There was an expression of anticipation on his face.

His sister.

Daughter of the Emperor, Primarch Nine.

She is also our genetic mother and is about to return to the empire.

Everyone held their breath, including this famous commander, waiting for this moment to arrive.

The steady sound of mechanical engines and gears rotating rhythmically came from the thick floor beneath my feet.

The apron deck of the Vengeful Spirit was powerfully lifted upwards by the strong power provided by the promethium engine. A group of Gastelin veterans wearing Hades Terminator armor have already taken their positions in a semicircle at the edge of the landing platform. The ceremonial swords are held in their hands. The end of this group of veterans has already been here. Horus in waiting.

Finally, the silver steel thunderhawk floated in through the shimmering air protective film.

Under the cold touch of deep space, the fuselage of the spacecraft immediately formed a thin layer of shining frost in the moisture of the air, and then dissipated into thin wisps of smoke.

I saw Horus, with complete disregard for safety protocols, standing directly under the Thunderhawk's nose as it spewed thrust from the Thunderhawk's burning exhaust pipes, hovering and turning. Behind the armored glass on the cockpit roof, I glimpsed a shadowy figure flashing before the craft touched down, kicking up smoke on the landing pad.

That feeling!

You can't go wrong.

Both of my hearts were beating violently.

My blood is rushing through my veins, like a river bursting its banks, washing away my reason. Two sharp teeth came out from my lips, and my jaw clenched my teeth tightly. It wasn't until I noticed the blood gushing out from the torn wound that I felt better.

With the sound of mechanical trembling, the Thunder Eagle's hatch was finally opened.

Thousands of clicks, countless flashes of light.

A perfect figure walked out of it.

So perfect.

No!

Even "perfect" is not enough to describe that fatal beauty.

I can detect the fatal danger hidden under the beautiful appearance, and the aggression that exudes all the time.

But people may overlook this.

Those ordinary people will only be attracted by her pale and beautiful face.

Be intoxicated by the beauty she exudes inadvertently, like a dancer's unconscious beauty, in her every move.

Everything about her is the epitome of human ideals

Except for those ice-white wings.

But even so, those wings symbolize symmetry, wisdom, and faith, shaping her into a true angel.

Horus, the 16th Primarch, was already very tall, burly, and dazzling.

No matter where he went, he was the center of attention.

but now.

The light in him was suppressed by his mother.

The eyes of everyone present were attracted by the returning original body.

I saw some narrators holding their breath, trying their best to capture every scene on the field; some narrators burst into tears, all their spirits were occupied by the fatal and sacred beauty, and they could hardly rely on it. He got up from the ground with his own strength.

I also saw Horus.

Horus was talking to my mother.

Even though it was just the first time for the two of them to meet, they behaved like friends who have known each other for a long time.

Horus was known for his easy-going nature among the Primarchs. Whether they were Astartes warriors in the Legion or ordinary workers on the lower decks, Horus could deal with them with just the right attitude and talk eloquently. But this time, Horus seemed to talk a lot.

A river of praise poured out from Shadow Moon Wolf's mouth.

Just a few light responses from the angel were enough to make the Lord of the Moon Wolf burst into hearty laughter.

Then--

I also saw the Gastrin Terminators surrounding my mother.

That position, that position should belong to us!

But now we are like invisible mice in the sewer, hiding in the corner of the hall. No one notices us except the angel's emotional gaze.

We are forgotten.

The Legion was also brutally split up and scattered throughout the galaxy.

We have won so many wars for the human empire, but what we received was not honor and praise, but fear and even hatred!

I took a step forward.

Wanting to return to my mother's side, I saw a flash of joy in my mother's eyes.

Then--

My steps stopped.

The glow of incandescent lights flickered off my armor as I emerged from the shadows.

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Blood, mud, and craters are all covered with traces of war.

The blood drop pattern representing the legion became mottled.

It exudes a rotten smell.

So dirty.

No slaves are willing to serve us, and the never-ending war has left us exhausted and unable to maintain our armor.

The Gastelin veterans surrounding her mother were wearing pearl-white armor, with distinctive wolf head emblems spray-painted on their shoulder pads, and even the aroma of holy oil was exuding from their bodies.

They were loved by the people, and the servants cared for their armor like their own children, trying hard to find a flaw in it.

certainly--

For me, this is secondary.

What’s more important is that desire when I move forward.

A forbidden desire like a beast rushed through my veins and finally surged into my brain. From being remade on Terra to the Great Crusade and countless wars to this day, I have never hated myself as much as I do now. I wanted to vomit, I wanted to spit out the darkness hidden in the blood from my throat.

I looked at my mother's neck.

The white and delicate neck, imagine piercing your fangs into it.

Drink blood.

Then, I saw my mother's worried eyes.

I don't know when she appeared in front of me. There was a sudden silence in the hall, a deathly silence, and everyone's eyes fell on me.

She reached out and wanted to touch my forehead.

But I got out of the way.

"I'm a damn beast," I told my mother. "I don't deserve it. I don't deserve it."

I looked into my mother's eyes and backed away slowly.

One step, two steps, three steps...

The techno-barbarians on Terra never harmed me, and the cannibal tribes on Pluto never defeated us.

But now, I'm crushed.

I couldn't face my mother, I became a shameful deserter.

I turned around and ran away from the hall.