Chapter 365: The Emperor's Judgment
Sanguinius left the World Eaters' quarters in silence, deep in thought. Just as the Great Angel rejoined the Blood Angels, an urgent summons arrived: the Emperor was calling everyone to an immediate assembly.
Candlelight flickered along the corridors as the Primarchs strode swiftly past Custodian patrols standing at full alert. Fulgrim attempted to speak softly with the Angel, but received only a wry shake of Sanguinius' head in reply.
Dorn's face was grim, furrows etched deeply between his brows, and beside him the shadowed infiltrator walked in silent companionship.
People entered the grand hall in scattered groups. Once filled to capacity, it had long since become cavernously empty. Aside from the Martian Fabricator-General and others of higher clearance, no mortals were permitted entry.
Sanguinius looked toward the dais. The Thousand Sons who had knelt there earlier were already gone, as if they had never existed at all.
The seats originally assigned to the Thousand Sons stood empty, their legion sigils erased.
The matter was settled—no amount of argument could now change reality.
Directly opposite the lectern, to left and right, the Space Wolves and the Death Guard sat in full ranks. The Lord of Winter and the Lord of Death stood rather than sat, weapons held firmly in their hands.
The Angel glanced aside. The seat of the Head of the Silent Sisterhood was vacant; two Tech-Priests and several blanks stood around the central throne instead.
People found their places sparsely, yet did not sit, standing in uneasy uncertainty. Aside from the Death Guard and the Space Wolves, none of the Primarchs had brought honor guards. The vast hall at once felt desolate.
From beneath his hood, the Lord of Death swept an unremarkable gaze across the chamber. The Angel wore an expression of sorrowful pity. Fulgrim looked incredulous. Dorn seemed so severe that he might scold Magnus aloud at any moment. Corax's face was swallowed by shadow, while Angron appeared calm, as though merely a spectator.
No matter what, he had won.
Mortarion raised an eyebrow slightly, thinking with ease.
What puzzled the Lord of Death, however, was that during his earlier conversation with the Wolf King—despite Leman Russ masking it well beneath brutality and savagery—Mortarion had still sensed a faint trace of grief upon him.
Mortarion did not understand what there was to grieve over. Yet when he replaced the subject with Horus in his mind, he realized he might feel sorrow for Horus as well.
A heavy knocking echoed through the hall. Malcador struck his staff, signaling for silence.
The Master of Mankind, seated upon the throne, rose slowly, as though stepping forth from dust-laden shadow. Each step seemed to tread upon the souls of those present, leaving them scarcely able to breathe.
Light like living flame shone upon his golden armor, as if unextinguished for ten thousand years.
"Now," he said, "hear my judgment."
His voice was clear and vast. A king does not speak lightly; when he speaks, his words shake the four corners of existence, overturn the galaxy, set the stars trembling and dim the eternal suns.
Sanguinius held his breath. He knew his brothers were doing the same.
A deathlike silence enveloped the chamber, broken only by the Emperor's calm, barely perceptible breathing.
"Let the light of justice shine upon the land."
He spoke, and the Sword of Hammurabi hung over every head.
"You were entitled to speak freely—to see sin and evil erased. Even the faintest voice was to be heard, even the most obscure words weighed with care. I would never disregard any reasonable and just appeal. This is your inborn right as citizens of the Imperium. Your mouths may speak what you wish to speak; your hands may write what you wish to write."
The sovereign stood there, his voice solemn and authoritative, carrying the crushing weight of judgment that struck directly at the soul.
"Yet words are no child's play. Lies must not be spoken. Falsehoods must not be fabricated. Those who deceive and twist the truth shall be judged guilty the moment their words are heard by their first listener, and upon the conclusion of their speech, the ultimate punishment shall be enacted."
The Emperor paused. His radiant, inhuman gaze burned through every soul present.
"Among you, there are those who have lied—who have crossed the boundary stone."
The Great Angel felt his heart seize violently.
No, he thought… the Emperor was merely warning them… Think of Russ's and Angron's words, Sanguinius… the Emperor is far more tolerant than you believe.
With Magnus's wretched fate laid bare before him, Sanguinius swore that he would never cross the line.
"I am disappointed," the Emperor said.
"To fabricate lies, to manipulate truth and falsehood, to overstep forbidden bounds, to peer into the darkness, to draw one's subordinates along—these hidden dangers were planted long ago. Yet the arrogant still take pride in themselves, blind to the fact that they already stand upon an icy abyss, tottering on the brink."
"The words of the blind and self-important must not be trusted lightly. The testimony of those steeped in sin must be examined with utmost care. I have listened to the defenses of the Crimson Sinner, Magnus. He has already fallen deep into the abyss of illusory powers, lightly trampling the limits of what the Imperium tolerates, selling himself and his Legion to his own desires."
"His crimes are beyond measure."
The Emperor finalized his judgment. The moment the title Crimson Sinner was spoken, the Primarchs already knew the final outcome.
"The crime of a common man may be answered by severing his head, cleansing guilt through death. But the crime of the lead ram cannot be paid for by a single life. Tens of thousands perish through his foolish notions; billions are led astray by his false doctrines. By the law of like for like, even a billion deaths would not suffice to atone for such guilt."
Fulgrim felt his heart pounding violently. He was witnessing a punishment far crueler than execution—a father raising his blade against his son. No, no—this moment cruelly reminded Fulgrim that the Emperor must first be a sovereign, and only then a father.
From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the other Primarchs. Their expressions differed, yet without exception all were suffering. Even Mortarion—Fulgrim could see the strained, labored breathing beneath the Death Lord's hood.
The Emperor's wrath was not something any being could bear lightly. Fulgrim could scarcely imagine what Magnus had endured… Only a month ago, that proud brother had been speaking animatedly to him about ancient tomes and sacred texts. Why had Magnus…?
The Phoenician was certain that no brother would willingly harm the Imperium's grandeur—unless… unless—
Fulgrim nearly screamed, covering his mouth.
Magnus's arrogance had destroyed him.
And he had dragged his sons down with him.
The Phoenician's overwhelming empathy made his ears ring, yet the Emperor's words continued to carve themselves mercilessly into every soul present.
"Hereby, I pronounce judgment upon the Crimson Sinner, Magnus."
"Magnus, who toyed with sorcery and ensnared his Legion, such that death and the shadow of curses now cling inseparably to the Thousand Sons."
"The Fifteenth Legion—the Thousand Sons—is hereby dissolved."
Fulgrim felt himself on the verge of fainting. The Great Angel's face had gone deathly pale. Even Angron's eyes widened. Among the remaining Primarchs—aside from the executioners—who could bear to witness such a scene with ease?
"Those within the Thousand Sons who conspired with Magnus shall be escorted to the dungeons of Terra, there to await their punishment. Those innocently implicated, those who acted in good faith to restrain Magnus—the Imperium shall endeavor to heal their cursed souls and seek for them another path to life and honor."
"Magnus himself is to be confined within the dungeons of Terra."
Fulgrim exhaled sharply—this meant Magnus would not die. But what awaited him instead? The Imperium possessed punishments far worse than death. Fulgrim felt his scalp prickle. The dissolution of his Legion, imprisonment in a dungeon… could the proud Magnus truly endure such a fate?
"Space Wolves. Death Guard. Accompany me to Prospero. Purge the remnants."
Leman Russ stepped forward. He slammed down his great axe—and with it, his knee. The Wolf King bowed his head deeply, baring his vulnerable neck to the Emperor upon the dais.
"Leman Russ obeys."
Mortarion was a step slower. The Lord of Death swayed slightly before finally lowering himself as well. He gripped his withered scythe, the point of his knee lightly touching the floor.
"Mortarion obeys."
The Emperor raised a hand, signaling the two Primarchs to rise. The Lords of Winter and Death stood, cold light sliding along their blades.
The Emperor's expression remained impassive.
"The sinner shall be brought low. Yet the warped and blasphemous traces upon him have made me realize that some among you have already gone too far. My trust in you was never meant to grant license to transgress."
"The purpose of this gathering was for you to recognize the boundaries—never to touch the red line. Beyond the veil lies a realm you must not trespass."
"The Crimson Sinner shall stand as your eternal warning."
The Emperor fell silent for a moment. Those present waited tensely for his next words.
"I ought to have abolished all Librarius formations, and no longer allowed sorcery to taint the ranks of the Space Marines. The flash of psychic power should not be seen."
The faces of the Librarius representatives were ashen, and the Primarchs of the Legions that still retained Librarius cadres lowered their gazes, heavy with foreboding.
"But the Head of the Silent Sisterhood, Hades, came to me," the Emperor said. In his calm, unmoving golden eyes, he saw the Primarchs below react in visible shock.
"He advised that each Legion retain a Librarius at the lowest threshold of alert, so as to provide immediate warning of potential psychic threats, and to preserve the capacity to oppose psychic species."
"I accepted."
The Emperor spoke again:
"The Legions are permitted to retain a minimal number of Librarians, solely for the purpose of vigilance."
With that, the Emperor had spoken his final words. He returned to his throne, allowing Malcador to strike the floor with his staff as the old man cried out hoarsely that the assembly was dismissed.
He watched the survivors of the ordeal tremble, staring at one another in dazed confusion, as though they no longer knew what would happen next.
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