"My lord, it's in that valley." Iven pointed toward the mountains dyed red by the setting sun.
"At least five hundred mutants."
Gerard added, "On the other side of the mountain range, there are also quite a few purebloods."
Caelan stood between the two angels and tilted his head slightly. "You two choose."
Fulgrim and Sanguinius were now true Primarchs.
The two angels stood their outlines silently and especially solemn in the twilight, their sacred white wings folded behind them.
"The Mutants," Sanguinius said.
"The purebloods," Fulgrim replied.
Caelan's gaze moved between them. "Want to see who's faster this time?"
Fulgrim's voice was low. "No need."
His white wings carved a sharp arc through the dusk as he shot into the sky without looking back.
Sanguinius smiled faintly, soft light flickering in his eyes.
The last time Fulgrim lost, he had sulked for a full five minutes.
Caelan chuckled silently. The twins always quarreled over the strangest reasons.
Iven looked worried. "My lord... will the two angels be in danger?"
"They're angels!" Karin lifted her chin slightly.
Though she was not their mother, she had raised them.
…
Mutants were twisted by radiation's ravages. These pitiful people didn't even possess basic radiation meters. Like blind beasts, they stumbled across the wasteland, one careless step away from a death pit that looked harmless, or from drinking seemingly clear water saturated with hidden lethal radiation.
They were more resistant than normal humans, but not immune.
Like purebloods, they needed low-radiation zones.
Such places wereextremely rare. Conflict was inevitable.
Mutants didn't know which land was safe, but wherever the purebloods lived certainly was. So they watched, and they took.
If they could eliminate the purebloods, they might even have a full meal.
The purebloods had long avoided Baal Secundus' high-radiation zones. Their flesh was the purest in the entire world.
The towering mountains stood like a silent giant, separating the two tribes across folded terrain. It could have sheltered them both.
But hatred, forged across generations of slaughter, had become deadlier than radiation itself.
Neither side would relinquish this pure land.
The mutants outnumbered the purebloods.
The purebloods had guns.
Neither wished to sacrifice precious kin, so the stalemate continued.
Without intervention, when the mountains' resources were exhausted, mutual destruction would be inevitable.
Perhaps the mutants would be wiped out; perhaps the purebloods would perish. One side would vanish.
Then the angels descended.
"Lay down your conflict. I will lead you to a land of abundant water and grass!"
When Sanguinius descended, his white wings glowed with a sacred halo even in the dusk.
The mutants trembled instinctively under the holy radiance, knees sinking into the barren earth, malformed heads nearly pressed into the dust.
In their clouded eyes, mixed awe and resentment.
They longed to touch such purity, yet felt ashamed of their own filth.
Their twisted bodies no longer resembled humanity. From tumor-ridden throats came broken prayers, as though they wished to pour thousands of years of sorrow and suffering into this sudden salvation.
Sanguinius's wings drew in slightly; compassion flashed in his eyes.
They were humble and helpless beings, warped by the curse of radiation, yet still struggling to preserve the spark of life.
Every crime they committed was merely the instinct to survive in despair.
Facing them, Sanguinius asked himself:
"How could I bear to exterminate them?"
He already knew the answer: self-loathing and the fanaticism of converts.
Sanguinius of another path had been more desperate to prove he was not a mere mutant.
The Ninth Legion's earliest recruits were mutants. Even after they became noble angels and the mutant genes were purged, the blood-thirst remained.
His sons were still born aberrations.
He had always been insecure, and extreme insecurity bred extreme pride and arrogance.
He had once refused to interfere with Baal Secundus, complacently believing: if you can survive poison, you can survive other disasters.
Those who struggle through suffering are indeed resilient.
But that is never an excuse to create suffering.
The most vile praise is turning the hardship of mortals into inspirational stories to deceive them.
Never believe suffering is worthwhile. Suffering is simply suffering; it does not guarantee success nor is it worth seeking; it tempers will, only because it cannot be avoided.
He once had the chance to lead the people out of misery, yet trapped himself in Baal's radioactive wasteland, because he grew up there.
But suffering is not virtue, and happiness is not weakness.
Souls struggling in misery long for salvation, and those living in happiness have not lost resilience.
Were not the Five Hundred Worlds created by his brother the clearest proof?
Sanguinius was not that man. He would not repeat that mistake.
His wings slowly spread in the dusk, edged with pale gold.
Looking down at the kneeling mutants, his voice was clear and firm like dawn:
"I swear to you: however many years it takes, I will find a cure for radiation's wounds. I will heal you, and all Baal's children struggling upon this wasteland!"
The evening wind lifted his soft, golden hair; compassion and determination were equally visible on his perfect, almost divine face.
"But you must swear to me as well: uphold your humanity, unto death."
"Up… hold… hu… man… i… ty…"
The mutants stammered their oath, though they did not yet understand its meaning.
….....
"I come for peace!" Fulgrim's wings flared wide, slamming two attackers aside and knocking over a group of warriors.
The tribal chief swallowed. "You… who are you? What do you seek here?"
"I am Fulgrim, the twin angel, son of Caelan, Lord of Baal. I come to unify you, lead you to a land of abundance, and bring redemption to Baal's people."
"And if we refuse?" a young man demanded defiantly.
"Courtesy before force," Fulgrim said. "Reject goodwill, and I will bring iron and blood."
A little girl asked bravely, "Aren't Angels supposed to be kind?"
Fulgrim folded his wings slightly and approached. Before everyone's breathless gaze, he knelt and lifted her onto his shoulder.
"Angels are kind," he said gently, though his violet eyes carried unquestionable authority.
"But just as sunlight does not shine on every inch of Baal, kindness is not granted to everyone."
"But… isn't sunlight for everyone?" she asked.
"The sun favors blooming flowers over worms in damp darkness. If you hide in shadows, how can light reach you?"
He brushed her hair. "Hold goodness in your heart and angels will shelter you; cling to wrongdoing and you cannot expect mercy."
She nodded vaguely and buried her face in his glowing wings.
'The angel smelled nice.'
The chief signaled silently; several men pinned the reckless youth into the dust.
"My lord… forgive his rudeness. We lowly people dare not hope for salvation. Tell us, what mercy do we deserve?"
"The same as everyone," Fulgrim replied. "Safe shelter, clean water, and warm meals every day."
The hunter swallowed. "All of us?"
"All Baalites, pureblood or mutant, so long as they remain human."
Some mutants were no longer human.
Twisted flesh could be healed, but if humanity and reason were gone, even angels could not save them.
The angel proclaimed, "Baal shall be unified, for the sake of a greater mercy!"
The girl clapped on his shoulder, fearless of the giant.
Because angels were kind.
"My lord, we submit and offer loyalty."
The chief knelt; the tribe followed like falling grain.
Fulgrim's voice echoed through the valley: "Rise. I do not need kneeling. I need you to follow me."
…....
Caelan looked over the statistics Karin handed him, surprise in his tone. "I thought Baal had only half a million people. It seems I underestimated."
"Only the wasteland tribes matched that," Karin explained softly. "But many shelters are scattered across Baal. Though smaller than Dr. Iven's Promised Land, they hold thousands to tens of thousands each, about 1.5 million survivors total."
Fulgrim said. "Three times more than expected. A sufficient population is the foundation of rebuilding civilization."
Sanguinius looked saddened. "Only three hundred thousand are purebloods."
Not every shelter protected Baal's people; many radiation filters had long failed, leaving only mutants inside.
If Baal Secundus could not be cleansed, how could civilization be rebuilt?
Fulgrim clasped his brother's hand, his gaze burning with unshakable conviction. "All the more reason to save them!"
For two and a half years, the shelter residents had trekked across the wasteland, searching for scattered tribes.
When the twin angels spread their wings, Baal's unification spread like wildfire.
Each time their holy wings unfurled, people felt they were witnessing a miracle.
In just two months, the scarred wasteland was unified under the angels' protection.
Now, they bore the burden of Baal's rebirth.
That year, they were three years old.
….....
In the preparation zone, veteran squad leader Gerard called roll with a rasp:
"Angelo, Tiberius, Koch, Lov."
The tactical squad was unusual: two purebloods and two mutants.
Tiberius showed heavy mutation: vertical amber pupils, dark green scales like armor covering his body, and leathery skin between them.
Koch's mutations were lighter: a third pale arm sprouting from his right shoulder blade.
"Today's mission: advance twenty kilometers east in a fan-shaped sweep. Focus on heat signals on the leeward side of dunes, reports say fire-scorpions nest there. Remember, our task is reconnaissance, not extermination. If you find anomalies, report immediately!"
Gerard was used to fighting beside mutated comrades, but still repeated precautions before every mission.
In the Promised Land, all residents had duties. Some cooked, some cleaned, but only warriors patrolled the wasteland armed.
It was an honor.
In the shelters, purebloods and mutants lived on separate floors. Only in the staging area did mixed squads fight side by side.
Thus, joining a tactical squad required abandoning tribal prejudice. It was not only cohesion, but it was also the bridge to heal the rift.
As the squad boarded the armored vehicle, engines roaring, Iven's voice burst from the comms:
"Gerard, abort mission! Your patrol is canceled. Simon's third squad will cover your sector."
"Koch and Tiberius, report immediately to Core Sector Level 459. This is the Angel's orders."
The vehicle fell silent. In the Promised Land, angels' orders needed no explanation.
Gerard inhaled deeply, pressing the comm key. "Acknowledged."
"Angelo, turn back. Koch, Tiberius, disembark at the next hub and take the lift to Level 459."
"Koch, Tiberius, good luck."
As they disembarked, Gerard extended his hand. Koch raised all three of his, clasping hands with his comrades.
They exchanged knowing looks. Both sides understood what awaited Koch and Tiberius.
Mutants in tactical squads had one special privilege: priority access to radiation cure trials.
But success was not guaranteed.
…...
Sanguinius looked at the nervous mutant soldiers. "Do you understand what lies ahead? You are the first subjects. I cannot guarantee success."
"My lord," Koch said, lifting his three arms. "We refuse to bear the mark of mutants forever, and we refuse to see our descendants suffering as we did. Even the unfinished serum Dr. Iven left cost countless ancestors' lives. Even if I die, my people will honor me!"
They had chosen to volunteer, fully prepared for any outcome.
…...
The mutant warriors slept inside cultivation chambers while Sanguinius adjusted genetic serum ratios on the Cogitator control panel.
These precise parameters determined success or failure. Though the treatment was gentler than creating Space Marines, the process was still dangerous, requiring patience.
He was not a master geneticist; everything relied on Dr. Iven's data.
Fulgrim asked, "Are you nervous?"
Sanguinius watched the unfolding genetic map. "This is the first clinical trial. Preliminary success rates have risen to 99%, fully validating Dad's genetic lock theory. Still, I pray for smooth results."
"Pray to whom? Miracles or hope?"
"Neither." His voice softened as he knelt before Caelan and asked, "Dad… will I succeed?"
Caelan smiled gently. "Yes. I believe in you. Success or failure, I am proud of you."
Dr. Iven had laid the foundation. Sanguinius had raised success to 99%. Statistically, near perfection.
Fulgrim muttered jealously, "Dad's favorite child."
"I love you too, Fulgrim," Caelan said.
Fulgrim turned away, pretending indifference, but his raised chin and hidden smile betrayed delight. Perhaps Sanguinius's daily teasing shaped that tsundere personality, but what did matter?
After all, he was only three.
Tsundere was far cuter than brooding.
.....
Sanguinius rose, wings folding behind him, eyes reflecting the glowing genetic map.
"Dad says I will succeed," he whispered. "Then I will succeed."
His father's silent gaze carried more weight than any words.
"The experiment was successful." Sanguinius looked at the pods, his tense wings finally relaxing.
The two mutant warriors bathed in nutrient fluid. Their redundant, twisted limbs had withered away, replaced by new skin pure as fresh snow. Their vital signs remained stable.
They simply had not awakened yet.
"We cured the mutants."
Fulgrim smiled. "There are no mutants on Baal."
Caelan nodded, "Yes, Only its children waiting to be healed."
Karin stood quietly in the corner, hands folded, watching the family of three with gentle eyes.
.....
15 chapter ahead in [email protected]/DaoistJinzu