No one could ignore the figure standing in the tomb chamber.
His pure white wings, tinged with a faint blue, hung low behind him, quivering unconsciously, causing the chains, censers, and silver ornaments hanging from them to jingle softly.
His adamantium-forged armor was restored to its original state, as new as the morning sun, adorned with all sorts of rare gems. The Eye of Terra on his chest was no longer cracked, and its scarlet gaze seemed to scrutinize all the impure villains present.
Golden hair swayed with the breeze from the Warp, and a pure face emerged from beneath a golden woven headscarf. He was so pure, noble, sacred, and powerful.
Undoubtedly, that was a Primarch, one of the most powerful among the Emperor's exalted sons.
He merely stood there, filling the tomb chamber with a hopeful radiance, like a warm, burning star that did not cause heat.
However, a subtle smile, tinged with a hint of mischief, played on his lips.
"Ten thousand years."
"It has been ten thousand years since I died on the Vengeful Spirit."
"Now, I, Horus Lupercal, have returned!"
Instantly, the tomb chamber fell silent.
The World Eaters Berserkers seemed to forget their rage, frozen in place with terror and disbelief.
The Bloodletters also hesitated, for they truly felt the power of Horus emanating from the Primarch before them.
Angron's remaining intellect, squeezed by the Butcher's Nails, struggled to comprehend the situation.
Khârn also stared blankly at the towering figure before him.
A flicker of confusion crossed Mephiston's eyes, while Seth was at a loss.
Alexander silently pulled out his mechanizer, his finger resting on the button representing Astramael.
The towering figure noticed Alexander's action, and the corner of his eye twitched slightly.
"..Lord Hoggilius. Lupaerbal, you are the least qualified to be silent for my joke here."
The holy Primarch looked at Alexander and said softly.
A mischievous glint, visible only to Alexander, flashed in his eyes, as if returning the favor for Alexander's earlier jest at his expense.
Alexander's lips curved into a slight smile; it was him.
"And you all, after ten thousand years, have you not learned a shred of humor beyond your rage?"
The silence was broken. Khârn let out an angry roar, enraged by being fooled, and raised the plasma pistol in his hand, aiming it at the Primarch's head.
Even a Primarch, as long as he had not ascended to daemonhood, was still flesh and blood.
Such a close-range impact from a plasma pistol would surely—
Khârn spat out a mouthful of blood, flying backward abruptly without even realizing what had happened, and crashing heavily to the ground.
His body struggled to get up, trembling slightly, and some ancient memories gradually awakened.
For the first time in ten thousand years, Khârn was shocked by his own courage. He had just tried to kill a Primarch with a plasma pistol??
"Khârn, you were once the most clear-headed among the World Eaters. Why have you now become so easily controlled by rage?"
Sanguinius' wings had spread open at some unknown moment, and ethereal golden light burst forth, a fierce wind sweeping through the entire tomb chamber.
The Spear of Accomplishment had appeared in his hand at some point, its tip gently touching the ground, echoing with a low hum like a sacred bell.
Instantly, the silence in the tomb chamber was shattered.
The World Eaters Berserkers were once again enveloped by fury and rage. They lunged at the Primarch standing on the high platform.
Only Khârn knew this was utter foo—
Before Khârn could fully collect his thoughts, a sharp pain erupted in his chest.
The crimson power armor on his chest exploded, and blood gushed out.
In an instant, Khârn felt as if he saw a white light, and within that light, Angron's soul seemed to be beckoning to him from the Empyrean.
Old friend, am I going to see you now?
A look of despair crossed Khârn's eyes. He fell into the Warp rift like a rag doll, completely unconscious.
And the other World Eaters Berserkers were almost instantly reduced to scattered corpses, drenched in blood.
The daemons, too, had turned to ash and burned away the moment Sanguinius spread his wings.
Mephiston, Seth, and the remaining Flesh Tearers stared dumbfounded at the scene.
They felt their souls tremble.
Even a powerful Adeptus Astartes like Mephiston could not comprehend what had happened.
When did Sanguinius flap his wings? When did he pick up the Spear of Accomplishment? How did those World Eaters Berserkers die?
This could not even be called a battle.
The gap between a Primarch and an Astartes was even greater than the gap between an Astartes and a mortal.
However, there was not only one Primarch present.
Angron, who had already entered reality, was equally swift.
Zandiares and the Spear of Accomplishment clashed in mid-air, blood and warm light colliding.
The skulls on Angron's body clattered, producing a terrifying sound.
The silver chains on Sanguinius' body jingled, their sound as clear as raindrops.
The Lord of the Red Sands and the Archangel crossed paths in the tomb chamber, but no one could clearly see their engagement.
Their speed was so great that it made one wonder if this battle was truly unfolding in the material universe.
A low roar sounded, marking the end of the first instant of the Primarchs' clash.
Angron was bathed in blood, the wounds inflicted by the Spear of Accomplishment grotesque and terrifying, each one almost mincing Angron into pulp.
The Archangel, however, stood with an elegance Angron could not match, in the center of the tomb chamber.
He had shed a few feathers, blood splattered on his golden armor, and there was a shallow wound on his face and another on his arm, but that was all.
Yet, Angron's flesh was healing.
No, that was not the flesh of the material universe at all; it was a body formed from Warp energy, a vessel made of aether, a part of the Blood God.
He recovered in the blink of an eye, as if Sanguinius had never harmed him.
The beast let out a low roar, filled with bloodthirsty rage and killing intent.
But everyone present understood the meaning in that roar.
This planet was falling into a terrifying war, countless people were killing, countless people were dying, countless blood and skulls were falling.
And the Blood God's gaze was also fixed here; all of this was making Angron stronger and continuously healing Angron's wounds.
"..Are you proud of your master's handouts, Angron? Has the gladiator of Nuceria fallen to this?"
The Archangel let out a sigh tinged with pity, then a mischievous glint flashed in his eyes.
"But look," Sanguinius chuckled, "I, too, am blessed by someone."
The sound of clockwork whirred.
Alexander had appeared behind Sanguinius at some point, the Speed-up Clockwork plunged into Sanguinius' lower back, twisting several times.
"Now it's fair."
The Archangel's lips curved into a smile. He tightened his grip on the Spear of Accomplishment and pointed it at Angron:
"Now, I am also a daemon Prince."