The entire scene formed a bizarre yet perfectly depraved tableau, as if those who were here before everything had become what it was now were engaged in some incomprehensible feast of pleasure.
"Lust, gluttony, vanity, excess—they've committed four of the six rings of sin. For all we know, the remaining two sins are festering in corners we haven't seen yet."
Malakin pushed aside a doll, but when it fell to the ground, it didn't make the crisp sound one would expect. Instead, it made a noise reminiscent of flesh hitting the floor.
This detail confirmed Malakin and Sanguinius's suspicions—these dolls were actually made from human bodies. The material used to create them was human flesh.
Some unknown Warp sorcery had transformed their bodies into doll-like constructs. Even the bones within the human bodies had been transmuted into crystal-like formations used to maintain the postures of these dolls.
"When were these people transformed like this? They certainly wouldn't have done this to themselves—someone else must be responsible."
"Unclear. A month ago, the Upper Spire was still communicating with the Middle Spire. Then a few days ago, the Upper Spire suddenly went silent. If Valentin hadn't come to find me, I wouldn't have even considered making a trip up here."
Wielding the Sword of Hope, light rolled outward like waves. At the end of the great hall sat a withered figure upon a high seat.
"Such audacity! How dare they?!"
Atop the dais was a throne connected to numerous tubes and wires, carved with various twisted and heretical symbols. Below the throne were tiers of steps and countless bones, and beneath the bones was all the absurd and chaotic scene that filled the hall.
Upon the throne sat a figure with an agonized expression, its body pierced by dozens of dinner knives.
Golden flames illuminated the surroundings, as well as the throne and the corpse upon it.
Sandiless recognized him—this was the Bishop, though he didn't know who had transformed him into his current state.
"What desecration! This is mockery of the Imperium!"
Sanguinius silently observed everything around him and the high seat modeled after the throne. Though Malakin angrily condemned everything, both he and Sandiless clearly understood that this represented the current state of the Imperium of Man.
The one who now sits upon the Throne of Terra endures immense suffering, helpless as he watches the Imperium of Man gradually slide into the abyss.
The bones on the steps symbolized the Great Crusade and all that humanity had sacrificed in its continuous struggle in this dark universe. Some say that accomplishment comes at the cost of countless lives; the Imperium of Man continues to survive in this malevolent universe precisely because of those endless sacrifices pushing this massive corpse forward.
Beneath these scattered bones, planetary governors, nobles, and those with power and influence feed like parasites on the corpse, enjoying the last remnants of this vast legacy. They indulge, they revel in excess, they exploit those who could otherwise build greater value for the Imperium.
"Malakin, be calm."
Sanguinius moved past the still-raging Malakin and slowly approached the Bishop's corpse.
Passing through the absurd scene arranged by the dolls, then stepping over the steps covered with bones, Sandiless gazed at the Bishop's corpse before him. Despite the torture endured, not a single tear stain could be found on the Bishop's face.
The Bishop had shown those heretics who tortured him the meaning of loyalty through his willpower. He would return to the Golden Throne, while those heretics would ultimately meet their end in body and soul.
As if sensing Sanguinius's arrival, the eyes that should have long lost their vitality trembled slightly. Finally, from the right eye, a holographic image was projected—a map, a map leading to the spire's peak.
After briefly flashing for two seconds, a disk the size of a fingernail ejected from the Bishop's right eye, small but capable of recording a considerable amount of information.
Once everything was complete, the Bishop's corpse rapidly dried and crumbled to dust. The corpse that had been sitting on the throne moments ago was now just a pile of white bone dust.
Sanguinius silently picked up the disk and performed a standard Imperial Cult salute.
"May you rest in eternal peace."
"Should we proceed to—"
Crack—
A slight sound emerged. Malakin and the Lamenters immediately looked toward the dolls surrounding them. Somehow, these previously immobile dolls had all turned their heads towards them. The dolls wore eerie expressions, filled with endless mockery and derision.
It was as if they were mocking that all the efforts they were making would ultimately be in vain.
The Lamenters slowly retreated, forming a defensive line with Malakin to protect Sanguinius. In their sight, these dolls that shouldn't be able to move began approaching them one by one in various postures, each holding a dinner knife, seemingly ready to rush toward them and feast.
Sanguinius's cold gaze swept across these dolls and the dinner knives in their hands, then toward the dozens of identical knives that had fallen into the bone dust on the high seat.
No wonder the Bishop had turned to dust—his body beneath his garments had long been devoured by these dolls. It was likely that in his final moments, he had used all his strength to suppress this absurd heretical ritual. The high seat beneath him must have been a psychic amplifier, which the Bishop had used to amplify his psychic power, disrupting the heretical ritual and suppressing them.
With the crumbling of his corpse, the last vessel capable of restraining them had disappeared.
The route to the spire's peak indicated the final remaining loyal forces at the Upper Spire and spire peak. Though he didn't know how many people still hid within the spire's peak, conservatively estimated, there couldn't be many left.
Anger circulated with the blood throughout his body. He could tolerate those traitor Astartes attacking him directly, for they were merely lost souls who had taken the wrong path.
But these hereditary nobles and so-called dignitaries who enjoyed all manner of luxuries were not within his scope of forgiveness. They enjoyed everything that remained of this glorious Imperium, yet shamelessly craved more, and even went so far as to mock those who lived and died for the Imperium and were willing to sacrifice their lives.
Those who do not cherish the lives of others are not worthy of salvation. Being turned into dolls was exactly what they deserved.
At this moment, both the Lamenters and those dolls that had long lost their minds sensed danger.Sanguinius's expression changed from his usual gentleness to one of cold anger.
"Your souls, damned as they are, are bound to these dolls, manipulated like toys by others, enduring their mockery and curses, yet you never reflect on what you've done."
"You killed those who were utterly loyal, and now you face us with grotesque visages and no shame. You deserve to suffer endless torment!"
Sanguinius descended the steps one by one. He avoided the bones, the Sword of Hope in his hand now erupting with golden, scorching flames. Even his golden hair was slightly lifted by the waves of energy. The light illuminated the entire hall, and even the high seat behind him and the bones upon the steps seemed to shine brilliantly.
The red Imperial Cult medallion remaining atop the high seat reflected a different light. The Emperor sitting upon the Golden Throne welcomed the arrival of this loyal servant, and in that warm dream left a place for him.
The Lamenters' expressions were blank, even the muzzles of their guns unconsciously lowered. Malakin, too, was speechless. They had never witnessed the era when the Gene-Father walked among mortals, but if he were to guess, perhaps it was not unlike what they saw now.
"You shall atone for your sins!"
As the words fell, flames consumed everything in the hall like a tsunami. All traces of heresy vanished in that moment, leaving only charred remains and wails from souls.
"And I shall send you on your way..."
Charred remains covered the floor of the hall. The dolls with their mocking expressions were gone. Among the black scorched earth, only an excessively luxurious and ornate badge remained.
The Warp energy concentration on it was so strong that even the flames of the Sword of Hope could not immediately dispel it. Purple mist swirled around it, so dense that it condensed into droplets on the badge's surface.
The purple liquid droplets sliding down the edges of the badge flowed like poison. This badge emitted a musk that could utterly destroy one's sanity and ultimately lead to madness.
Only the power armor filtration systems of the Astartes and the force field protection equipment Sandiless carried could withstand the invasion of this musk.
Sanguinius wanted to step forward to destroy the badge, but a Lamenter immediately stopped him.
"My lord, let me handle this. That badge may contain dangers unknown to us."
Even through the helmet, Sanguinius could see the concern in the warrior's eyes.
For the Lamenters, they had just witnessed what could only be described as a miracle. The importance of Sandiless in their hearts had skyrocketed like an erupting volcano. They would rather place themselves in danger than allow Sandiless to approach danger, even by a millimeter.
"I'll do it myself. That thing can't harm me."
Sanguinius tried to withdraw his arm from the warrior's restraint, but he had underestimated the determination of the warrior before him.
Despite his slight effort, the warrior still firmly held his arm, as if to say, "If you don't let me go, I won't let you move."
"Let him go. This is a warrior's reasonable pursuit of honor. Even if you don't agree now, he will make the same choice in similar situations in the future."
Malakin's voice reached Sandiless's ears. At this moment, even he had instinctively associated Sanguinius with their Gene-Father.
If not, how else could one explain how this person, who bore such a strong resemblance to their father, could wield a blade that contained such limitless flames?
The differences between Sandiless and their Gene-Father were minimal, limited to subtle differences in facial features and the absence of a pair of pure white wings that their Gene-Father possessed.
In terms of personality, Sanguinius and their Gene-Father were like the same person. Even when facing traitors,Sanguinius's sorrow outweighed his anger; he still had compassion for those traitors, but would also unhesitatingly swing his sword of judgment upon them.
Before entering the Upper Spire, despite knowing it had become a den of heretics, he still prepared to enter, attempting to unite the last remaining loyal forces here.
At this moment, just as in that moment long ago, Sanguinius's actions were remarkably similar to their Gene-Father's past when he calmly marched toward his destined death.
If all these aspects couldn't prove Sanguinius's identity, then the miraculous scene they had just witnessed could thoroughly confirm their suspicions.
All the sons of Sanguinius were deeply entangled by a curse known as the Black Rage. Although the Lamenters were indeed one of the few Blood Angels successor chapters least affected by the Black Rage, this didn't mean they didn't exhibit symptoms of the Black Rage.
He himself had experienced falling into the curse of the Black Rage before, but during Sandiless's holy manifestation, he felt as if there was no longer any trace of the Black Rage in his body and soul. The curse deeply planted in the gene-seed seemed to have been dispelled by some will.
Although the warm light only shone upon their power armor, every Lamenter present could feel that gentle father caressing their heads.
"Are you so confident in letting your warrior approach such a dangerous object?"
"We have always walked the dangerous path for humanity's fate. How can you speak of 'approaching'?"
Malakin's words left Sandiless speechless. After all that had been said, what more could he say?
Must he play the villain this time?
Isn't that a joke?
After a slight sigh, he looked at the Astartes beside him. To be at Malakin's side indicated that this warrior was at least an important figure in the Lamenters Chapter.
"Before you complete your task, please tell me your name."
"Sennae, my lord. My battle-brothers call me Brother Sennae. You may call me Sennae."
Brother Sennae? Where had he heard this name before?
Ah, yes, now he remembered. Old man Valentin had once discussed Death Watch with him, mentioning that his colleague had persuaded an Astartes named Sennae to serve a second term in the Death Watch.
Could it be the one before him?
Though somewhat amused inwardly, Sanguinius's actions showed no negligence. As Sennae walked toward the dangerous-looking badge, he quickly placed the Sword of Hope in the other's hand.
"This holy weapon has the power to dispel Warp influences. It can ensure that you aren't bewitched by the Warp when approaching the badge, and it can also help you more easily destroy that filthy object."
Sennae didn't say much, but nodded firmly. He understood that Sanguinius was concerned for him, and now was not the time for further words.
Who knew how long that badge had been in the Upper Spire? What if, once he approached, a snarling Slaanesh daemon suddenly sprang out from the badge, ready to deliver a standard Warp elbow strike?
He had finally found their "possibly old father" who had been separated from them for tens of thousands of years. He couldn't part ways again so soon after their reunion.
If such an absurd scene were to unfold, even if he returned to the Golden Throne, he would have to cling to the Emperor's leg to ask for another chance to see his old father.
As Sennae approached, the flames from the Sword of Hope began to clash with the purple mist around the badge, like the Emperor and the Chaos God engaging in a war of words. Just as Sennae precisely aimed the Sword of Hope at the badge, a shockwave emanating from the badge sent Sennae flying back.
"My dead brother now appears before my eyes. Could it be that the False Emperor has finally acknowledged his true face? How ironic!"
Almost the moment the voice sounded, Sanguinius immediately caught the Sword of Hope as it flew back and swung forward, unleashing a torrent of flame that intercepted the attack pursuing Sennae.
The poison that could corrupt even the most iron-willed Astartes was intercepted mid-air by the flames. The movement was so swift that even Malakin couldn't clearly see its shadow; only the hateful figure projected from the badge witnessed the entire process.
"Oh, you are not him. He should still be lying in Baal's broken coffin. How pitiful! For the False Emperor's schemes, my dear brother never actively pursued what he truly wanted."
As Malakin helped Sennae up, Sanguinius stood facing the hateful figure. He could feel anger surging within him, but he also keenly sensed that this anger didn't belong to him.
It belonged to another part dwelling within his soul—the memory of the demigod Sanguinius, a memory that existed only ten thousand years ago, of intimate conversations between brothers.
In the images flashing through his mind was only that handsome, elegant, and noble Phoenix of Chemos, the gene-progenitor of the Emperor's Children Legion, the true master of Chemos—Fulgrim.
At that time, Fulgrim was elegant in bearing, handsome in appearance, with eyes as brilliant as the starry sky, constantly waging war for humanity's fate. He could not equate that demigod with the grotesque creature dragging a disgusting serpentine tail before him.
In his sight, this grotesque being reclined on a soft bed at some unknown location in the Warp domains. Around him were several Slaaneshi Daemonettes, serving as handmaidens.
His face remained elegant, yet unbearably sinister. The purple that once symbolized nobility had now become synonymous with depravity and indulgence.
Originally possessing only two arms, he now had four. The legs that once allowed him to stride forward had transformed into twisted, flexible, and utterly repulsive serpentine coils.
"You look so much like him. Tell me, is the False Emperor planning to have another pitiful soul continue his false great work?"
"He has been deceiving us from the beginning. I was once a demigod, a being of unparalleled nobility, someone those mortals could only gaze upon with reverence. Yet the False Emperor demanded that I suppress my pursuit of perfection and fight for those humans."
"You've seen the imperfections of humans, haven't you? With so many noble beings constantly sacrificing themselves, they hide behind these noble ones, indulging, mocking, and enjoying what doesn't belong to them."
"Answer me, how do you feel?"
The Daemon Prince Fulgrim, long ascended to daemonhood, now smiled at Sanguinius. Though only a projection cast by a Warp filth, it emanated a dizzying and mesmerizing allure.
The Lamenters tried to use their bodies to block the space between Sanguinius and the Daemon Prince, but soon found they couldn't move at all, not even lift a finger.
They felt their bodies weighed down like mountains; even attempting the slightest movement felt like it would drain all their strength.
"My lord, do not listen to his lies!"
"Silence!"
Once again, an attack flew towards Sennae, but Sandiless swung his sword, intercepting it with flames.
Fulgrim, who had been flickering his elongated tongue, looked at Sandiless with some surprise. He had thought this fellow wouldn't react in time. Though he resembled his brother, he surely wasn't Sanguinius.
But as his gaze lingered on Sandiless, he could swear that the person he saw was definitely not Sandiless.
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