In his centuries of service, Chaplain Alessandro had done many strange and wondrous things. He had watched as the Tempestus slammed into the heart of the Necron World Engine. During the Second War for Armageddon he had stood in the fire with his battle-brothers. While in the grip of the Red Thirst, he had cracked open an Ork Warboss’ skull with his bare hands.

Yet never in his entire life had the Blood Angel felt as unnerved as he did now, sitting silently in the corner of a xenos railcar, en route for a council of war with the strangest alien he had ever encountered.

The matter of the war did not particularly concern him at that moment. The odds may have been utterly against him, but he knew the Creed; a single loyal Space Marine was worth a hundred of the foul traitors. There would be time for tactics and strategy at the council, where by Terra’s Grace he would know the full extent of the armies at hand.

Similarly, he could not distract himself with maintenance. Since the skirmish, Alessandro had found plenty of time to apply the holy oils and give due to the Omnissiah. His armour and weapons were as ready as he could make them under the circumstances.

Nor did the plight of the surviving crew of the Wrath of Angels at that moment concern him. The matter was in Orlando’s capable hands. One hundred survivors, with another just recently born. Alessandro had prayed for them, and now committed their fate to the Emperor. Orlando and Cosimo would handle their relocation and the transferring of the armoury. As far as Alessandro was concerned, that matter was resolved.
He similarly paid no thought to the fate of The Wrath of Angels. The moment Alessandro had learned of the cruiser’s death, he had mourned, in his own way. Alessandro was a Chaplain, and the commander of this mission. He could not openly weep, even had he been of such a disposition. Rodri had been a good shipmaster, and a worthy scion of Baal. Though he had never asked, for the matter had never been relevant, Alessandro sometimes wondered if Rodri remembered the lectures he had given. The Chaplain recalled fondly the brown-haired youth who never once asked a question, but absorbed his words like a sponge. Rodri’s death pained Alessandro’s heart, but he was beyond mourning. The shipmaster had done his duty to the end. That was more than many could say.

Thus, in this moment of inaction, without war plans to craft or burdens of command to shoulder, he fell to the only recourse remaining. He brooded on his current situation, above all else, the matter of the local xenos population.

Alessandro was disturbed by the sight of an alien which was so… visually pleasant, for lack of a better phrase. The Chaplain had fought everything from Orks to the Tau. He had purged xenos homeworlds, and driven them back from Imperial space. He had met a thousand races on a thousand worlds. They had come in all shapes and sizes, yet they had all shared a common trait: the very sight of them was abhorrent to Alessandro’s eyes. Not so these strange equines.

They were not perversions of the holy human form, as most xenos were. Nor were they descended from snakes, insects, or other species that humanity innately despised. They did not even give off an air of wrongness. Instead, they were, as one of the surviving crew had remarked when he thought no one was listening, ‘adorable’ by objective standards. Aside from Imperial dogma, Alessandro had trouble disagreeing with that assessment.

Then there was the white one, Celestia, he recalled. She concerned him. It was not the powers she possessed; Alessandro had faced witchminds before and knew their tricks. It was her presence.

There was a quality about her, a golden aura. It was a though a star had fallen from the skies to walk among mankind. Whenever she was near, his knees would grow weak. Most times the Chaplain could simply override the response; he was Astartes, and he would not falter in the face of the alien. But when she flared, when light shone from her like the sun and he could see her in her full power and radiance, his very bones screamed for him to kneel, to bow, to submit and obey in awe.

Alessandro was a Space Marine, and as was the nature of such beings, he was without fear. Yet still, these thoughts left him with a cold feeling in his gut. It was why he was brooding silently in the corner of the railcar, instead of chatting with his battle-brothers.

Or rather, it was one reason. The other was, bluntly speaking, that Alessandro was not a terribly sociable man.

He was a Chaplain of the Blood Angels Chapter, a Son of Baal and Sanguinius, a Proud Son of the Emperor. He bore the genetic legacy of The Angel and all that entailed, and did so with pride and fervour. He could inspire weary soldiers to new heights of glory, and by the Grace of the Emperor always knew the exact words to pull a flagging servant of Terra back from the precipice of heresy.

But when the battle was won and the battle-brothers returned to the fortress-monastery, Alessandro became lost. He was an icon of inspiration, a beacon of hope and zeal in the face of insurmountable challenges. But when left without war, without that greatest of prayers to the Emperor, Alessandro had nothing left. He could not joke with friends, could not simply sit back and relax with his battle-brothers. In a Chapter of artists bound by the twin curses of their gene-father, Alessandro stood apart.

The Chaplain looked to the door of the railcar. Beyond it was his hand-picked retinue. Flavio and Durante, both honoured members of the Sanguinary Guard, and Paolo, Alessandro’s oldest friend. Even without the superhuman might of his genhanced senses, Alessandro could hear them. At the moment, Durante was joking about Ork technology, to Paolo’s amusement and Flavio’s affectionate annoyance. Mere moments before, they had been discussing the finer points of regicide tactics. Ever since they had left the xenos town, those three had been having fun.

Fun. It was strange for the Chaplain to consider such a thing. He was a warrior of the Emperor, a Space Marine and a Chaplain. The roar of a boltgun was his prayer, armies his congregation. Alessandro knew that above all else the Emperor was pleased by war in his name. Such menial concepts as ‘fun’ played no role in that life; there was the battle, and the preparation. Yet many of his battle-brothers found ways to relax and enjoy themselves between deployments.

Alessandro was jealous, if he were to be perfectly honest. But it was not a dark, fuming jealousy; he did not lose sleep resenting the joy his battle-brothers found in each other’s company. It was the healthy jealousy of wonder and aspiration, the desire to partake of the same cup as another.

As Paolo’s booming laughter carried through the railcar, Alessandro reflected on that desire. He wondered for a brief moment what it would be like to cross the threshold, to join in their revelry.

Unsure of what to do, he did as he had always, secretly, done when the matter troubled him. He kneeled, his hands resting atop the head of his Crozius Arcanum, and he whispered a prayer to the Emperor of Mankind.

“O Holy Emperor, Master of Terra, heed the voice of your proud son,” he said. “Show me your will. What should I do with these strange desires? If they are perverse, how can I rid myself of them? And if they are good, how do I fulfill them?”

When the last of his words were spoken, silence hung in the railcar.
_______

While Alessandro was brooding, Renato was a couple cars away, lost in the midst of a most amiable conversation.

“And then I looked out the window and it was half day, half night!” Twilight said, her eyes wide with excitement. “It was terrifying! I mean, Celestia and Luna were gone without a trace, and we had nopony to raise the sun and moon. The last time something like that happened was when Nightmare Moon came back, and that had just really been a long night…”

Renato laughed and smiled warmly. Ever since the locomotive had left the station, he and Twilight had been locked in conversation. In the hours since leaving the xenos town, ‘Ponyville,’ as Renato had amusedly learned it was called, their talk had slowly shifted. Initially, Twilight Sparkle had been most inquisitive, unceasing in her questions on every topic that crossed her mind. Unsure of how much information Alessandro wanted the xenos to have but equally unwilling to simply deny this opportunity for learning, Renato had chosen his answers carefully.

“Where are you from?”

“Baal Primus, first moon of Baal, in the Imperium of Man.”

For a time, the answers were simple. However, a moment of reminiscence changed the course of their conversation.

“What are you wearing?”

“Tactical Dreadnought, or ‘Terminator,’ Armour. It is a relic of the Chapter, and this suit has served our Librarius since the days of Chapter Master Castivarus. It has never passed out of our hands,” Renato had answered. He had then pointed to a deep, jagged gash running down the suit’s arm. “This scar is from the Secoris Tragedy, torn by the claw of a Gene-stealer.”

Twilight exploded with questions after that; no longer was she simply fishing for general information, flailing about to try and understand a galaxy of information. Now, she was in her element: researching and analyzing to solve specific problems and create a finite conclusion.

Renato quite enjoyed this turn in the conversation. His heart felt warm as he regaled Twilight with tales of the Blood Angels. To tell the stories again was always a treat; to tell it to one as inexperienced as Twilight was just short of an honour. She hung on his every word as he detailed his adventures, spinning anecdotes from those halcyon days in the Tenth Company to this latest mission in pursuit of the Word Bearers. Renato did detect a distinct disappointment and uneasiness in the xenos pony, however. She seemed to him to be of the same character of the Tech-Priests, her interests more in technology and design, with a mix of Librarian, absolutely fascinated with psykery, and thus annoyed at Renato’s steadfast refusal to give proper explanations of Imperial wargear. She also displayed a naiveté that Renato found difficult to process. Every mention of violence elicited from her a flinch.

To the Space Marine, it was a truly alien reaction; what manner of creature reacted like that? There was no peace among the stars; it was a galaxy of war. Yet on the other hand, a small part of Renato, the part that, beneath all his augmentations and training, was still fundamentally human, was glad to finally meet a creature so safe. Against Alessandro and Paolo’s arguments, Renato had always agreed with the Priest Domenico: their war was not for its own sake, but to create a world of peace and safety.

While Twilight carried on, explaining in exhausting detail her second trip to the Tree of Harmony, Renato was somewhat of two minds, in a manner of speaking. He was a Space Marine, with a brain far beyond anything mortals could achieve. At that moment, he listened to every word Twilight uttered, such that he could recite it verbatim on request. However, that was not all he was doing. While part of his mind was engrossed in the story, another part slipped into the Warp.

It was a rarely-discussed ability of the Librarius known as Warp-Sight. Psykers wielded the power of the Immaterium, and were sensitive to its flows. Even the weakest of psykers could sense, if only just, disturbances in the Warp. With enough power and training, it was possible to tune one’s eyes to see beyond the material world and into its immaterial reflection.

This ability had made this whole tentative alliance possible. From the moment he and Paolo had arrived in the burning ruins of Ponyville, Renato had sensed something strange in the Warp. During the brief peace after the battle, he had on a whim opened his eyes to the Warp, and had made his impossible discovery.

It was that same discovery that he now marvelled at. To those of mortal sight, Twilight was simply, if such a term could be applied given what Renato now knew of alicorns, a lavender equine with a horn and wings that flared with her speech in a manner eerily similar to human hand gestures. To Warp-Sight, she was something far more impressive.

Before Renato’s psychic eyes was a shard of a star. Twilight’s presence in the Warp, her soul, to be poetic, flickered between shades of excited green and nervous yellow, with shades of indescribable colours only found in the Warp sometimes flashing through her. Her wings were even more magnificent in this view, as white as virgin snow on a Fenrisian plain. Yet what most amazed Renato was the strangest feature. On Twilight’s flank, where in the material world her tattoo, cutie mark, sat, was emblazoned an Imperial Aquila.

It was an impossible thing. They were two years beyond the further edge of the Emperor’s light. The Astronomicon was so far away that the Wrath of Angels had been forced to navigate by the echoes of the foul traitors. Yet here it was, absolute proof of a connection between these xenos and the Emperor.

Renato just had to know why.

The physical realm faded back into view as Twilight finished her story.

“And then Discord helped us clean up the vines,” the lavender mare said. She took a deep breath, the long story having slightly winded her. “Any questions?”

“I must say, you tell a good story,” Renato replied. “Not as colourful as some of my battle-brothers, but I quite like your attention to detail. With that said, I still cannot understand how you and your friends can tolerate the existence of a daemon. They corrupt and destroy all they touch, and cannot be trusted, and yet the edict of no less than your highest Princess, you have tried to befriend him. Why?”

“He’s not that bad once you get to know him, honest!” Twilight said. “He’s just… a bit unpredictable. And I have no idea why he treated you all so poorly at my castle. He isn’t normally like that. I mean, he’s not exactly nice, but…”

“Be wary, Twilight,” Renato said. “I have seen the handiwork of daemons. The Warp is dangerous and should never be trusted.”

“I still don’t get your fear of magic,” Twilight said. She ruffled her wings. “I mean, ponies can abuse it and dark magic’s always a bad idea, but I’ve never seen a unicorn suffer anything like what you’ve told me about.”

Renato chuckled. “Allow me to answer with two facts and an anecdote. Firstly, your planet sits in what could be called a ‘Stillpoint’ in the Warp. Across the galaxy, the Warp is a place of Chaos and madness. Here, some force is keeping it stable. Secondly, your kind have a surprisingly weak Warp presence, maybe just a few steps above the Tau. The perils of the Warp may well not apply to you even if you access what little psykery you have available.”

With those facts established, Renato launched into another story, this one covering the relatively recent Raid on Hal-Bujad. It had been a grueling battle, fought in the heat of two blazing suns and amidst a terrible sandstorm. It had lasted for four hours without any proper conclusion, until Renato and his Kill Team had cornered the sorcerer Iphotek in the ruins of an abandoned xenos city. Renato and Iphotek had dueled, as they did every time they encountered each other. That day, Renato held the advantage; Iphotek had been harried by Alessandro and Orlando’s Kill Teams for hours, while Renato was still fresh. Renato was too eager, however, and poured too much power into one of his attacks. It overloaded and nearly killed him, giving Iphotek a chance to act. The Chaos Sorcerer had turned to the most despicable practice of Chaos, sacrificing a group of his cultists to summon a daemon. With that horned monster on his side, Iphotek forced Renato to retreat. Rescue was a near thing, with the Stormraven arriving just a minute before Iphotek overran their position.

Renato sighed, a sad look in his eyes. “We abandoned Brother Donatello that day. He was always just the wrong mix of proud and heroic, always just a bit too willing to sacrifice himself. And of all days! He had been given the heavy weapons duty and had a heavy bolter. A Stormraven can carry twelve Marines in regular Power Armour, but isn’t rated for Terminator gear. In a crisis it was theoretically possible, but there wasn’t enough room for everyone. So Donatello planted himself near the entrance and told me to take his place. He said a Codicier was more important than a simple Tactical Marine. So I did. And I watched as best I could as he made his final stand. I saw him fire into the daemon and its cultist cohort, and then the bay doors closed. We never saw him again.”

Twilight sat, stunned to silence for a moment. “You just abandoned him? Why didn’t you stay and help? He was your friend, he needed you!”

“Life is the Emperor’s currency. Spend it well,” Renato quoted. “The Imperium is at war, Twilight, a massive war, beyond anything you could imagine. I left him because his logic was sound. My powers are far rarer, far more important to the Imperium, than his skills. There were eight of us that day, and we needed an extra slot to take the weight of my armour. If I could live that day again, I would try to change the path that took us there, but in that moment, there was no other option. Besides, as Alessandro would say, he is with the Emperor and Sanguinius now. I can think of worse fates.”

“It’s still not right!” Twilight asserted, her expression pained at the casual nature of Renato’s explanation. “When my friends are in trouble, we find a solution to save everypony. There’s always another way, Renato. You just have to think in a different way. The second time I ran into Starlight Glimmer, she kept beating me and changing the past. We were matched in magical power, and she had the tactical advantage. So I changed the rules and showed her the consequences of her actions. And it worked! All it took was approaching the problem differently.”

Renato simply nodded, a sad look in his eye. “I know. Terra help me, I know. But you can’t always save everyone. Even the best general suffers casualties. It is the nature of war.”

“Then I’m very glad Equestria hasn’t had a war in a thousand years,” Twilight huffed. Renato laughed humourlessly.

“I know many who would disagree. I am not among them,” the Codicier said. “But the galaxy is what it is, and it isn’t nice. We make the best of what we have, leave the rest to Emperor, and pray that we can honour Sanguinius with our deeds.”

“Who is this ‘San Guinness’ you all keep mentioning?” Twilight asked, glad for an avenue to a different topic. “He seems to be really important. Is he one of your gods?”

Renato gave a good-natured laugh. “It’s pronounced Sanguinius. He is our holy gene-father, the Primarch of the Ninth Legion. He more than any of his brothers was the Emperor’s Angel.”

Twilight could feel Renato’s pride rolling off him. It was a pure pride, the kind that a son has for his beloved father.

“I cannot tell the tale as well as the Sanguinary Priests. Even Dabriel would give a better rendition, old war hound that he is,” Renato admitted. He smiled. “But I will do my best.”

Renato leaned back. The wires of his psychic hood hummed and his eyes glowed as he caressed the edge of the Warp, wielding his psychic powers to fashion crude images of his tale. Between his hands hovered a massive grey orb, covered in pockmarks and jutting spires.

“The story of the Great Angel begins ten thousand years ago, in the depths of Luna,” Renato began.

“What!?” Twilight interrupted, her eyes wide with shock. “That’s not… I mean, you can’t just make jokes about a Princess like that!”

The Blood Angel Librarian stared at Twilight for a moment, confused. A moment later realization dawned in his eyes, and he laughed.

“Sorry, I had forgotten,” he said, good humour still overflowing in his voice. “It fascinates me to no end the commonalities of our languages. When this invasion is resolved, I may just have to do some deeper research on the subject. But, no, I’m not talking about the Princess. The ‘Luna’ I speak of is the moon of Holy Terra.”

“Oh,” Twilight said, blushing. Nervous, she started rambling. “Sorry, I just heard the name and assumed, but I should have remembered that Equestrian is really similar to Gothic, and that you wouldn’t make a joke like that, and…”

“Hush, Twilight, don’t worry about it,” Renato said with a smile. “Respect for your superiors is a favourable trait.”

Twilight flinched and shot Renato a look that while not particularly nasty was equally not nice. “Hey! I’m a Princess too. We’re all equals.”

“Again, apologies,” Renato said with a bow of his head. “I did not mean to belittle your position.”

“Well, okay,” Twilight replied. She shook her wings and pawed the floor. “How about we get back to the story?”

“Very well. Now, where was I?” Renato summoned the grey orb again. “Ah, yes. Deep in the depths of Lu- er, Terra’s Moon, the Emperor of Mankind laboured. The Sol System had fallen under his domain, and now he turned his eyes to the lost colonies of Man. During the Dark Age of Technology, mankind had spread far amongst the stars, and the Emperor would need generals just as far beyond humanity as Cadia is from Terra. Thus the Primarch Project was born. Twenty mighty warriors, each bearing an aspect of their father, gene-forged for conquest and command.”

The grey orb, Terra’s Moon, Twilight realized, flickered and morphed turning into twenty creatures similar to the Blood Angels, humans. They were an eclectic lot, far more varied than any of the hoofful of humans Twilight had met so far, each possessed of some grand theme by which they were defined and of which they were the paragon. She saw there the Artist, adorned in royal purple and imperial gold. She saw the Wizard, tall and crimson, ancient knowledge in his eyes and arcane power circling about him. She saw the Twin, his armour teal one moment, black the next. There was the Tactician, a leather-bound book in one hand and a short sword in the other. These and more she saw; the smiling Blacksmith, the zealous Preacher, the grim Executioner. But two stood at the forefront of these mighty kindred: the Angel and the Prince.

Twilight had no other word to describe what she saw. The Angel was beautiful in countenance, alien though it was to Twilight’s eyes. Two massive white wings sprouted from his back, their appearance distinctly reminding the young alicorn of her mentor, Celestia. There was an aura about him, a sense of righteous purpose, calm self-assurance, and unbridled paternal love. Beside him stood an even greater being, a creature whose own aura would accept no less title than Prince. His jaw as hard and edged as rock, and his eyes all but glowed with pride and power.
“Of these sons, two were foremost. Horus, the Emperor’s Favoured Son in those days, and Great Sanguinius,” Renato explained.
The Prince faded away, replaced by the image of a crimson sand-swept world. The story carried on there, as Renato related how Sanguinius slew a massive Fire Scorpion and then led his adoptive people to victory over the disgustingly twisted mutant hordes. Twilight watched as Renato told of the Emperor’s arrival and the reuniting of Sanguinius and his gene-sons. The lavender alicorn saw Sanguinius sweep across the galaxy, conquering worlds in his father’s name.

The story both captivated and disturbed her. She saw the heroism of the Angel, his unbreakable loyalty and indomitable spirit, and she was awed. Then she saw the violence and fury of the Blood, and was sickened. She saw a loving father and his sons, and felt her heart warm. Then she saw a bloodthirsty warlord, and grew cold. She saw before her a paragon of the paradox she had found in Renato’s tales of the Imperium; heroism and murder glorified alongside each other.

“As he campaigned across the stars, Sanguinius met his own brothers, his fellow sons of the Emperor. Of them there was none whose friendship he valued more than Horus,” Renato said as the Prince materialized again. “They were the closest of any of the Primarchs, their bond only surpassed by that of Horus to the Emperor himself. But it was a doomed bond.”

“Why?” Twilight spoke for the first time since Renato’s story had begun.

The Blood Angel grimaced. “In the last days of the Emperor’s Great Crusade, everything changed.”

The Prince, Horus, changed before Twilight’s eyes. His regal face twisted into a visage of hate. His gleaming eyes turned red. His white armour stained black. The image raised its left arm, hefting a massive mace into the air.

“Horus grew proud and turned his face from the Emperor. He was corrupted by Chaos, and fell in heresy, taking with him eight other Space Marine Legions. With his unholy host assembled, he uttered those accursed, hated words,” Renato shivered as he spoke. “Let the Galaxy Burn.”

The image flickered and warped. Twilight’s eyes widened as she watched the horror unfold. She saw brothers murder each other. She saw planets turned to wastelands. Flames and death spread across the stars like a plague, and at the head of it all was Horus.

“It was a decade of unprecedented horror and destruction. Horus took half of the Imperium’s army with him, and led them in a relentless march on Terra. With the Loyalist forces scattered by Horus’ schemes, it was an easy task. After ten years of civil war, Horus reached Holy Terra. With him were six of the traitor Primarchs and forces from all nine of the Traitor Legions. Against him stood the last, greatest defenders of the Imperium.”

A myriad of warriors appeared before Twilight. Space Marines in white, red, and yellow. Smaller beings, normal humans like those Twilight the refugees Twilight had seen just before the train left, in flimsy armour. Tall golden warriors wielding bladed spears. And above them all, three of the mighty beings Renato had begun the story with, Primarchs.

“What is going on in here?” a calm and warm if somewhat concerned voice intruded. Twilight and Renato turned to see Celestia walking into the car.

“I started asking Renato some questions about his people, but he really wasn’t telling me much and then he told me a really interesting story about his armour, and then we started sharing stories,” Twilight said with a grin as she bounded over to the Solar Alicorn. “Which was really interesting because he knows all these really exciting stories, just like something out of a Daring Do book. But it was also really scary, because they’re all so violent and their home is at war and it’s just so horrible out there! And…”

Celestia placed a calming hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. The lavender alicorn fell silent and steadied her breath. Celestia smiled maternally at her former student.

“You can tell me all about it later, Twilight,” she said. She looked over to Renato, who watched the alicorns with unblinking eyes and a hand on the pommel of his sword. Celestia chuckled. “You need not be afraid, Codicier Renato. I was simply wondering how Twilight was doing. I did not mean to interrupt your story.”

Renato returned the chuckle. “I am Astartes, Princess. We know no fear. Though I would like to finish, if you don’t mind. This is not a tale that can be left hanging.”

The Solar Alicorn nodded. “Very well. Though I do wonder, may I sit in as well? Any story that has my dear Twilight so enthused must be worth listening to.”

Renato nodded. Twilight scurried back to her seat. Celestia followed with a more regal gait. With two xenos princesses seated before him, Renato resumed his tale.

“As I was saying, it was the final battle of the Horus Heresy. Eight Traitor Legions hung above Holy Terra, their numbers bolstered by uncountable hordes of treasonous Army and Mechanicus forces. The Emperor even then sat immobile on the Golden Throne, trapped there by the treachery of the sorcerer-Primarch Magnus the Red. Thus the defense of the Imperial Palace fell to the only loyal Primarchs on Terra.”
An orderly company of yellow-armoured Space Marines appeared before the alicorns’ eyes. At their head stood a massive figure with a face carved from stone.

“Resolute Rogal Dorn and his unshakeable Imperial Fists.”

The company became a band of white-armoured Space Marines mounted on strange vehicles that somewhat reminded Twilight of Scootaloo’s scooter, though far more advanced. Riding in their midst was a wild warrior, his sword pointed ahead like a lance.

“Cunning Jaghatai Khan and his swift White Scars.”

Then the image changed again, morphing into the familiar image of the crimson-clad Blood Angels. They stood assembled like a host out of myth, with tall, ornate banners hanging above their battle-ready ranks. Foremost among them was the Angel, Sanguinius, arrayed in gold and bearing a crimson-bladed sword. Celestia stifled a gasp.

“And noble Sanguinius, Lord of the mighty Blood Angels.”

Then the Space Marines became mixed together, forming a three-coloured rainbow of yellow, white and red. Above them the very stars shook and burst into flame.

“For thirty days the Traitors laid siege to Terra, slowly breaking through its orbital defenses. The Imperial Navy was scattered, Luna’s defenses were smashed, and at last, Terra’s own orbital line was cracked open.”

Celestia opened her mouth, only to be pre-empted by Twilight.

“He doesn’t mean Luna, er, your sister,” the lavender alicorn whispered. “That’s just what they call the moon of Terra.”
Celestia nodded and leaned back, allowing the story to continue.

“Then the Traitors descended, carried by thousands of drop pods. In an endless wave, they seized the spaceports of Terra, allowing the Traitor Primarchs themselves to enter the fray. It was madness, an anarchy that lasted for weeks,” Renato paused for a moment. “The Battle of Terra is a tale too large for one telling, and I will not attempt it. Suffice to say that no battle before nor since has ever equaled it. But I am telling of Sanguinius, and so it is to Eternity Gate that we must fly.”

Celestia was stunned still by the next image. A massive gate, large enough to make even Mount Unicornia pale before it, rested before her eyes. Golden and ornate, it was a masterpiece among masterpieces. No mere mortal hands could have crafted such a thing. In her millennia of life, Celestia had never seen anything like it. Save for in my dreams…

“It was there that the final stand of Terra was made. With Rogal Dorn and Jaghatai Khan fighting elsewhere, command of the Gate fell to the Emperor’s Angel and his sons. Sanguinius led the defense, smiting the traitor hordes with his holy wrath. Thousands died by his hand and by those of his sons. The Angel faced the very worst Chaos could throw at him. The Bloodthirster Ka’Bandha, the Angel’s old nemesis, tore onto the field, seeking revenge.”

A creature similar to the form Discord had taken at the negotiations appeared, though this one lacked the massive leathery wings. It carried a cruel sword in one hand and an eight-pronged whip in the other. Sanguinius dove from the skies, striking the monster with the force of a thunderbolt.

“The daemon was no match for the Angel, and received just punishment for its hubris.”

Celestia and Twilight flinched as the image of Sanguinius hefted the monster into the air and snapped it over his knee.

“Then came the very end of it all, the battle, the Heresy, and our tale.”
Renato grew sad in tone and appearance. Twilight was caught somewhere between eager anticipation and nervous anxiety. Celestia held her breath, fearing what was to come.

“The Emperor’s sight was clouded in those dark times, and he did not know that three more loyalist Legions, the Ultramarines, Space Wolves, and Dark Angels, were coming. If even one of them could arrive, the battle would turn in favour of the Imperium. If all three made the journey, then the Heresy would be annihilated. Horus, through the whispers of his dark masters, knew this, and so made one last gambit. He lowered the shields on his flagship, the Vengeful Spirit, as an invitation to the father he had scorned, offering him a final duel to decide the fate of humanity.”
The three loyalist Primarchs stood together, weary but unbroken. Celestia froze as the fourth figure appeared, a massive man clad in golden armour, fire swirling about his head.

“The Emperor rose from the Golden Throne and led his sons to the final battle. They teleported onto the Vengeful Spirit, accompanied by as many of their gene-sons as they could muster. However, the hand of Chaos was against them, and they were scattered. Sanguinius was the first to reach their goal.”

The image of Sanguinius trudged through a corridor of horrors. His wings recoiled in pain as they brushed along the oozing walls. He roared silently as he cut down the twisted villains Celestia recognized as Chaos Marines. Then he came to a massive chamber, and…

Before the white-coated filly stood a giant, and she was afraid.

The Monster, clad in black and gold and bearing that horrible, hated mace, stood before her. Celestia was frozen with fear, unable to move as Renato spun his tale to its bitter end.

“Horus, utterly consumed by the taint of Chaos, tempted our gene-father to join in his corruption. Sanguinius refused.”

Tears formed in Celestia’s eyes as she watched her nightmares play out before her; two war-gods dueling to the death, a devoted Angel against a corrupted Monster. For a moment, Celestia gave no heed to Renato’s words, consumed as she was by the dream before her.

Then it came, as it had so many times before.

“But in the end, Horus’ foul strength proved too much, and the Angel fell. He died beneath the weight of Worldbreaker, Horus’ accursed mace. He died, and across Terra, his sons screamed,” Renato said, his voice subdued and his countenance despondent. Then he gave a small, sad smile. “But his sacrifice was not in vain. In their final duel, Sanguinius made a small crack in Horus’ impregnable armour, which allowed the Emperor to strike down his fallen son and save the Imperium.”

Renato had no words for what he next showed, for none were needed. The body of the Angel, broken and bloody, was carried by a cohort of his sons. Nine of them there were, eight in crimson clad and one in golden armour and unmoving white wings. They traveled deep beneath the red sands of Baal, into a dark chamber. He was laid into a massive circular device, a golden sarcophagus from which glowed with the light of the fallen star it bore.

Twilight cried, leaning on Celestia for support. The Solar Alicorn was stock still, only able to stare, tears streaming from her eyes, at Renato. The Blood Angel sighed sadly and spoke one last time.

“Thus ends the tale of Sanguinius, the Emperor’s Angel.”

An hour remained until they arrived in Canterlot. While the veterans continued to play their games and the Element Bearers chatted just a car away to pass the time, these three simply sat. Not a word was spoken, for there were none to say. For Twilight, it was a tragic tale. For Renato, it was the loss of the father he had never known.

For Celestia, it was first step on her path to the truth.

Author's Notes:

I yet live! Sorry for the delay, Skyrim, work, and X-Men: Apocalypse conspired against me. I’ll try and get back on a two-day schedule this week.

By the way, does anyone have a rough idea of how fast Equestrian trains are?

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don’t worry we’ll get back to action and intrigue soon.

And a huge shout-out to my six followers! Thank you all for the support! I really appreciate it.

EDIT: The sentence about Wrath of Angels survivors has been brought in line with Domenico's thought process in The Basement.