"And who is this?"
The Primarch's gaze shifted from Abaddon, falling downwards, noticing the other kneeling warrior.
His face was very pale, his features gaunt, with short golden hair and rare grey-black eyes. His nose was high-bridged, and there were scattered freckles on the cheeks on either side of his nose.
Sanguinius quickly searched his memories; this warrior was not among the "Four Kings Council" of the Luna Wolves.
The Four Kings Council was a court established by Horus Lupercal, composed of four members he deeply trusted. In this council, the Space Marines had no rank; they treated each other as equals, together assisting their Gene-Father.
The council members wielded immense power, not only directly offering advice to the Primarch but also daring to remonstrate, pointing out the Primarch's errors and shortcomings. This was a matter of honor, duty, and candor.
Great as Horus was, with countless halos surrounding him, the Warrior King remained humble, not arbitrarily dictating, willing to listen to the opinions of his Gene-sons.
The Four Kings Council reflected the Primarch's exceptional wisdom; even bathed in glory, the Primarch remained humble.
"Gavriel Loken," Abaddon stated his brother's name, his sharp gaze softening, his words conveying pride and recognition: "From the Legion's Tenth Company, he is a model for many brothers."
Loken remained silent, bowing his head even lower, expressing the utmost respect for the Primarch.
"I see," Sanguinius nodded gently, his golden hair swaying, and after understanding, he murmured, "Rise."
The holographic image flickered, and the two Space Marines slowly stood, once again looking directly at the Primarch's face, marveling at his magnificent beauty.
Among the returned Primarchs, Fulgrim, the Phoenix of the Purple Court, was the most flamboyant, his overflowing charm instantly invading the senses, making mortals unable to pull away after just one glance. However, the beauty of the Primarch before them carried an inhuman quality. It was as if he was not made of flesh and blood, but sculpted from light and marble. As he sat on the throne, an invisible halo seemed to envelop him, accentuating his flawless perfection.
"When will my brother be free?" Sanguinius slowly spoke, his clear voice like the strings of heaven, playing a beautiful and gentle melody that soothed the heart and healed wounds.
Abaddon and Loken almost knelt again, straightening their bodies to avoid losing their composure.
"You may have to wait some time," Loken, the Tenth Company Captain, spoke, his voice slightly dry, like split wood: "The Gene-Father is not being rude; he is beneath the ice cap of a frozen world, negotiating with his Human compatriots."
Hearing the reply, Sanguinius's eyes lifted slightly, and he slowly rose from the throne. In the holographic image, the pupils of the two men gradually widened, their eyes trembling with shock, disbelieving the scene they witnessed.
They had initially thought the vivid pure white wings beside the throne were some kind of decoration, never imagining that the Primarch possessed a pair of wings capable of flight.
Though struck dumb with awe, the two men shifted their gaze in shock. Undoubtedly, the Primarch's current appearance, like an angel from myth and legend, delivered a harsh elbow blow to the imperial truth.
Physical mutation, religious symbolism, inspiring worship. But they dared not reveal their inner doubts, for the Emperor had acknowledged the angel.
"Take me there," Sanguinius naturally sensed the complex gazes; he paid them no mind, indicating that he would board the Vengeful Spirit.
"That would be improper!" Abaddon was about to respond, but Loken interjected: "My Lord, you are the Gene-Father's blood brother; how dare we overstep?"
From the initial annoyance of being interrupted, to hearing his brother's explanation, Abaddon's spine chilled and cold sweat poured down him. If not for Loken's timely reminder, he would have committed an act of transgression.
No matter the identity of an Astartes, even if supremely favored by the Gene-Father, their status could not be equal to another Primarch. Gene-sons were endless, but blood brothers numbered only twenty!
The original plan was for Horus to personally welcome his brother's arrival, but negotiations had delayed him.
In such an unexpected situation, usually, the two Primarchs would wait for each other, and a welcome ceremony would be held once both were ready.
"It's fine," Sanguinius's simple two words calmed the terrified Abaddon, and he said to Loken: "I am somewhat eager to visit my brother's glorious battleship."
The Primarch's words were a command; even if he was not their Gene-Father, the Space Marines could not refuse.
"Very well, we await your arrival," Loken's gaunt face was serious as he obeyed the Primarch's command.
The Primarch's insistence at least gave them an explanation; they would not be punished by the Gene-Father for an unequal ceremony.
Sanguinius returned a smile, and as the Primarch walked out of the bridge, the holographic image also shut down.
"You will receive the Primarch later," After the communication ended, Abaddon let out a long breath; even a virtual projection of the Primarch's oppressive aura, in every gesture, left the extraordinary warriors breathless.
Loken silently nodded, accepting the task, and strode towards the elevator, heading to the flight deck to welcome the Primarch's arrival. His gaze swept across Abaddon's face, a look of contemplation flashing in his eyes.
In combat, the First Company Captain was exceptionally keen, with high strategic vision and wisdom, but somewhat slow in matters of human relations and politics.
The most suitable person for this job should have been Sevatar, that brother possessed considerable political talent and could cater to the Primarch from an appropriate angle.
However, precisely because of this talent, he had followed the Warrior King down to the surface, acting as the Legion's representative to negotiate the integration of the lost world.
Perhaps it wasn't slowness, but a subconscious lack of reverence. In Abaddon's heart, his respect for his Gene-Father Horus even surpassed that for the Emperor. Towards other Primarchs, he displayed outward reverence, but deep down, he held no true respect. This distorted arrogance stemmed directly from Horus.
Out of Abaddon's sight, Loken subtly shook his head, sighing inwardly, feeling somewhat at a loss.
As the Great Crusade progressed, the Legion accumulated more and more honors, and under the Gene-Father's influence, the brothers grew increasingly arrogant. The ambition inherited from the gene seed was changing the Legion.
Under the Warrior King's intervention, the Legion lost its Nineteenth Legion as "Grey Claws." What was thought to be the beginning of glory instead caused Loken to worry.
The Legion found new "Grey Claws"—the Mortal Auxiliary Army. Compared to the Legion's cousins, the new Grey Claws were cheaper, more obedient, and caused less guilt to use.
Loken walked side-by-side with Abaddon, a complex bitterness welling up inside him. Why did the Gene-Father use Grey Claws?
The answer was obvious: he cherished his Gene-sons, and to protect their lives, he unhesitatingly used the lives of others.
What saddened Loken most was that the ultimate beneficiaries of the Grey Claws tactic were not just his Legion brothers, but also included himself! No matter what, this was an undeniable fact!
He had long realized this problem, and he clearly knew that as someone in the Tenth Company, his voice carried little weight.
Therefore, he had to become a benchmark, a role model, to enter the Four Kings Council and advise the Gene-Father and his brothers, reminding them not to forget why they embarked on the Great Crusade!
How spirited was the Legion when it stood proudly before the Emperor? They had sworn an oath to the Emperor to save humanity, embarking on the journey to banish the Old Night! Not to arbitrarily use the lives of others for the sake of sacrifice!
"Brother, what's wrong?" Abaddon saw Loken lost in thought, even somewhat distracted, and quickly asked.
The Primarch was about to arrive; at such a critical moment, nothing could go wrong.
"Nothing," Loken snapped back to attention, quickly reorganizing his thoughts and focusing on the present.
On the flight deck, the Cataphractii Terminator warriors stood solemnly, their armor reflecting a faint glow, holding high their banners, standing on either side of the red carpet to welcome the Primarch.
Fortunately, the honor guard had been prepared before the Gene-Father's departure, so there was no hasty loss of etiquette.
Loken straightened up, stepping onto the carpet, redder than blood, and strode forward to greet the Primarch. Due to the inequality of their statuses, he dared not wait at the end of the red carpet; seeing the shuttle arrive, he quickly went to meet it.
As the engines slowly shut down, Loken and Abaddon knelt on one knee, respectfully welcoming the Primarch's descent upon the Vengeful Spirit.
Hiss~
The airtight door depressurized and opened, and a tall figure, clad in a robe, slowly walked out of the cabin. The light inside the cabin was behind him, casting a long, winged shadow.
Clatter~
The Cataphractii also knelt on one knee, their heavy knees thudding to the ground, heads bowed, as solemn as ancient knights.
Loken's eyes narrowed slightly in the dazzling light, his grey pupils dilating; he eagerly awaited the angel's arrival.
Could this Primarch, who was tasked with learning, bring some changes to the Gene-Father and the Legion while learning Legion combat tactics? After all, he was too dazzling; under his radiance, no impurity could hide.