The cold void.
The chill on the battleship's deck intensified. In the dead silence, the faces of father and son were clearly reflected in each other's eyes.
There was no warmth of an imagined "father and son reunion"; instead, it was even colder. The steel deck seemed to be covered in frost, emitting a bone-chilling air.
The Ninth Legion showed no joy. They halted their steps, and before their neat ranks, there seemed to be an unbridgeable chasm, separating the two sides.
Most of the Legion Warriors were pale, their handsome faces gaunt. Sanguinius's scions exuded an aloofness that kept everyone at a distance.
Even facing their Gene-Father, the battle-scarred warriors remained cold-eyed.
Throughout their long campaign, The Ninth Legion had endured countless cold stares, and the souls of its warriors had long been chilled by criticism.
The Ninth Legion's implanted organ, the "gene-detection nerve" used to consume flesh and acquire memories, was extremely developed, leading to a pathological craving for blood among the Legion Warriors.
On blood-soaked battlefields, many Legion Warriors would be unable to suppress their craving for blood, drinking the enemy's blood and devouring their flesh.
It wasn't just enemies; in severe cases, in the eyes of The Ninth Legion, there was no distinction between enemy or friendly forces—all were just refreshing blood beverages.
As eyewitness reports increased, The Ninth Legion, with its corpse-eating and blood-drinking habits, gradually became an object of fear and disgust for allied forces.
Imperial armies were unwilling to fight alongside the Legion; they were "ghouls" who committed unforgivable desecrations upon the bodies of their allies.
The Mortal Auxiliary Army was in a constant state of fear, keeping their distance from The Ninth Legion, afraid of becoming the next victims.
All these factors combined made it difficult for the Son of the Emperor to advance in battle.
The Ninth Legion itself excelled at assault, charging into enemy lines, disrupting their formations, and destroying command systems to help the main forces create breaches.
However, due to the deliberate distancing of friendly forces, often after they had created a breach, the reinforcements would be late, or in extreme cases, might not arrive at all.
Amidst heavy encirclement, battle-brothers fell continuously, and the combined effects of emotion and physiology ravaged The Ninth Legion's sanity.
To alleviate their bloodlust, Legion Warriors drank the blood of their fallen brothers, maintaining their sanity on the brink of collapse.
Their blood-crazed appearance terrified witnesses and solidified their infamous reputation as "ghouls."
As the Great Crusade progressed, The Ninth Legion became notorious. The Legion's high command could not suppress the increasingly severe bloodlust, which even evolved into Legion culture.
When a Legion brother died, they would forever remember their blood brother by draining his blood and consuming his flesh.
And the Legion's situation became increasingly difficult.
The Ninth Legion was sent to the most dangerous battlefields, serving as death's vanguard, struggling in a quagmire of blood and death, fighting one brutal campaign after another.
They threw themselves into cruel battles, but their achievements were negated by their atrocities.
In repeated instances of isolation, the Legion Warriors despaired, unsure of the Legion's future fate.
News of their cannibalism spread like wildfire, followed by the disgust of mortals who kept their distance, and the questioning gazes of their cousin Legions.
In their desolate hearts, the warriors refused to admit they were "ghouls." They felt the Legion was more like a ghost, wandering the most intense battlefields, feared and loathed by everyone.
However, The Ninth Legion persevered. The warriors knew that the only one who could save the Legion was their Gene-Father.
The return of the Primarch brought visible changes to the Legion, perhaps enough to transform it.
But then, The Ninth Legion suffered another heavy blow.
Rogal Dorn, Lord of the Seventh Legion, witnessed The Ninth Legion's atrocities during a joint operation.
The Primarch scorned The Ninth Legion, believing the Legion had abandoned honor and humanity, denouncing it as having fallen into slavery to blood, unworthy of being his brother's scions!
The Primarch's scorn and disdain were undoubtedly a crushing blow, shattering the faint hope the Legion had harbored into dust.
The deepest despair was not notoriety or being in a meat grinder of a battlefield, but the annihilation of hope in one's heart.
The contempt of the Son of the Emperor pierced their hearts like a cruel blade.
The Ninth Legion, like lost souls, plunged into intense battle, using a nearly self-destructive method of warfare to bring an end to their tragic fate.
They could no longer bear it; death was a release—
Just as all hope was lost, a Warp astropathic message arrived: the Primarch had been found by the Emperor.
The Ninth Legion abandoned its combat mission and proceeded to rendezvous with the Primarch.
The news of the Primarch's return did not send the Legion Warriors into raptures; they calmly accepted the mission and advanced towards the rallying point.
When The Ninth Legion Warriors stepped out of the dropship, they saw their Gene-Father clearly.
He was so perfect, his face as beautiful as the bright moon, his wings pure and unstained, like an angelic sculpture from a mythical temple come to life, walking among mortals.
Awestruck by the Gene-Father's flawlessness, the Legion Warriors' hearts were like stagnant water, their eyes interwoven with scrutiny, confusion, resistance, and aloofness, with fear and contempt hidden deeper within.
The Legion Warriors had never felt such complex emotions, even on the blood-soaked battlefield.
They scrutinized their perfectly flawless Gene-Father, unsure what his return would bring to the Legion, and felt confused about the future.
And because of their own imperfections, they resisted the Primarch's perfection, a deep-seated inferiority emerging from their souls, wanting to distance themselves from the Primarch, not to let him be tainted by their bloody stench.
But besides scrutiny and confusion, resistance and aloofness, the Legion Warriors also feared and disdained the Primarch.
The battle-hardened warriors feared that the Primarch would not accept them, and if so, they would have sufficient reason to disdain their Gene-Father.
Though they were controversial, feared by mortals, and alienated by their cousin Legions, one undeniable fact remained: The Ninth Legion was second to none!
Deep in their hearts, the Legion Warriors held profound pride. In the same most dangerous battlefields, only The Ninth Legion persevered time and again, achieving victories unattainable by other Legions.
Bloodlust, cannibalism, madness—all the despicable factors were merely the path the Legion had stumbled along.
It was the clash of war and humanity that shaped them into what they were now.
If the Primarch scorned the Legion because of these things, then the Legion could likewise scorn the Primarch with its past.
Inside the steel dropship, complex emotional shifts spread, silent pain and sorrow intertwined.
Sanguinius keenly perceived this invisible change, glimpsing the turmoil within his scions from their deadened eyes.
"The Ninth Legion will surprise you; their souls are deeply scarred."
The warning from his brother was no longer ethereal; it became a heavy hammer, striking the great angel's sincere heart.
Facing his Gene-sons, Sanguinius felt profound sorrow. His eyes were filled with grief and self-reproach, his gaze sweeping over each of his scions' faces.
He remembered the faces of his scions; beneath those pale countenances were resilient, suffering souls, their inner wounds and fears more numerous than the scars on their power armor.
Sanguinius understood; he had to take responsibility!
Warp light flashed in the void as The Ninth Legion arrived in waves, coming to reunite with their Gene-Father.
A Luna Wolves shuttle appeared, entering the belly of a Gloriana-class Battleship, docking in an out-of-the-way corner.
Two familiar figures emerged: Sejanus and Gavriel Loken of The Council of Four Kings, leading a group of officers.
As the two approached, they immediately sensed that the atmosphere was very wrong; there was no joy or excitement of reunion, only a deathly silence gripping everyone's throats.
Sejanus felt his scalp tingle, but out of his duty and mission, he swallowed hard, his throat tight, and broke the heavy silence: "By order of the Primarch, Hastur Sejanus, accompanied by Garviel Loken and our brothers, has come to assist you in receiving the Legion."
His voice echoed through the steel, dispelling much of the rigid silence.
"Thank you both. Please guide my scions forward." Sanguinius softened his voice, not wishing to dismiss his brother's good intentions, and immediately put Horus's sons to work.
The Wolf Shepherd's envoy let out a long breath, pulling his Legion brothers away to begin accessing The Ninth Legion's comms channel, directing the warriors to approach in an orderly fashion.
After they departed, Sanguinius, expressionless, walked towards The Ninth Legion, his blood-kin scions.
He showed no emotion, simply walked before them, his tall and beautiful form looking down from above, gazing at the crimson warriors.
"What is your name?"
The great angel looked down at the scion at the front of the line, his voice devoid of fluctuation, like a stranger's inquiry.
Sanguinius knew that any emotion he showed now would make his Gene-sons feel defiled and wary.
The Legion Warrior met the falling light, his gaze unwavering, looking up at his Gene-Father, but his voice trembled: "I—"
"My name is..."
The conversation between father and son began here.
Although the Legion Warrior did not know what the Primarch's name meant, he did not resist much and stated his name with reservation.
After receiving the answer, Sanguinius nodded and noted it, without much explanation or warm greeting, then turned and walked to another warrior.
Amidst many puzzled gazes, the great angel remained expressionless and asked again, "What is your name?"
The questioned warrior hesitated slightly, and after a brief thought, still stated his name: "My name is..."
Then came another nod of acknowledgment, one after another, as the angel fluttered his white wings, walking to each of his scions and asking for their names hidden beneath their pain.
Whether out of respect or something else, The Ninth Legion warriors did not refuse and stated their names.
Questions and answers echoed continuously on the warship's deck, as if only these two tones existed.
The Ninth Legion warriors who arrived successively, guided by the Luna Wolves, lined up neatly, awaiting the Primarch's inquiry.
Sanguinius, unhurried and with ample patience, asked for the names of all his scions and etched them into his heart.
Just then, a Son of Horus carefully approached, presenting the completed battle records to the Primarch.
the great angel politely accepted it, browsing through the data panel to review the scions' past and learn the root of their pain.
After a long while, Sanguinius closed his eyes, fighting back tears, and suppressed the surging emotions within him.
The Space Marine could easily see that the Primarch's wings trembled in pain, and sorrow churned beneath his tightly closed eyelids.
The Ninth Legion stood ramrod straight, darkness shrouding the warriors' hearts. How would their Gene-Father face them?
The future remained full of uncertainty... The warriors still waited in trepidation, each second feeling like a year. They hoped for an answer, yet feared that the answer would be an even more cruel abyss.
As if centuries had passed, when Sanguinius opened his eyes again, there was only unshakeable resolve within them.
"You have told me your names, and I have read your deeds," the great angel spoke, his eyes shining brilliantly, his words piercing to the heart: "I know you, and I know my Father's Imperium."
His voice rose, like a rising storm sweeping through gray souls: "—And how our Imperium perceives you. You serve faithfully, and your reward is gratitude and resentment, or both, neither superior to the other."
"You were given arduous tasks, and you accomplished them in the way you believed best, only to find yourselves suspected for it."
"I will not say that your past actions were wrong, nor will I blame those who feared you. For all that is the past, and now is our chance to reclaim ourselves from the brink of destruction."
"My first order is to gather you again. We will fight together as one bloodline."
Sanguinius's heavenly voice, like a tolling sacred bell, echoed in their ears, shattering all gloom and fear: "From this moment on, you are no longer a broken Legion."
The eyes of the Legion of the Damned were all upon him. Sanguinius no longer felt doubt. He knew clearly what he wanted to say.
Then, he made a gesture that shocked everyone.
the great angel spread his wings, and witnessed by his radiant pinions, he drew his longsword from his waist, raised it high, and then knelt on one knee before his scions.
Knee met steel, the sound was light, yet it boomed like thunder, shaking the souls of all present.
This sudden action stunned The Ninth Legion.
The radiant Gene-Father knelt before a Legion burdened with blood and sin. This unexpected and shocking act left them frozen in place, their minds instantly blank.
Aboard the vengeful spirit, Horus suddenly rose from his palace throne. He had seen the images relayed by his scions.
The Gene-Father kneeling on one knee before his Gene-sons was beyond anyone's expectation, and not within The Wolf Shepherd's calculations.
He was somewhat stunned, momentarily forgetting to speak, staring intently at the holographic projection, awaiting his brother's next action.
Sanguinius knelt on one knee, his wings fully spread upwards, holding his longsword high, looking very much like an avenging angel.
the great angel's blue eyes were pure and clear, sweeping over the scions within his sight. His clear voice broke the silence, and everyone heard it distinctly: "Do not swear to me, do not pledge to me."
"Do not offer your loyalty to me simply because my blood flows in your veins. In fact, do not pledge allegiance to me at all, unless you believe I am worthy."
The great and radiant Primarch, holding his sword high with one hand and covering his chest with the other, said to the warriors of The Ninth Legion: "Instead, allow me to offer my loyalty to you. I swear to you."
"Here and now, I am Sanguinius, Son of the Emperor, Primarch of The Ninth Legion."
"I promise you: I will either share in your glory or die in shame by your side."
Ah, what a moving scene this was!
The radiant great angel knelt before his blood scions, swearing allegiance to them.
The Primarch's words, heavy as ten thousand tons of stone, crashed into the still lake of The Ninth Legion's hearts, stirring up an uncontainable, surging tide.
They were surprised, shocked, then at a loss, their bodies locked as if in chains, too stiff to make any movement.
Meanwhile, the Sons of Horus in the distance, filled with immense reverence, were moved by the great angel's noble vow and knelt before the Son of the Emperor, showing their highest respect.
Garviel Loken was deeply moved. At this moment, the angel's radiant appearance was merely a trivial adornment; his sincere heart was the most brilliant essence of his soul.
It was clear from the brief oath that the great angel had made up his mind to take on his unfulfilled responsibilities from the past.
Horus, in his flagship, now had sparkling eyes. While shocked by the angel's vow, he was filled with regret.
He regretted being tied up with trivial matters, unable to be present in person to hear his brother's sincere oath and witness that moment of supreme glory.
But even though separated by thousands of miles, the images transmitted by the holographic projection seemed to be infused with the angel's light, emitting a dazzling radiance of humanity!
Without grand eloquence or tearful pleas, the great angel's words were like a narrative, recounting the past pain the Legion had endured alone, and the unknown future they would face together.
The warriors of The Ninth Legion knelt before the Primarch.
At this moment, their hearts could no longer be calm. The Gene-Father's gentle yet fervent words, like a brand, were deeply impressed upon their souls.
Sanguinius, the Emperor's ninth Son, Gene-Father of The Ninth Legion!
He was so noble and radiant, yet willing to fall into the dust and walk alongside them!
The warriors knelt with a rush, and in their lifeless, silent eyes, sparkling tears welled up, and with them flowed the past sorrow of The Ninth Legion.
Now, their Gene-Father had returned, and he would reshape the Legion!
"We will not fail Sanguinius's blood..."
It wasn't just that one warrior, sobbing and saying these words with a choked voice, but like a radiant light, it spread, resonating with many more:
"We will not fail Sanguinius's blood!"
"We will not fail Sanguinius's blood!"
Finally, all the warriors of The Ninth Legion, amidst mournful cries, transformed their painful memories into respect, and their choked voices converged into the Legion's battle cry: "We will not fail Sanguinius's blood!"
Tears streamed from Sanguinius's eyes as he knelt, a smile on his beautiful face, responding to the emotions of his Gene-sons: "I will not fail you either!"
Such a scene moved everyone.
Horus flicked away a glistening tear from the corner of his eye, while Sejanus and others were already overcome with tears.
the great angel was like a light descended from heaven, dispelling the enveloping confusion and fear.
Several warriors stepped out from the ranks, their faces streaked with burning tears, and helped Sanguinius to his feet, representing the Legion in accepting their Gene-Father.
Sanguinius reached out and wiped away the tear stains from his son's face. The cold skin and hot tears stung him, and he vowed in his heart to change everything, to reshape The Ninth Legion.
"We must act quickly to find a way to reshape ourselves and the Legion."
Sanguinius's fingertips brushed away the tear stains on his scion's face. The cold skin interwoven with hot tears stung his heart.
He helped the warrior up, a warm smile on his face, his voice like a spring breeze: "Prepare your wargear, and set out with the Luna Wolves—we will reshape the Legion and reclaim our glory."
The warriors responded in unison. The Gene-Father's sincerity was like the rising sun; from then on, the Legion would bask in his light and march into darkness together.
The future had arrived. The Ninth Legion would no longer fear, and would face it with their Gene-Father!