If there were still defenders, Sanguinius could not see them. The enemy marched in shadow. They were the night beneath the night. Their war-chants were incantations of madness. A great wailing of fear greeted their arrival. A great wailing of grief remained in their wake. The chorus of woe resounded against the crumbling walls of the Imperial Palace. It hit Sanguinius with a force greater than the death of the battleship and the war-horns of the Titans. The wailing was the sound of his failure. It felt like Horus’ blade sawing through his hearts again. He had failed his Terra, the Imperium and the Emperor. His death was meaningless. He had been willing to embrace it, if, by dying, he saved his father. He would sacrifice himself on the altar of salvation. But Terra had fallen. The Imperial Palace was burning. The Emperor must be dead, for surely He would have been fighting the invaders. Where the Master of Mankind should be, there was only absence.

His sacrifice was for nothing.

This is the choice. Fall to Horus, and the light falls with you.

The Imperial Palace crumbled like sand. Sky-piercing spires toppled. Walls disintegrated. The wailing and the flames reached higher and higher. Domes and vaults collapsed into ruin.

The rampart cracked beneath Sanguinius’ feet. He tried to fly, but the weight of his failure was too great. Stone turned to dust, and he fell. The world faded into darkness. Soon there was only screaming and fire. Then even that was consumed by the dark.

Sanguinius did not know when he spread his wings, but he had. His feathers rippled with the currents of the dark.

This is the choice, said the voice, and when the dark receded, this time it was to show him the full torment of his father’s dream. Sanguinius flew through star systems, skimmed the surface of planets, and shot into the intergalactic void, where he looked down on the spiral arms of the galaxy. The Ruinstorm exulted in its infinite power. It had become a maelstrom that turned the stars themselves. The galaxy writhed in its grip. Sanguinius saw planets carved into the idols of worship. He saw daemonic fortresses rise up to eclipse suns. The walls towered above the galactic plain. He saw tangles of architecture that devoured stars. The blood of planets ran down the lengths of great arches. Worlds convulsed with the riots of daemons. Billions of mortals suffered and died in nights of fire and days of blood. He saw citadels of brass and cities of plague. He saw rivers of bodies fused in the paroxysms of excess. And everywhere was change, everywhere was flux, every­where the triumph of Chaos.