What consequence? That was the question the daemon wanted him to ask. He burned to ask it. But the hammering from the other side of the warp distracted him. It took him out of the web the daemon’s words wove around his consciousness. Consequence? No consequence could be so momentous that he would swear fealty to Chaos. It was all lies.

Sanguinius heaved against the arms holding him down. He heard the crack of breaking bones as he snapped the fingers of the daemons holding him. Madail turned with a snarl to face the portal. It gestured with its staff. The legions of abominations on the deck turned from Sanguinius and approached the portal. Madail made another gesture, as if parting the veil of the real. The portal opened wide. The daemons poured into its maw. A huge abomination, a construct of flesh and machine, commanded the charge. The daemons leapt from the galleries in an avalanche of monstrosity. An army vanished from the ship, leaving an army behind. As many stayed to worship and to witness Sanguinius’ surrender.

His frame vibrated with anger. The fury was an alloy. It was forged from so many causes, so many crimes of the daemon, so many mistakes Sanguinius had made to bring himself to this pass. There was a darkness too, the darkness he had encountered before. He was wary of it. It had consumed him briefly on the Red Tear when the Veritas Ferrum had struck him. He had no memory of those moments, only impressions of dark and fury. It had made him dangerous to his sons. It had made him a beast. But at this moment, he did not fight it. The dark scraped at the edges of his being, still amorphous, a thing unclear. It could not distract him. His focus was Madail. His fury was concentrated on that single foe. It had annihilated billions. It was the author of his and his brothers’ doubts. It had given him false belief, and treacherous hope.

The roar built in his chest, then escaped, so loud it seemed it would bring down the great dome of the enginarium.

The Spear of Telesto flashed with power. Its crimson light enveloped Sanguinius, igniting the flesh of the daemons. Their limbs turned to ash, and their forms melted. The horned juggernaut howled. It stumbled backwards, its head engulfed with flame. The female abomination’s claws shattered.

The Angel tore his right arm free. He raised the Blade Encarmine. He sliced through the bodies of plague daemons. The monsters fell apart, halved, and the sword shone brightly in the foul air of the enginarium, ichor dripping from its length.

The Angel rose in his terrible wrath. He spread his wings, hurling the monsters back. The blast of the spear haloed him, and they could not touch him.