Azkaellon took a step away. His face was a mirror of Sanguinius’ agony. He could not disobey his primarch, but the order was condemning him to the unthinkable.

The Black Rage crawled into the back of Sanguinius’ skull, coiling, ready to spread its cancer through the millennia. He was sparing his Legion nothing. His death would still be the trauma that would bestow his legacy of madness. Whether his sons relived his death at the hands of Horus or on Davin, the result would be the same. The doom was in his blood.

Curze was right. His fate and that of the Blood Angels could not be altered.

Perhaps Curze was wrong, too. If Sanguinius could not save his sons, he might still preserve the Imperium. His death could have meaning. The sacrifice of his Legion could have meaning. Here and now, in this act, there was meaning.

There was also no choice. Curze was right there, too, if not for the reason he thought. Madail and Davin must be destroyed. There was no other action open to Sanguinius. There was the duty of the second, and he held fast.

The thoughts flashed through Sanguinius’ mind in the time it took for Azkaellon to retreat a single step.

The rest of the Sanguinary Guard, and beyond them Ultramarines and Dark Angels, had formed a wall, blocking access to the portal. No more daemons were coming through it. Instead, those still in the hall had turned back, trying to reach their fallen priest. The tremors continued to shake the temple. Two storms battered the hall. The portal raged at the edge of extinction. The struggle beyond created a curtain of sorcerous fire, exploding shells and ignited promethium. Legionaries and daemons destroyed each other.

‘Go,’ Sanguinius pleaded.

A new armoured figure knelt before him. It was his herald. He had not seen the legionary approach. Had he marched with the Sanguinary Guard into the Delphos? Sanguinius couldn’t remember. He was there now, as he had come to the Angel on the Red Tear. As, indeed, he had answered the first need on Macragge. His power sword upraised, he held his hand out to the Angel. He said nothing. His gesture was eloquent.

I will take your place. Let this burden be mine.

Sanguinius looked up into the helmet of his unknown son. His path became clear. His duty could not end here. He could not protect his sons from their doom. His duty would be to fight until the appointed end came for him. Theirs would be to fight on, and bear the dual burden of Thirst and Rage until salvation or oblivion would come for them.