Author's notes: Fuuuucking this chapter. I hate writing this so damned much, and I'm tired of redoing it for the nth time to try to make it work and make sense. But I finally got to finish it...I think. So here, have chapter.

  Angron sighed from the bridge’s command throne as he processed the neverending stream of reports. The Conqueror was mauled, but functional. The same could not be said for nearly half his fleet, who had sacrificed themselves to enable an escape. Thousands of World Eaters and tens of thousands of mortal crewmen, whose unwavering loyalty the primarch truly did not deserve, sold their lives for time and the opportunity for the rest of the fleet to escape.

  The Conqueror had been the st ship to leave the ruinous void battle in the Vhalix System, using its greater bulk to shield its charges from the worst macrocannon and nce volleys. Its gun crews kept working even as enemy boarding parties sughtered their way to the gun bays, while the XIIth’s legionnaires struggled to deal with the countless breaches. The void shield batteries and its engineers had fully burnt themselves out trying to absorb just one more volley of enemy fire. More than two scores of legion Techmarines gave their lives in reviving the damaged engines, sealing themselves in the enginarium so that the backbst from the leaking psma drives did not compromise the rest of the ship.

  It was all of that, and other acts of heroism, that had allowed the Conqueror to limp its way into Warp transtion. Its prow still had the mangled remains of a light cruiser impaled on it, and boarding crafts still infested its hull like dead mites. The Gloriana-css capital ship had left the battlefield like the victor of a brutal gdiator duel, savaged but still alive enough to count.

  Angron looked to the piles of corpses still littering the bridge and sighed. The bloodied and brutalized white and blue armor of his sons mingled with the pale grays of Leman’s Vlka Fenryka, and the bck and silver of Ferrus’ Iron Hands. The Red Angel looked to his own gore-stained hands, the fingers twitching as he remembered the sensation of tearing heads and limbs apart in defense of the bridge.

  There was none of the combat bliss that the Nails had once flooded his mind with, there was no satisfaction in the slightest at besting the best his brothers could throw at him. All the primarch felt now was weary regret that it had come to this.

  All the senseless violence, born from blinkered righteousness. All because Angron and his sons had refused to be part of an unwarranted genocide of a world, and they had allowed what survivors they could find to flee into a portal that was supposedly linked to the Nexus.

  Ferrus had at first only been incandescent when Angron voiced his protest during their command meeting.

  “They are abberrants! Men who took the pathetic path of diluting and defiling their humanity with xenos blood!”

  “Does that truly warrant their extinction? However deviant their gene origins have become, these people are insur, and their pacifist culture poses no threat to us.”

  “These people,” Ferrus had spat the word with such venom, “are proof of the depravity Mankind would sink to if left unguided. A benign tumor is still an abnormality that risks corrupting all that it encounters!”

  Faced with the Gorgon’s bellicose nature, Angron missed Rogal’s more tempered humors. Unfortunately, the primarch of the Imperial Fists had been summoned back to Terra, leaving Angron to deal with his iron-armed brothers’ severely uncompromising views unfiltered.

  “The degenerates worship what are clearly a xenos species, which makes them either cattle or footsoldiers and fodder of their so-called gods should they return.”

  Angron had scoffed at that. “And that warrants immediate Exterminatus?”

  “The Imperium cannot tolerate such deviance!” Ferrus replied with vehemence, as if it was all the answer that was required. “They reject the Imperial Truth, their humanity is corrupted, there is no pce for them.”

  “And what of the Nexus?” Angron immediately returned, and felt spiteful satisfaction at seeing his brother’s rage spike.

  “They are upstarts living on borrowed time,” the primarch of the Iron Hands snarled, somehow managing to contain his anger. “Do well to remember who you owe your allegiance to, brother. The Nexus seeks to curl up within itself where our Father’s Imperium seeks to reunite humanity and guide it to ascendancy.”

  Their meeting would have ended there for the day, and perhaps Angron could have stalled his brother for much longer with his protests. The lone world of the Vhalix Unitary Government was heavily defended, bristling with orbital stations that could match Dorn’s Phanx in size, if not power. Even belligerent Ferrus would not be so suicidal as to send his legion in alone without aid from the World Eaters.

  Angron hoped he could simply withhold the World Eater’s cooperation to frustrate his brother and stall the death of an innocent world. He’d hoped they could use the time to flee into the Nexus portal their envoy had made mention of the moment Ferrus decred total war on them.

  But damnable Leman and his Vlka Fenryka had to appear in force, completely undoing the attempt at a stalemate.

  The Wolf King was, unsurprisingly, eager to aid the Iron Hands, and openly sneered down at Angron’s reluctance to fight.

  “We will deal with them first, and then we will have words, Angron.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  Leman’s holopict gave an ugly, bestial smirk. “That depends entirely on you, Angron. Dorn might have spoken in your defense, but Father has sent me here to…ascertain your loyalties to the Imperium. And judging by how you’ve managed to turn this into a shitshow, I have to say I’m disappointed in you, brother. Consider your involvement in the Great Crusade put on hold. Once we are done here, you and your legion will return to Terra.”

  Angron was unafraid of his brother’s threat, though he found his blood running hot, and his vision tinted red.

  The bridge had been awkwardly silent after communications was ended with Wolf King, and the primarch took long seconds in coming to a decision for himself before turning to meet the concerned looks of Lhorke and Kharn.

  “Sire, your orders?” the legion master calmly asked, the look in his eyes matching the silent resolve in his Nexus-restored body.

  “Send a warning to the Vhalix Unitary Government.” Angron stared hard at his sons. “Then prepare the teleportarium chamber. If my brothers will still destroy the world while I am on it, then it will save me the ordeal of returning to a lecture.”

  Oh, they had protested at first. Vehemently. And when Angron ignored them, the whole bridge’s worth of World Eaters, Lhorke included, had mobbed him as one to physically stop him. Not wanting to maim his own sons, the primarch relented, and a compromise was sought.

  So Legion Master Lhorke sought volunteers across the World Eaters fleet, and due to the sheer numbers, a lottery was hastily held. The lucky companies joined him and Angron in teleporting onto Vhalix’s surface, ignoring its surprised and affronted senate to warn them about their impending doom. The Vhalix’s false assurance of peace and negotiations made it easy for the World Eaters fleet to power past their orbital stations and send down their cargo without drawing any fire even as they left the pnet’s orbit.

  The long-faced hybrids had been shocked at the revetion, but it didn’t take long for Angron’s procmation to be verified by their orbital stations.

  “This world is doomed,” he’d bluntly stated. “You said you’ve made contact with the Nexus. Seek aid or refuge from them.”

  Angron remembered his armor’s comms coming to life, and his ears barraged by the curses of his brother.

  “What the Hel are you doing down there?!” Leman had roared.

  “Giving these innocents a chance at survival.”

  “All you’ve done is ensure a slower extinction for them, and punishment for your treachery,” Ferrus growled.

  Angron remembered the satisfaction in cutting off the vox as his brothers ranted mid-sentence and turned his attention to the Vhalix senators. While most of them began to organize the evacuation, a few led him to their approximation of a central command bunker, where the primarch easily took in and processed the torrent of raw data streaming onto screens or out of vox outputs.

  With the momentum of a surprise attack fouled, the initial spread of torpedoes from the VIth and Xth were quickly thinned out by the Vhalix’ orbital stations, and shields were primed to maximum yield just in time to weather nce strikes and macro-shell broadsides. Judging from the flurry of aborted screams, the Vlka Fenryka and Iron Hands still managed to conduct teleport assaults onto various stations, though with the precious seconds Angron had forewarned them, the defenders had managed to organize a respectable resistance.

  His brothers’ legionnaires were being slowed and whittled down, and in several cases the Vhalix orbital garrison managed to completely overwhelm the teleporting boarders through sheer attrition.

  Despite the initial admirable results, Angron knew that the fierce resistance only bought the world a few hours, maybe a standard day at most. Potent as the orbital stations were, the Legiones Astartes were used to facing harsher foes, especially the sons of the savage Wolf King and the bellicose Gorgon.

  A station died almost an hour in, its shields colpsing after a focused barrage from the whole Iron Hands fleet, who doggedly forced themselves into close orbit with it to deliver their broadsides regardless of the heavy damage their ships sustained. Angron sighed as the tense but tightly calm people in the command bunker kept their wits about them and continued coordinating the defense, even as one of them reported the ruined station’s descent into Vhalix’ atmosphere.

  “Impact recorded,” a male reported, the very human shock and dread clear to be heard despite his hybrid lineage. “Iscanzil Metropolitan area…” The sorrowful groans and stiffening backs meant that the station had hit a significant ndmark, probably one of their major habitation zones if the naming was any clue.

  Angron offered what little advice he could in helping the Vhalix command personnel prolong their defense’s integrity, trading station decks and lives for minutes at best. For all their weaponry, for all their valor, the Vhalix people were not the worst the Imperium had faced and put down. They did not have the grotesque strength of the Orks, nor the arcane technologies of the Eldar. The Vhalix gene-hybrid people only had their stubborn resolve of defending their homes as they stood and died by the score. If the information he was parsing was true, Angron estimated that an average forty Vhalix station crew were sughtered for every one legionnaire felled.

  The second and third stations were disabled within moments of each other. Both had suffered terminal damage as Vlka Fenryka or Iron Hands boarders reached and sabotaged their main generators and structural supports, causing the stations to fall apart as they fell into a decaying orbit with the world they once protected.

  The fourth station was destroyed by Leman’s own fgship, the Hrafnkel, ramming into it and unleashing its bow nces and torpedoes straight into the station’s compromised interior.

  With that, enough of an opening was created for several of the legions’ fleet to settle into geosynchronous orbit for either an Exterminatus or an invasion. It was a small consotion that Angron’s presence on the world was likely why it was the tter. His gambit on the dysfunctional nature of the primarch brotherhood had paid off; his brothers would not stoop down to simply erasing him along with the pnet, and would rather come down for the satisfaction of dragging his broken form back with them.

  If that bought the lives of thousands of innocent souls, then it was a scenario that suited Angron fine.

  The Nexus had already opened their portal, and the Vhalix government was doing all they could to speed up the evacuations. Such a collection of desperate souls in one area would not go unnoticed, which was why Angron then led his sons to guard the portal.

  A few Nexus machines could be seen floating by the portal, passively observing the desperate press of the evacuation. Angron did not know if their pcidness was due to their treaty with the Imperium, or other considerations, but he knew that their intervention was not expected.

  “This is your st chance to return to the fleet,” the primarch offered his stubborn sons. “The legion may still retain its standing if you all do not involve yourselves and denounce me.”

  Lhorke snorted at the notion. “With all respect, my primarch, we’re here despite your orders. We know what we are risking. Besides, you’ve granted me power as Legion Master, then I say that the World Eaters will join you in doing what is truly right. Let this be the first step towards salvaging our tainted honor, for leaving our primarch when we should have come to his aid in Nuceria.”

  Angron had felt a stirring of pride then, feeling wholly undeserving of his sons’ fierce loyalty.

  The contingent made their stand around the portal, forming a perimeter around the massive, yet swamped structure, leaving the Vhalix leadership to organize their own civilians as best as they could. The primarch knew that it’d be impossible to preserve the lives of everyone here, and he’d made peace with the fact.

  That did not mean he wouldn’t do his best, though.

  The skies rained fire shortly after, as legion drop pods and assault craft descended like the wrath of primeval gods. The Vhalix ground defenses came online, but even with scores of explosive bursts caused by cannon shells, psma bolts or sfire, more than enough pods and attack nders made ndfall, and soon the city around Angron was echoing with screams.

  As thick columns of dust devoured city blocks and the sky became choked with smoke, Leman stomped into view shortly after, leading a horde of his cold gray Fenrisians. The Wolf King looked highly irritable, to Angron’s irrational satisfaction.

  “Angron! You brought this on yourself!”

  “I know,” he replied as he stepped out to face his snarling brother, axes swinging lightly by his side. “But this is a price I’m willing to pay.”

  “Idiot. I liked you better when you were a mindless berzerker.”

  Angron fought the urge to roll his eyes. “And I never liked you at all, you arrogant sack of fur pretending at savage nobility.”

  It would be the st words the two primarchs would ever share. They both charged each other at the same time, Leman with his wolves bounding at his side, while Angron had his refurbished axes. Their sons took it as a sign to begin hostilities, and bolter fire lit the space between the two forces. There was no hesitation, no restraint. The primarchs traded lethal blows, while around them Astartes killed Astartes.

  The locals joined in the defense of their home, but their contribution was paltry in comparison to the defiance of the World Eaters. As the legionnaires had done back when they mutited themselves with the Nails, the sons of Angron opted to charge instead of reload their weapons, and for their part, the Vlka Fenryka counter-charged with near equal ferocity.

  The lines crashed into each other and things devolved into a brutal melee that Angron lost himself in. Leman was a terrific fighter, bancing his savage offense with a restrained defense. His axe and power sword carved divots into Angron’s armor, while his canine companions harried the Red Angel to distract and foul clear attacks.

  For his part, Angron made up for his disadvantage by reaching into his old, insensate self to ignore the building wounds and focus purely on aggression. Leman’s prized pets were annoying, but they dare not linger too long to risk the sweeping axes. The Wolf King too fell quickly into defensive counter-attacks rather than seize the initiative, especially after a near lethal miss that cracked the haft of his masterwork axe and forced him to discard it.

  Angron also had the support of the Vhalix defenders, who wisely lent their aid from the safety of their empcements. More than once, strobing ser repeaters and semi-advanced rocket systems forced the Wolf King and his wolves to leap back, buying Angron precious space and resetting the momentum of the duel.

  Occasionally, a legionnaire would appear from either side - mostly Leman’s - to try and intervene. Down to a man they were sent off in pieces by the opposing primarchs.

  For a moment, it seemed that the fight was going well, that through sheer savagery the World Eaters would be able to force a stalemate.

  But then the Iron Hands made their appearance with a withering storm of bolters, tearing through World Eater legionnaires who were even slightly disengaged from the melee. The Vhalix defenses then were erased by cannon fire as the Xth Legion tanks rolled into view.

  Ferrus stood at the head of the formation, his silver arms clearly marking him out, and without hesitation the Gorgon led his own assault troops straight into the melee.

  As his brother tore his way towards him, sending World Eaters flying with each swing of his great hammer, Angron knew then that the longevity of his stubborn stand was cut down to seconds.

  “Kharn, now!”

  Lhorke’s order caught Angron by surprise, and in a fsh of light and ozone, the primarch suddenly found himself alone and in a deathly silent but familiar cavernous chamber.

  “Consider this my st act as Legion Master,” Lhorke’s voice dryly stated in Angron’s shocked ears. The static did not hide the effort the warrior took to string the words together. “I hereby resign, my primarch. Command passes onto you. Lead your legion, your sons with honor. We will buy what time we ca-”

  The words were cut off with a sharp hiss that stung even a primarch’s hearing.

  Angron looked around the Conqueror’s teleportarium, finding the silhouettes of Kharn and other legion captains waiting by the entrance. For a brief moment, anger fshed at being denied his fight, that his sons conspired against him.

  But then the whole room shook around him, and his equerry inclined his head in a shallow nod. “The fleet formations of the VIth and the Xth have been disrupted, but they still outnumber us, and will reorganize soon,” he reported bndly. “Already our ships are reporting serious damage. Your orders, sire?”

  Angron blinked, and quickly realized what had transpired. Rage and bloodlust was instantly smothered as the warrior in him was repced by the tactician.

  “To the bridge. I want status reports on all our ships.”

  Kharn quietly nodded, and Angron felt a conflicting mix of pride and exasperation at his sons’ reckless gambit. They’d always pnned for Angron to be evacuated, and to that end, the Conqueror plunged straight into the combined fleets to get close enough for a stable signal. Naturally, the other ships joined in, ramming or bsting a path clear.

  For the sake of returning their primarch, the whole fleet had buried themselves deep in their now hostile compatriot’s formation. And now, as they fought to break free, the World Eaters paid the price in blood and fire. At such close range, the numerical superiority of the Vlka Fenryka and Iron Hands quickly reaped a terrible toll on the World Eaters. However furious their defiance, destroyers and light cruisers were quickly turned into fiery debris clouds, while battle barges and strike cruisers were slowly but surely crippled.

  The World Eaters were slowly torn apart, but through the same recklessness that put them in this situation, dozens of ships turned their prows towards their cousins in sacrificial ramming attacks to force open an exit. A few damaged battlecruisers killed their engines and turned their broadsides towards the regrouped enemies to serve as a greater obstacle and shield. Then, as their cousins’ ships moved around them, they detonated their psma reactors, engulfing the enemy that thought to ignore them in miniature suns.

  It was a harrowing escape, one that pained Angron. It also pained him that the bodies of Lhorke and several companies worth of his sons could not be recovered. They had fought and died to keep the portal clear for evacuation. He could only listen helplessly to the dwindling vox transmissions as his sons cshed against their cousins for the sake of virtue, buying the popuce the st few seconds to flee into the portal. There was no doubt of their demise; in too many of the transmissions, the wrath of Leman and Ferrus could be heard reaping through the World Eaters.

  As the mangled fleet fled through the Warp, Angron secluded himself in his quarters, trying to come to terms with the heavy weight of guilt and blood now on his hands. Doubt marred his thoughts, and for a moment, despair threatened to overwhelm him. For a moment, the primarch wished for the dull agony of the Nails again.

  But that moment passed. However much he doubted, he couldn’t justify his brothers’ genocide. He could not stand by and allow it to happen. He might have pced some bme on Sev and his Nexus Unity for their inaction, but it was still bme shared with his brother primarchs.

  The rationale always led down the same path eventually, that however costly it had been, the World Eaters under Lhorke had willingly gone to their deaths for Angron’s cause, knowing full well of the likely outcome. Yet it still took days for Angron to come to terms with that fact, to feel the stirring of fierce pride at his legion’s loyalty, and at their unwavering resolve to defend what was right, however doomed that fight was.

  In the end, Angron found himself grinning to himself as a fact became clear: A third legion would be struck from Imperial records, a third plinth in the Imperial pace would stand empty and devoid of a primarch, a third name to be forbidden from any mention.

  That it would be fact from an oppressive Imperium, would it really be considered a punishment, a humiliation?

  Or should it be a mark of pride?

  Angron eventually broke his seclusion, marching up to the semi-restored bridge where Kharn and the Conqueror’s captain Lotara Sarrin masked their surprise with annoyance.

  “It’s about time you’re back,” the captain bluntly stated, and Angron offered a single nod in apology.

  “I needed the time to seek…crity.”

  Kharn grunted in understanding, while Lotara, ever the professional, simply gred at the primarch.

  “What orders? The Navigators report that the Warp currents have grown suspiciously calm, but we should make use of it while we’re able.”

  Angron found himself addressing the whole bridge. “In standing up against wanton and targeted sughter masked as benevolent enlightenment, in fighting against barbarism for the sake of a blinkered and hypocritical manifest destiny, I have led us into breaking with the Imperium. Let me ask: Is there anyone who regrets being dragged down my path? Is there anyone who wishes to have no further involvement with me?”

  Silence reigned for a few seconds before Angron continued, bowing his head before his audience. “Then I thank you for your loyalty, either to me or for the cause I now fight for.” He drew himself up again and turned to his equerry. “Pass the message on throughout the fleet. We will transte into the nearest system for emergency repairs. During that time I will hold no ill-will to those that wish to break from the legion and leave. What they do after that will be up to them. Then, to those who wish to continue following me down this dark path, we will be heading for the Nexus Unity, to seek sanctuary and resupply.”

  Angron let out a heavy sigh. “What happens after… That will depend on whether Sev’s goals align with mine, and whether we have a pce in his Unity.”