Fear to Tread

by James Swallow

‘If one wishes to go unseen by devils, one should not place their faith in angels.’

‘You will try,’ he said. ‘But today you face the Emperor’s sons and his warriors. We are the Luna Wolves, and this Legion is the anvil upon which you will be broken.’

‘We are the anvil,’ Horus repeated, pointing with his sword. ‘Now behold the hammer.’

‘Perfection is not a state of being,’ Horus replied. ‘It is a state of striving. The journey is all that has meaning, not the goal.’

‘But why have you kept this from father? If any living being could know the key to it, it would be him!’ Sanguinius rounded on Horus, his seraphic features hardening. ‘You know the reason!’ he answered with a snarl. ‘I will not be responsible for the erasure of the Blood Angels from Imperial history. I will not have a third empty plinth beneath the roof of the Hegemon as my Legion’s only memorial!’

‘The ease of this… Once one moves past the horror of betrayal, it is so very potent.’

‘This is the burden of the Space Wolves, the reason we were made in Russ’s image. We are the executioner’s sons, bred to do the unthinkable, to fight the impossible battles. It is why we are here.’

‘My patience with this shadow-play is at an end,’ said the primarch, and the words seemed to be for Azkaellon alone. ‘The order is given: exterminatus extremis.’

‘Your hubris is entertaining, Horus Lupercal. I see what you see. If the impossible were to happen, if the Angel Sanguinius could be turned… Then for the first time you would have a true rival among your traitor allies. Perhaps, one the Ruinous Powers might grow to favour over you, given time. You do not wish to take that risk.’

‘Consider yourselves flattered by the presence of this proxy, the essence of I, who you shall be allowed to call Kyriss. I am the glimpse at the edge of ecstasy in death, the Perverse and the Charmed, son-daughter of the Master of Pleasure and eager servant of Q’tlahsi’issho’akshami. The void itself sings my praise.’

‘Recognise me, then, Sanguinius of Baal.’ It laughed. ‘I am Ka’Bandha, Bloodthirster and general of Khorne, blessed is his hate.’ The creature gave a mocking bow. ‘And we are brothers.’

A ragefire broke, and in the halls of his mind, a father heard five hundred of his sons perish at once. Then darkness claimed the Angel, the backlash of psychic shock spiralling after him into the abyss of his soul.

Many believed that the Wolves of Russ were nothing but that force, wild and undisciplined, but those who thought so did not know the sons of Fenris. To recognise that bestial self and fight war with it, to shackle it to the needs of the great murder-make, required a degree of control no mere barbarian could ever manage.

It is not the descent towards the shadow nor the rise towards the light that makes us superior. It is in the endless struggle between the two where greatness of character resides. We are tested, and we do not break.’ The Angel’s voice became a sudden shout. ‘We will never fall! Take that to my brother and tell him!’

The Emperor’s Children, Word Bearers, Night Lords, Alpha Legion. The Iron Warriors, World Eaters and the Death Guard. All of them now march to the Warmaster’s drums.’