The edge of the central square, now reduced to complete ruins, was eerily silent, a silence so oppressive it seemed to suffocate the air itself.
Even the dawn light, which usually brought hope, seemed powerless to illuminate this devastated land. There was no wind, no birdsong—only an unbearable, suffocating stillness.
"..."
In this deathly quiet, all the Sons of the Emperor knelt on both knees, their posture solemn and reverent. Their faces showed no anger or resentment, only indescribable pain and fear.
They made no sound, as if they had lost the ability to speak, remaining silent as they awaited the arrival of the Emperor.
At this moment, they were physically and mentally exhausted, enduring unprecedented torment.
The decision to abandon the blessings of Chaos and the "protection" of the Chaos Gods, while representing their hope to return to the path of righteousness, also meant facing the relentless rejection of the material universe's laws.
Every cell, every inch of their skin, was on the verge of collapse.
This was especially true for the ten-thousand-year veterans among the Sons of the Emperor.
Their armor had long since fused with their bodies, and the bond between metal and flesh had become excruciatingly painful. Every twitch of their bodies was almost unbearable.
The once-indestructible armor had now become even more deformed and twisted, its surface covered in cracks and patches of rust.
Foul-smelling blood seeped from the gaps in their armor and their cracked skin, dripping onto the silent ground.
The blood was no longer bright red but resembled corrupted ink, carrying an indescribable stench.
Even though these were once traitors who sought extreme emotions and sensations, they could not suppress their trembling. Their bodies and souls were enduring the ultimate "torture."
The arrival of the Emperor meant they might have a slim chance at redemption—or face their final judgment.
"..."
The hundred Custodians and three hundred Phoenix Guards tasked with guarding these Sons of the Emperor remained silent, maintaining a high level of vigilance and readiness.
Though each warrior wore a precise helmet that concealed their faces and expressions, nothing could hide the emotional turmoil within them.
From their tense postures and the palpable "killing intent" they exuded, it was clear that they harbored extreme disgust and resentment toward these Sons of the Emperor from another universe, who had once served Chaos.
The Phoenix Guard, as the most elite force of the Sons of Humanity, had always been known for their fearlessness and decisiveness.
Yet, in this Chaos-ravaged ruin, despite their silent, statue-like presence, the angle of their stance and the direction of their gaze revealed the storm raging within their hearts.
The Phoenix Guards seemed to want to "pierce through" every kneeling Son of the Emperor with their eyes.
This was especially true for the majority of the Phoenix Guard, whose bloodlines traced back to the locals of Universe 08 (Halo) or the descendants of Prospero's colonists.
They knew full well that these fallen warriors had personally ravaged their homes, causing countless innocent civilians to perish in the flames of war.
Yet, they remained silent, suppressing their rage and hatred, taking no action. Every second of waiting tested their will and loyalty.
If it had been ordinary people, they would have long been unable to contain their anger, drawing their weapons and launching a fatal strike against the traitors.
But the Phoenix Guard's strict discipline kept them obedient to the primarch's orders... even as the hatred in their hearts grew increasingly difficult to suppress.
If not for Fulgrim's command, the Phoenix Guard would have already charged at these fallen Sons of the Emperor like tigers unleashed, avenging the innocent dead and purging these traitors.
However, beneath this suppressed emotion, the potential for an explosion was brewing at all times.
If the Emperor arrived and sentenced the Sons of the Emperor to death, then with the Emperor's command, they would utterly eradicate these betrayers.
As for the Custodians...
Their attitude was even more straightforward, showing undisguised disdain and contempt for these Sons of the Emperor.
In the eyes of the Custodians, these so-called "Astartes" had once borne a sacred mission and honor but had ultimately fallen to serving Chaos and betraying the empire.
Even though their father (Samuel) had not shared any information about the Warhammer 40k universe with them, the Custodians could easily guess that the attire, appearance, and power armor colors of these "Astartes" likely corresponded to the Sons of Humanity from another universe.
Thus, despite their legion bearing the name "Humanity," they had tarnished this symbol with their actions, becoming little more than walking corpses.
This betrayal and fall from grace made it impossible for the Custodians to hide their disgust and disdain every time they looked at them.
However, the Custodians' attitude went beyond this. Deep down, they also harbored a sense of vigilance and suspicion toward Fulgrim.
In their eyes, pleading for these three thousand former servants of Chaos, who had only "returned" because they had no other choice, was already an incomprehensible act.
Especially since Fulgrim, as the primarch of the Sons of Humanity, wielded absolute power and prestige, yet chose to mediate for these traitors at this moment, further fueling the Custodians' dissatisfaction and wariness.
To the Custodians, such actions carried a hint of something "abnormal," even bordering on heretical behavior.
If Fulgrim made any further moves that made them uneasy before their father's arrival, these most loyal warriors of the Emperor would not hesitate to take more decisive action.
They had already prepared for two scenarios—
The first was to directly strip Fulgrim of his command authority, temporarily removing him from the decision-making process.
The second, more extreme option, was to preemptively strike if necessary, ensuring that the order of Prospero and their father's interests remained intact.
The Custodians' confidence in standing up to a primarch was not unfounded.
Although the primarchs were second only to the Emperor in power and will, the Custodians had their own reasons for their confidence.
Their existence was to defend the Emperor's glory and authority, and they would not compromise or yield, even in the face of a primarch.
In the eyes of the Custodians, while the primarchs were their "older brothers" and commanded vast legions, they were not beyond questioning.
If Fulgrim crossed a certain line, they had every right to see him as a potential threat and deal with him swiftly in their own way.
After all, the Custodians' loyalty belonged solely to the Emperor, not to any primarch.
Thus, seeing Fulgrim plead for these Chaos Astartes—scum who had slaughtered and ravaged countless imperial citizens—the Custodians could barely contain their anger. The fact that they hadn't already swung their guardian spears at Fulgrim was already an act of great "mercy."
As for Fulgrim at this moment...
The primarch of the Sons of Humanity, clad in masterfully crafted power armor and exuding an air of authority, maintained a calm and composed demeanor, his expression unreadable as he waited for the situation to develop further.
Beneath this calm exterior lay his clear judgment.
Though not skilled in psychic abilities, Fulgrim had long since keenly detected the subtle shifts in the Custodians' emotions, even sensing their suspicion and dissatisfaction toward him.
Yet Fulgrim paid no mind to this.
He made no attempt to explain himself, nor did he try to ease the tension.
To him, the Custodians' doubts and opposition were not a problem but a form of balance that worked in his favor.
He knew that trying to get closer to the Custodians or showing excessive friendliness would only make his father question the loyalty of him and the Sons of Humanity.
After all, a primarch who was too smooth and deliberately ingratiating was the one truly worthy of suspicion.
Thus, Fulgrim chose to respond to the Custodians' attitude with cold indifference, even allowing this suspicion to persist.
In his father's eyes, the Custodians' wariness of him was the best "proof"—
Proof that he and the Sons of Humanity were not seeking improper gains but were operating within the framework of imperial regulations.
This "hostility" subtly became a form of balance, another means for him to demonstrate his loyalty to his father, all while staying within his "calculations."
"..."
After a moment of silence, Fulgrim suddenly raised his head, his gaze piercing through the broken skyline of New Argos and fixing on the deep blue sky to the east.
It seemed he had sensed his father's approaching presence, and his expression grew even more focused.
A dozen seconds later, the Custodians and Phoenix Guards also heightened their alertness, aiming their weapons at the three thousand kneeling Sons of the Emperor. The tension in the air was almost palpable.
Because their radar systems showed that the Emperor was about to arrive—
To ensure that no spark of rebellion could ignite in their presence, especially against these once-traitorous, now-returned Sons of the Emperor.
And once the Emperor arrived, how these "traitors" responded, how they acted under the Emperor's scrutiny, would indirectly—or directly—determine the future direction of these three hundred Phoenix Guards and hundred Custodians.
Thus, to avoid unnecessary complications, they became even more focused.
Not long after, three custom Thunderhawk gunships appeared in the distance, their roaring engines breaking the silence of the air.
These three custom Thunderhawks were primarily black, with golden accents outlining their majesty and solemnity, as if they were a symbol of the Emperor's personal guidance.
As the Thunderhawks began to hover above the ground, exuding an overwhelming sense of oppression, they slowly descended toward the surface.
With their approach, the Sons of the Emperor began to show intense emotional fluctuations, breaking free from their initial silence.
Their bodies trembled, their legs slightly weakened, as if pressed down by an invisible force.
Fear, repentance, guilt—these emotions quickly surged within them.
The Emperor's majesty was like the judgment of death, forcing them to confront the reality that their crimes were unforgivable. Many began to murmur softly, uttering faint prayers and pleas.
Clearly, they were filled with extreme fear at the Emperor's arrival, especially those who had once been deeply entrenched in Chaos. Their eyes reflected an inescapable fate.
However, unlike those who showed fear and remorse, the hundred or so ten-thousand-year veterans among the Sons of the Emperor were prepared to face the Emperor's judgment.
Their expressions were calm and resolute, their eyes devoid of fear, only endless exhaustion and acceptance.
They no longer sought forgiveness but instead longed for the Emperor's judgment to end their lives of sin and corruption.
For these veterans, complete annihilation was no longer a symbol of fear but the only path to true liberation.
It was as if, faced with a lifetime of mistakes, they would rather have the Emperor deliver the final judgment than continue living under the weight of guilt and regret.
As the Thunderhawk gunships deployed their landing gear, the gusts from their engines intensified, and the Emperor's authority seemed to fill the air, as if the atmosphere itself had solidified under its weight.
The impending judgment had finally entered its countdown...
---
Thud, thud!
The low, resonant sound of the Thunderhawk landing gear touching the ground echoed like a hammer striking the earth, shaking the hearts and minds of the three thousand Sons of the Emperor. To their ears, it was a proclamation of fate.
Then, the gunship's hatch slowly opened, and a steady, solemn footstep echoed from within, each step like a war drum beating against their souls.
Clad in his custom power armor, Samuel emerged from the hatch, flanked by his Custodians.
His armor was adorned with intricate and sacred Imperial iconography, the black and gold color scheme radiating an unparalleled aura of authority and power.
Samuel's gaze was piercing, sweeping across the ruined battlefield. He did not linger on any scene for too long but instead walked straight toward Fulgrim.
Each step carried an overwhelming presence, making the trembling of most Sons of the Emperor even more pronounced.
"Father."
Fulgrim spoke in a low voice before Samuel, his tone respectful yet tinged with complex emotions.
He raised his hand, clenched it into a fist, and placed it over his chest, then slowly bent his right knee, preparing to kneel on one knee.
However, his movement was halted by Samuel's raised hand.
"No need for formalities, my son," Samuel said, his voice gentle yet commanding.
With a simple gesture, he stopped Fulgrim's attempt to kneel, his actions subtly conveying both forgiveness and trust toward the Primarch.
Meanwhile, the Phoenix Guards and hundred Custodians, still on high alert to prevent any sudden incidents, kept their eyes fixed on the three thousand Sons of the Emperor.
Next, Samuel did not rush to speak but instead turned his gaze to the kneeling Sons of the Emperor.
Samuel's eyes were deep and penetrating, as if they could pierce through the souls of every Son of the Emperor, exposing the repentance and fear buried within them.
At this moment, time seemed to stand still, and the air grew unbearably heavy.
Suddenly, Samuel's eyes blazed with a golden light, and like a scorching sun, a psychic shockwave erupted from him, instantly engulfing the entire core area of New Argos.
This sudden change made it impossible for everyone, including Fulgrim, to keep their eyes open.
When the sun-like shockwave dissipated, Fulgrim was the first to regain his vision. He looked ahead—
??
—and saw that only half of the Sons of the Emperor remained. The bodies of these remaining Sons, once twisted, deformed, and on the brink of collapse, had now been restored to their original human form.
However, the faces of these remaining Sons bore a clear brand of the word "Sin."
------------------
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