#The Wingspan of Treason

[sffinsiders]

Review: The Wingspan of Treason by L.N. Bayen

[b-dubs-valdubs]

inspired by this amazing art by @briseise :))

fic under the cut, or you can read it on ao3 :)

CW: KIDNAPPING, THREATS, SHIPPING

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Cleo sat in the meeting, uttlerly bored out of her mind, listening to the King droning on and on about the various acts of treason committed by the Resistance this week. Huge yawn. Who even cares that much about a statue?

What's worse, Bdubs was making that face again, watching the King intently, large eyes glittering. Yuck. Get a room already.

Cleo tapped her fingers on the polished wood table, letting the voices of the King and his court melt into the background. It was clear that Ren definitely had a soft spot for Bdubs, one glace at the way they looked at each other would tell you as much. But it also showed in the meetings; whenever Bdubs had an idea it was always "good idea, my hand" and "I agree, my treasure." Gross, gross, gross.

It was also very clear that Ren is like a fish out of water when Bdubs isn't there by his side. Like when Bdubs fell ill one week, and Ren had to check up on him every ten minutes, barely fulfilling any kingly duties and letting his so-called loyal court do all of the work for him.

One thing was for certain though: if Cleo had to watch either of them ogle at each other one more time, she just might puke. Or join the resistance. Or both.

"Lady Cleo? Art thou listening?" the King's voice boomed, as he stood there with folded arms and a raised eyebrow. Bdubs mirrored him, glaring daggers into them. Great.

"Uh, yeah, of course I was! How dare the Resistance do... whatever they're doing now!"

She was lucky that the diamond glasses partially hid her eyeroll.

Honestly, Cleo has had enough. They're barely appreciated in this court, and with the King decreeing new ridiculous laws every day, joining the Resistance started to look more and more attractive to them.

Now, to the average person, what Cleo does next may seem a little... drastic. But it was completely necassary! Besides, the King had it coming anyways, who knows how the Resistance didn't spot his little weakness sooner.

Cleo strode over to Bdubs's door, knocking sharply on it three times. She immediately heard rustling and jangling from within the door, before a muffled voice called out: "Coming, my majesty!"

Ew.

Soon after, the large oak double door swung open and Bdubs emerged, grinning. He was covered in golden jewellery - gifts from the King, presumably - and dark makeup tickled his eyelids. As for his clothes, a dark green corset with a pure white silk shirt and dark trousers, alongside boots with a small heel. White wings, fading to green at the end of their wingspan, sat comfortably through little holes in a moss cape, which now had little pink flowers blooming on it.

Upon setting eyes on the person before him, Bdubs's brow furrowed, and his smile faded. "Cle-?"

Cleo grabbed him and held a hand to his mouth. "Shut up," she hissed, "Don't make a sound."

Bdubs whimpered, trying to struggle away from her vice-like grip, but Cleo simply picked him up and carried him over her shoulder, using her elytra to fly out of a window to remain unseen. He wriggled, trying desperately to free himself, flapping his wings to try and fly away. Cleo readjusted her grip, pressing her arm into Bdubs's wings to prevent them from moving.

"What- what are you doing?" Bdubs whispered, unable to stop the fear seeping into his voice, "I- I have a date with the King, you know! And he- he'll be looking for me! Then you'll see!"

"Do you ever just shush, Bdubs?" Cleo growled in his ear, "It's none of your business what I'm doing."

She suddenly swooped down, causing Bdubs to scream, even after they were both firmly on the ground.

Well, Cleo was firmly on the ground. Bdubs was still lying over her shoulder, and still making a racket.

"Oh my Void you're gonna give me a headache..." Cleo muttered as she entered a cave.

<ZombieCleo> whispers to <Soup Group Groupchat!>: hey, might have something of interest for you

<ZombieCleo> whispers to <Soup Group Groupchat!>: come to these coordinates: ...

<ZombieCleo> whispers to <Soup Group Groupchat!>: ... and be quick about it!

The Soup Group excitedly rushed over to the coordinates that Cleo had sent them. It may well be a trap, Cleo was a part of the Royal Court of course, but she never seemed too loyal to them anyways. Just in case, they went into the cave one at a time, Gem at the front with her sword, and Impulse at the back.

The cave seemed unassuming at first, but they soon noticed a few stone buttons laying around. One of them opened a simple piston door, which led to a narrow spiral staircase. The lighting inside was dim, a few torches here and there - and the walls were a plain stone, dug out in a hurry. Eventually, the staircase opened up into a small room with a door on the back wall. Cleo was sitting on a bench inside the room, and at the sight of the Soup Group, their eyes lit up in relief.

"Thank goodness you're here, I was about to die of boredom," they sighed, before rising from their seat and walking towards the door. "Follow me."

The Soup Group looked at each other, before trailing after her. The new room was also dimly lit, and was cut in half by a wall of iron bars. On the other side, a mossy figure lay facing away from the bars, rope tied around his waist and wings.

"Oh, Void!" Impulse exclaimed, stepping away from the bars.

"Cleo... this isn't right..." Gem gasped, "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing! Yet..." Cleo shrugged, "Just kinda grabbed him and took him here I guess."

Bdubs made a growling noise, trying to roll over to the bars. Once he was facing the others, he bared his teeth. "You aren't doing anything to me! Ever! Because Ren's coming for me and you all will get thrown into the dungeon once he finds out what you've done!"

Cleo smirked. "Oh, yeah, your precious King has been messaging you on your comm. He's so worried about his little treasure."

"HEY!"

"Y'know, Cleo," Pearl began, "I'm all for the chaos and everything, but I agree with the others. This is just way too far..."

"Look," Cleo said emphatically, "We can either get some information out of him, use him to blackmail the King, and stand a chance at winning this war. Or, if you guys are too scared, we can just let him roam free, babble to his King about everything we've done, and sentence us all to rotting away in the dungeons. What do you choose?"

Impulse looked into Bdubs's eyes. He knew Bdubs, he knew that he was trying to hide his fear. And Impulse felt awful about it.

"Let's... let's do your thing then, Cleo," Impulse muttered, firmly breaking the eye contact between himself and Bdubs. He didn't have to be looking at Bdubs to imagine the hurt painted on his face.

The other Soup Group members quietly muttered their agreement; Cleo hummed, satisfied. "Good. So you," she pointed at Bdubs, and he couldn't help but flinch back a little, "Are going to cooperate. Or else."

[bardicbird]

mighty nein as moths 2/2 + npcs

second part :] let’s start with cad !

Caduceus - Spanish Moon Moth

Graellsia isabellae is a part of the silkmoth family ! this species is native to france and spain, and has an absolutely beautiful green and dark pink pattern that i thought fit cad very well ! this species just reminds me a lot of green tea and hot chocolate, and i think that’s so caduceus :]

Yasha - Giant Leopard Moth

this moth species, scientifically known as Hypercompe scribonia, are fully nocturnal with an average wingspan of 5.7-9.1 cm (approx. 2.25-3.6 in) . Often mistaken as poisonous, because of its likeness to the woolly worm, but these buddies are harmless ! both the patterning and size of this moth made me think of yasha :] also the fact that she appears prickly, but is an absolute sweetheart underneath.

Veth - Lime Hawk-Moth

look at these lads ! Mimas tillae, or the lime hawk-moth is a pretty varied species, appearance wise ! not gonna lie, finding a moth for veth was probably the hardest out of the group.. but overall, i think the colors and patterns on these moths fit veth quite well.

Essek - Black Witch Moth

Ascalapha odorata, also known as the black witch moth, the mourning moth, or the ‘bat moth’, etc. is a large moth resembling the shape of a bat. it is the largest noctuid in the U.S with a wingspan of up to six inches !! this species carries a lot of burdens in the form of folklore, as it’s known to generally be a harbinger of death , or a sign of spiritual unrest. i don’t even want to talk about the Paraguay folklore bc it’s really gross and body-horror-esque, so look it up if you want to. some cultures instead, see this spiritual connotation as a positive. specifically in Hawaii, these moths are seen as the embodiment of a loved one’s soul returning to say goodbye before moving on. in the Bahamas, they even call this creature a ‘money moth’ or ‘money bat’, believing that being touched by one means you will come into money (this sentiment is similarly, though not exactly, shared by some in South Texas as well). first off: the aesthetic is very essek. the iridescent-like design on the wings reminds me a bit of his mantle. the folklore, as well, fits his upbringing as a young prodigy (money, success, ghosts), his eventual treason (death, misfortune), and the aftermath of his betrayal with the nein (mourning). i also think essek just kind of gives off bat vibes

Lucien - Small Emperor Moth

i had to include lucien in this, speficially because Saturnia pavonia, or the small emperor moth, is known for its creepy as shit eye patterns. the males of this species are usually smaller in size, but much more colorful. i don’t really know what else to say about this: it has too many eyes: it’s lucien.

[sasorikigai]

Fathomless ruin was their blood-stained trophy. Dead silence was their victorious hymn. Memento mori. The thorns of sorrow enlaced his very entity letting poignant spikes pierce so deeply, but he refused to surrender. Even if there's a limit to his chi, he won't reconcile to this terrible fate. He can't let him die. And so he persists obstinately, burning his life away with every second, hoping to keep Hanzo alive, fighting off the death, being on the verge of breakdown. All in vain. (angst yep)

My muse has just died in your muse’s arms. Send in your muse’s reaction. || @shxfu || accepting 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || With racing hearts and dimming lights, his broad frame finds the ground like a corpse, and immediately, he is led to meditation. Eyes holding the language of the ocean, the current, the waves; the incinerating amber eyes holding the feast of suffering, stripping him bare. There is no rhyme or reason, for he is the victim and the treason and the casualty and the cost. A voice tells him to think of a safe place, something that's his own and h instantly feels an erupting warmness in his chest. The marrow of Hanzo Hasashi’s fraility shelters him with the last vestiges of his grief, as it lets the darkness in. The sunflower fields of his battle garb, the sea of psychedelic yellow, absentminded and mellow drenches in sanguine spectacle and the chromatic aberrations of his gaping flesh causes his head to hang, turn into a boulder. The fervent magnanimous of his everburning embers leave him undone and taunting at the same time, its haunting sweetness becoming a faulty caramel delight. 

The shared philosophies underneath the languid sky entertains them, despite the bleeding sunset giving away to obsidian darkness mirrors the proverbial nature of his Hellfire. Time may not agree with him, but with his final breath, Hanzo promises that he will never bow. He will never give into the demands of the Netherrealm to let the halcyon fire become the catalytic agent of destruction. For his fire is his iron-will preventing his being from being burnt whole. The effulgent magnificence of his flames is the manifestation of his heart beating, and even in the sputtering eruption of his blood exsanguinating from his chest, Hanzo’s being would take a soaring flight, by taking the opposite direction to sink into the quagmire as the drifting light shatters and fragments. The desperate clawing of Shifu’s wrist becomes the last whiplash of his wind, with his heart flapping like the breathless bird. 

“The world... it holds all the possibilities. I-I will... see you again. Past the burning coals, for marrows... of my bones,” his thoughts remain divine as the brittle sharpness of his eyes sharpen. “Will still sing.” Thank you for all that you have done for me. Hanzo’s blood boils, running through his insides to ravage through him whole, as the bleeding scarlet skies of his perturbed ocean settles into motionlessness. Soon, the Phoenix’s plumage will stretch its expansive wingspan and rise, as his gaze transports back into the voluminous flow of indanthrene ocean, then back to onyx blackness. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || 

[amarhis]

dark  wings  had  not  always  brought  dark  words  to  the  city  of  starlight  ─  each  of  her  written  correspondences  with  those  within  the  winter,  summer  and  autumn  courts  had  been  tended  to  with  the  care  that  one  might  give  a  sickly  child  during  the  thick  of  war,  clawed  fingers  guarding  the  words  close  to  her  heart  and  feeding  the  papers  to  the  flames  once  she  had  devoured  the  contents  and  seared  them  into  her  thoughts  to  share  with  the  inner  circle.  yet  for  all  her  care,  no  one  had  come  to  drag  her  before  the  late  lord  of  night  court  on  grounds  of  treason  and  no  one  had  been  bothered  (  or  brave  enough  )  to  ask  her  where  the  letters  had  come  from,  believing  her  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  sweet - smiling  girlchild.  amaris  had  proved  them  wrong  in  their  misguided  assumptions  in  the  end,  ash - bitten  hands  glistening  with  blood  as  her  brother  roared  from  the  gates  of  his  prison,  shackles  broken  around  him,  and  no  one  had  looked  at  her  the  same  since,  the  court  of  nightmares  casting  their  eyes  downwards  rather  than  meet  with  the  mischief  sparkling  in  the  harbringer's  swirling  gaze.

yet  fear  was  not  an  emotion  that  she  revelled  in  ─  it  was  necessary  to  ensure  that  the  occupants  of  hewn  city  remained  in  line  but  amaris  did  not  find  joy  in  the  way  those  beneath  the  mountain  shied  away  from  her  wingspan.  it  reminded  her  too  much  of  being  under  another  mountain,  discomfort  churning  at  her  belly  so  strongly  that  she  almost  missed  the  startling  snow - white  locks  and  the  curl  of  magic  so  familiar,  bleeding  from  the  words  that  had  been  written  with  earnesty  until  the  other  fae  spoke,  breathing  the  words  into  the  air  until  it  tickled  at  her  ear.  ❝  interesting  is  an  optimistic  word  for  a  mountain  that  is  so  full  of  old  and  new  animosities  that  one  can  scarcely  breathe  for  fear  of  insulting  another.  ❞  a  smile  played  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  familiarity  loosening  the  tongue  as  she  neared  the  other,  making  herself  smaller  and  more  approachable.  ❝  i  know  you  ...  i  can  feel  your  voice  tickling  the  lobe  of  my  ear  like  a  secret  but  i  am  certain  i  have  never  heard  it  before.  ❞

open starter ! // ft. hayal durmaz,

location: general / undefined location under the mountain

True finery had not been brought out as of yet for these initial greetings between courts under the mountain. Such a weapon as fashion could be knowing how a well crafted seam could in some circles make or break negotiations none of that was required as of yet to strike out on a scene for everyone was just settling in. Coming together here, coming together for talks of borders, of the future, laying to rest the final remnants of war and of the old world they all once inhabited would come to the forefront of discussions soon and then - then persons and people would don their finest. Then it would be required to consider everything down to the last seem as something that would send a message to convey good or ill. For now in this tenuous time where few of them had hardly healed before being thrust forth into uncharted territory the settling in days, this hunkering down and digging in of heels was perhaps more important because they would set the tone for the coming days. It would not hurt to make an impression- to continue work already in motion. For the moment as the great convergence of courts filled the mountain, the winter court emissary dressed simply observing the world like a hawk in the perfect balance of blending in and standing out. It would be impossible to mistake Hayal for anyone else, the shock of snow white hair, nearly platinum and silver toned in the light reflected against cavernous walls gave her away as winter court. The work of an emissary was unending, unyielding but neither was Hayal in the efforts one took to help ensure things went smoothly for the winter court. She wore her usual leathers, finely fitted and lined with a touch of fur as one roved about the place hidden from stars and sky to make introductions. 

One thing that was newer to her person, newer to a degree, was the finely tailored jacket carefully stitched by a certain winter court seamstress. It had like Hayal survived the war into today but it was instead covered in death was renewed; embroidered with subtle touches to the untrained eye that were nothing. This though was a statement, a gesture to others that Hayal would stand behind promises and work for the best of each of them but remain true to were loyalties lied. There were small white flowers on a hem for the spring court, soft blue shells beside the same stitching for summer, leaf motifs to cover a tear for autumn, a sun at the cuff where a button was resewn for day, a rising sun next to that for dawn and there was silver and black thread near a collar for night, all of it styled upon the winter court garb. Quiet subtle things that blended in but at close examination were there, telling a story of a story. Hayal was never unprepared to make a statement even in such a simple thing as greeting other arrivals here. With guarded words she breathed observing the bustling about of staff and fae of all sorts. “The days to come will reveal much - there will be plenty of opportunity to have many interesting encounters  rare as it is we are all in the same place”

[warsofasoiaf]

Next primarch question. This time, it's the fabulous golden hawk boy himself, the conflicted Imperator Regis of Imperium Secundus. What have you to say about Sanguinius?

becauseforoncethisisme said: I don’t even read or know anything about W40K but I’m dying of curiosity about Sanguinius because you offhandedly mentioned that he was attacked by radioactive cannibals and I was all wait WHAT now?      

The Great Angel. The Bright One. The Son Too Good for This Sinful Galaxy. Sanguinius was, by Horus’s estimation, all of the Emperor’s qualities rolled into a single being, and the better choice for Warmaster. In the modern galaxy, Sanguinius is the martyr who saved the Imperium at the cost of his life. He put the chink in Horus’s armor that the Emperor used to obliterate the Arch-Traitor. What can be said about him that hasn’t been said already? Quite a lot, actually. Sanguinius in the Horus Heresy novels shows a rich, deeply-conflicted character. One of the gentlest souls, yet one of great power when roused, and ultimately, saved through faith in his sons.

Sanguinius rose on the irradiated Baal Secundus, guided by a tribe known as the Blood. Radiation tainted the planet, and the people of Baal lived in the ruins of a planet once great during the Dark Age of Technology, hunted by packs of mutant cannibals. Sanguinius himself was not spared mutation, upon emerging from his pod he had a pair of small wings on his shoulder. This nearly ended him, the Blood understood that mutation was danger and death, yet the mercy of the people won out, the infant himself bore no other abnormality. This would change quickly, he grew at a rapid pace and quickly became the hero that the Baalites needed. At a year old, he was a young adult, and he could do everything that his people required, and those tiny cupid wings became a majestic wingspan capable of bearing him aloft, inspiring his people.

Yet it was not just his mighty wingspan, Sanguinius was a fearsome warrior. When attacked by a pack of mutants, Sanguinius slew them in a terrifying rage, so spurred on was he by the danger his friends were in. This marked one of Sanguinius’s most notable dichotomies: brave and calm in the face of personal danger, driven to acts of terrifying strength and fury when those he cared for were threatened. This was the mark of Sanguinius, and one of his greatest strengths and flaws. He was capable of dramatic, amazing action in defense of those he wished to defend, but that instinct could lead him to make rash decisions as well. Also key to Sanguinius were his visions. Like Konrad Curze, Sanguinius was tormented by visions of the future, especially his own grim death. Yet where Curze succumbed to fatalism, Sanguinius bore the grim fate with noble bearing.

Under his leadership, the Baalites no longer were wandering tribes clinging for survival in a blighted hellscape, but a united force of humanity, clearing vast stretches of territory to gain a chance at a true civilization, and the people flocked to his banner. As evidence of that, the people built an amphitheater on Mount Seraph, and there Sanguinius gave a speech to his people, at the culmination of which, the Emperor showed himself among the audience, beaming with pride at his son. Sanguinius swore allegiance immediately, likely due to his psychic visions giving him portents of the future which would include his father. Soon, he was ready, at the head of the Ninth Legion: The Blood Angels. Many of his brothers loved Sanguinius, and he found ways to bond with each. He shared Fulgrim’s love of art, he liked Jaghatai’s study of the Warp, he bonded with Russ’s controlled fury. He could talk to Guilliman about state-building and Dorn about duty. Though above it all, Sanguinius was closest to Horus, both were effective commanders, both looked to surgical strikes, both were amazing warriors. When Horus became Warmaster, Sanguinius heartily supported his brother, and swore to provide him all the aid he could.

Much like Sanguinius himself, the Blood Angels specialized in aerial assault and close combat. They take on high-risk, high-reward missions to secure strategic points and eliminate key enemy figures. The Angel used his wings, his gene-sons would use their jump packs, and always exposed themselves to the riskiest part of the battle, as Sanguinius never was one to shirk danger due to fear. The Blood Angels also harbored a terrifying secret, they shared part of Sanguinius’s terrible fury. Known as the Red Thirst, it was a gradual decline of faculty and control, growing thirstier and thirstier for blood until reason began to fail them, restraint became ineffective, and the Blood Angel would drink deep of the fallen’s blood. Sanguinius was horrified, and kept the flaw a secret from his brothers and father. He feared his father purging the Blood Angels, he feared the lost standing in the eyes of his brothers, and he labored to find a cure. Few learned the truth, Horus being one, who swore to keep his brother’s secret.

Yet this secret, and the love and trust Sanguinius had with his brother Horus, would plant the seeds of ruin. After his corruption, Horus would send Sanguinius to Signus Prime, using the hint of a possible cure or method to control the gene-flaw to properly motivate Sanguinius, as well as isolate his legion from seeking any fellow Astartes support (even though Horus knew Sanguinius did not suspect his treachery, he was almost always methodical in his planning as befits a Warmaster). Horus set Sanguinius into a trap, using the denizens of the Warp to push the Blood Angels beyond their limits. The two Chaos leaders differed over the plan. One idea was to corrupt Sanguinius, with the Keeper of Secret Kyriss the Perverse, the other was to kill him with Bloodthirster Ka’Bandha, an idea shared by Horus who secretly feared being surpassed by Sanguinius and eclipsed and forgotten (the feat that helped push him in the first place). Meeting the latter first, Sanguinius dueled the Bloodthirster, who crushed the Angel’s legs and used his inability to move to slaughter hundreds of Blood Angels, mocking the hero as the psychic pain of losing his gene-sons overwhelmed his mind, and the rage began to overwhelm his sons. Yet thanks to his Librarians, Sanguinius was revived, and charged back into the fray, impaling Kyriss and tearing Ka’Bandha’s wings off and kicking him into a pit. Kyriss then showed his plan, offering the ragefire to Sanguinius, to take in the rage of his sons and save them from it, at the cost of himself. This was carefully crafted to appeal to Sanguinius. Ka’Bandha used the link between Sanguinius and his sons to knock him out, but Kyriss used the love he had to corrupt him. Much like with Tzeentch and Magnus, Chaos needled its way to strike where it hurt the most, but Mero stopped Sanguinius by taking a third option, sacrificing himself instead so that Sanguinius could slay the Keeper of Secrets and save the Blood Angels. This would be a running theme in the Blood Angels: sacrifice.

When Sanguinius reached the 500 Worlds, it was completely by accident, the Warp wrecking havoc and the Pharos Beacon illuminating Ultramar. Yet despite the accidental arrival, it fit directly into Guilliman’s plans, to make him the Emperor of Imperium Secundus to pre-emptively end any leadership conflict with the Lion. Yet Sanguinius made sure to divide his power, entrusting Guilliman with the state-building and the Lion with the defense, building themselves into a power that could match the Traitor Legions in unity until such time that Terra and their father could be confirmed. Here, he showed his leadership, holding himself to the high standards he held his brothers and tormented by the visions of his death and the reality of the situation upon Ultramar. When the Lion returned to claim Curze and deliver the truth, to Sanguinius’s eternal credit, he ceded Imperium Secundus immediately, and looked to redeem himself for any perceived treason and meet his destiny.

The Warp would surely test him. His visions of his death made him wonder about the nature of Fate, and the path through the Ruinstorm showed him the stakes of the galaxy should Chaos win and existence be tainted. The path through the Ruinstorm was the 40K equivalent of Jesus going to the desert, where the whispers of Satan became the whispers of Madail the Undivided, Daemon and Preacher of Chaos Undivided, who had come with one goal: convert Sanguinius into the Angel of Ruin that would bring about Chaos’s final victory. Here, Sanguinius was presented with the ultimate decision between two terrible choices, his destiny was not set in stone. He could slay Horus at the last minute, but end up being a greater champion of Chaos than Horus, or he could accept his fate and the psychic pain would curse his sons with the Black Rage, the second of the two terrible flaws of the Blood Angels. From a literature perspective, this is a masterfully done decision, to present a character with two absolutely unacceptable options to illuminate more about them, to show what they are in adversity.

“Because as long as one single Blood Angel lives, he will be the master of his spirit. He will not let the abyss that lies in the hearts of us all take him into darkness. That is the truth you did not understand, the truth that Horus has forgotten. It is not the descent toward the shadow nor the rise toward the light that makes us superior. It is the endless struggle between the two that greatness of character lies. We are tested, and we do not break. We will never fall!”

His choice speaks to his character, a man of unyielding faith, not in himself, but in his sons. It was his victory in Fear to Tread and comes back in Ruinstorm. His choice gives his sons the Black Rage, but he believes in the spirit of the Blood Angels, that they will take the darkness and endure it, to become the greatest that they can. This is the promise of the Astartes, to take on the dangers that which only they, in their gene-crafted bodies, can handle to protect humanity. And when Madail attempts to pin him, it is his gene-sons who come to his aid again, with Alatron pinning him in place and birthing the Warp-entity as the Sanguinor, the literal embodiment of the brotherhood and sacrifice of the Blood Angels into an actual entity that comes in the time of their greatest need. Yet even the mighty Sanguinius had his limits, and Konrad Curze finally broke them with all his rampant torture and murder. He shows Konrad that there might have been a way to avoid his fate, before sealing him in a Stasis Coffin and sending him off, saying that even if his father forgave him, Sanguinius himself could not and because of his own actions, Curze would never even be given the chance to achieve it. Thus, he would drift in that coffin until his own prophecized end. That one-two punch, that all of Curze’s awful actions could have been for nothing (since if his fate was not set in stone, then his First Great Thesis and reason for being is gone) and that he would have to drift until his end in a hell of his own making broke him. Even if the Emperor was the tyrant Curze believed, even if everything he did was vindicated, it was never always destined, and that was a stunning refutation and acceptance of destiny.

Speaking of destiny, it is no wonder then, that when the Dark Angels, Ultramarines, and Blood Angels emerge, it is the Blood Angels who are picked to stand on Terra, while Guilliman and Lion give him the cover he needs. They understand the journey and have accepted the destiny of their brother, just as they worked together in the Warp, their brotherly bond allowing them to reach their brother in a way that their gene-sons couldn’t match (the Warp is metaphorical like that). When Sanguinius stood on Terra with Dorn and the Khan, he knew his fate, but still fought to defend humanity, to give time for his brothers to arrive, for the golden future that his father promised even though he knew he would never see it. When the Emperor said that it was time to go to the Vengeful Spirit, it was the tolling of the bell that Sanguinius accepted. He was at peace with his fate, and though he would go down fighting, he still did what he was as Sanguinius. He offered his brother mercy, and when it was refused, he offered him his blade. And when Horus broke his back over his knee, his destiny was fulfilled at last, the visions he saw since his birth coming full circle.

He went into his doom willingly to save as much of the Imperium as he could, and he sent that light down through his gene-sons, his brothers, and the example he set in life and death. He was a deeply complex man, a man who nearly was pushed to his ruin more than once, yet stabilized himself by remembering his humility and humanity. He gave it everything he had and handled his death with a rare dignity, leaving the galaxy with a legacy of a hero.

Thanks for the question, For Once and Calagon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King