AN: I abandoned this for a couple of years. Sorry about that. I've restarted this. So far, I've edited chapters 1 and 2, and written chapter 3. Chapter 4 is currently in the works.

Damn Sorcery.

Sanguinius didn't normally swear at all, even in his head. But this was probably as appropriate a time as there ever was going to be. The Imperium was falling apart. Institutions and ideals crumbled as if hit with cyclonic torpedoes. Even the simplest and strongest codes, like the brotherhood of the Astartes, were ash now.

Sanguinius, while not sanguine about it, had come to terms with this. The Imperium was falling apart, and there was nothing he could to stop it. All he could do was limit the damage. Make it so enough of the Imperium remained that it could survive.

Today was the day where he could do that. Today was the day that decided the difference between a pyrrhic victory and a crushing defeat. Sanguinius had seen it, he knew it. He had to help swing the balance. He wasn't worried about having to sacrifice himself; that was what you were meant to do. And if sacrificing himself would swing the balance, well, he had to swing the balance.

Sanguinius stalked through the corridors of the Vengeful Spirit like an injured lion: regal, and in some ways less dangerous because of his injuries, and in some ways more, because of his desperation. Thankfully, most of the Sons of Horus fought elsewhere on the ship, against their own kind; his wings and his height made him stick out like a sore thumb. He could probably kill them, but it would expend energy he didn't have. Bruises covered his back and the bony part of his wings, and every step felt like walking up a steep hill. Tiredness almost overcame him; every muscle trying to pull him down to the ground. He tried to dismiss it as more of Horus' foul sorcery, but he knew that wasn't the whole story. The Siege of Terra had been exhausting, the last few days more so, and the botched teleport meant even more hard, exhausting fighting.

A crackle in his vox-piece signalled the start of a new message. It was static-y and distorted, but Sanguinius could have recognised the voice anywhere.

"... Fists veterans... Linked up... Moving on fr... Embarkation deck... Heavy casualties... Apothecary... Dead... Moving t... Lupercal's Court..."

He tilted his head a little closer to the vox transmitter on his power armour's neck piece. "Good to know, Dorn. I have found no surviving Blood Angels yet. All so far seem to have been killed by Sons of Horus marines or teleported into walls. I am nearly at Lupercal's Court, and we don't have the time for me to wait for you when I reach there. I'll engage Horus. The Emperor Protects."

Distorted words that may have been an acknowledgement crackled through the piece.

Sanguinius continued along the strangely quiet corridors. Every step he took increased the feeling of unnameable dread, like someone slowly draping a shroud over him as he walked. As he got closer to the Court, the ever present spiked wheels started to be adorned with crucified guardsmen and Custodes.

It seemed like hours before he came across it. He didn't think it should've logically taken this long, but his armour's chronometer jinked too wildly for him to before sure either way.

He stood in front of the door, with leering faces shifting and struggling to break the confines of the frame. The door itself dwarfed even him.

He checked his grip on his longsword and kicked it down.

Lupercal's Court had changed since he had last seen it. He remembered it as like a court of law, with the judge sitting in front of a star field. Now, it was more like the court of a demented ruler. All the benches had been removed. The dead and mutilated Custodes, Astartes and guardsmen littered the floor. The massive window at the back remained, but it now showed a panorama of Terra's destruction. The judge's seat had been replaced with a carved throne of grey wood and bone.

Though the change to the room was the least noticeable change of them all.

There he was, Horus, his brother, standing there and smirking as if he had been waiting for Sanguinius to arrive. He looked nothing like what Sanguinius remembered him as. The dark light of the warp cloaked and concealed him, and all his regalness, kindness and brotherliness seemed to have disappeared.

"My brother, I can give you one last chance. Turn away from all of this, reject it, and you can be forgiven," Sanguinius said, as he slowly walked toward the stage Horus was standing on. "I can convince Father, and you can help rebuild the Imperium."

Horus walked down the steps off the stage. "Oh Sanguinius, ever forgiving, ever loyal. Considering you are willing to forgive me, I am willing to offer you a place at my side. Forsake our father, the lying Emperor, and join with me at my right hand. " Horus paused to let it sink in. "Though I know you would never accept that offer. Neither will I accept yours. I will never rejoin this empire of lies, to be chained to a foolish tyrant."

"So it ends like this."

Horus nodded. "It is sad to see our close brotherhood end like this, but it really ended a long time ago. All that's for us left now is to try kill each other."

Sanguinius charged at Horus and swiped straight across his chest plate.

Horus threw his lightning claws up to parry.

Something forced Sanguinius to his knees before he could launch his second strike. His sight faded until all he could see was complete blackness. A presence wailed in his ears, screaming why he had killed so many people and did not feel guilty.

But most of all, it hurt. Electric charge flew across his wings and his whole body burned. He felt like every cell in his body was being slowly and painfully sucked dry. Cold metal hands wrapped around his neck, gently at first, then closing in tight to throttle him. Sanguinius struggled for all he was worth, his arms flailing desperately and his white wings flapping like an injured bird.

"Calm now, brother. You're only dying. It'll be quiet soon." His brother's voice was warmer, more like it had been before he betrayed the Emperor. Sanguinius heard it, but instead of settling he struggled even more, his face turning red as failed to breathe.

Horus tossed him aside just as he thought he was going to die. He skidded across the floor, landing sideways in the fetal position with his left wing draped over him like a blanket. He breathed in shuddering gasps as looked up to see what had caused Horus to let go.

The Emperor stood in the doorway.

Sanguinius smiled. Reinforcement had arrived! He felt like he needed to stand, pick up his sword and rejoin the fight with his father, but he couldn't. His arms and legs had forgotten how to stand up.

As the Emperor and Horus traded blows, Sanguinius faded in and out of reality. One moment all sight and sound was superimposed by the blackness and the wailing, the next moment everything would be all too clear and all too bright.

Sanguinius barely took in anything of the climactic battle, didn't understand anything. Breathing was too high a priority, and it took all his effort and willpower. His eyes watered, blurring everything; partially because of the horrible pain inflicted on him earlier, and partially because he forgot to blink.

At the end Sanguinius saw Horus slumped on the ground: The Emperor barely standing, missing and eye and an arm; and a dead guardsman laying between them. Horus' eyes were wide and tears were streaming down his face. He spoke so quietly you could barely hear his words: "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I'm sorry..."

The Emperor, tears pricking his own eyes, just shook his head. A bright light seared through the room and all that was left of the traitorous Warmaster was a pile of ash.

The Emperor fell face first onto the floor.

Rogal Dorn, ten or so Imperial Fists veterans, a dozen Custodes and three Blood Angels veterans ran in. Rogal Dorn ran to the Emperor as the Blood Angels rushed over to their wounded Primarch. Working together, they somehow managed to get Sanguinius standing up.

Sanguinius shook all over and he held his wings and arms out to keep himself balanced.

"What happened here? Sire, are you okay?" one of the Blood Angels asked.

"Thank you, my sons," was all Sanguinius managed to murmur, his eyes closed and his arms still out.

"What happened, father? We felt... something happen to you. It was like what happened at Signus, but far worse. The Fists thought we had gone crazy."

"Perhaps it is better that I tell you when I – I mean we, are feeling clearer headed." Sanguinius opened his eyes and smiled weakly.

Rogal Dorn stood up, carrying the Emperor in his arms. "Brother, we need to teleport back to the Palace immediately."

Sanguinius nodded weakly as Dorn marched out of the room. He stumbled after his brother, the Blood Angels veterans still somehow holding him upright. Normally he would have brushed them off, but right now he was too weak to even push them away.

Halfway down a corridor, Dorn nodded to one of his veterans. In a flash of bright light and a rush of displaced air, they all teleported back to the central room of the Imperial Palace.

Rogal Dorn pushed passed the milling Custodes and ran to the Golden Throne.

Slowly, the Blood Angels holding Sanguinius up let go of him. After a few frightening wobbles, Sanguinius managed to stand unaided. "Thanks, again,"he said.

A crowd of Blood Angels came back from the fighting on the walls.

"What happened?"

"Did we win? Or are we still fighting?"

"It happened again. Why did it happen again?"

"Lord, are you alright? You look terrible..."

The sea of noise sent Sanguinius reeling. He nodded in answer to every question, regardless of the actual answer.

'Quiet, please. Our father needs some space and quiet," said one of the veterans from the Spirit.

Sanguinius closed his eyes, trying to ignore the fact the floor felt like it was rocking and everything looked like a dark and grainy pict.

Then, without warning, The Loyal Angel collapsed into a heap on the ground.