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Every belief had been stripped from him, every fact he had considered an eternal truth of the universe had been proven to be a lie.
When he had awoken in this dark future, he could only despair at seeing how their dream had been shattered, but it had been so much worse, to see the true dream fully realized. How many lies had he told himself? How many things had he wilfully blinded himself to, to not deal with uncomfortable truths?
Lorgar had been right. The traitors had been right about the Emperor, all this time. The grand dream of the Imperium was the complete and utter destruction of humanity under the guise of salvation.
And yet, he could not help but hope against hope that there was something left of his brother in the pitiless figure that dragged him before the Throne.
"Brother, please, stop this madness," he gasped out. “Remember who you are!”
Sanguinius stared down at him impassively. It should have been a miracle, to see him alive again.
It wasn’t.
Sanguinius’ hands of cold bright metal weighed down on his shoulders and forced him to his knees before the throne. All he could do was glare up at the glowing figure that he had once called lord.
I WILL GIVE YOU ONE LAST CHANCE. REPENT. SUBMIT.
The words hammered themselves into his brain, a single message, coherent, the tolling of ten thousand funeral bells. He steeled his mind against the force of it.
"Never!" He spat. "I will never kneel to you, abomination.”
What did He even expect? Was he supposed to suddenly bow down in fear and serve?
DISAPPOINTING, BUT NOT UNEXPECTED. YOU WERE ALWAYS ONE OF MY LESS RELIABLE TOOLS.
It still stung. And to be compared to the automatons, like Sanguinius with his iron grip on his shoulders… “I am not one of your tools!” He spat back.
YES, I REMEMBER. YOU PREFER TO BE CALLED MY SON. NOT TECHNICALLY INACCURATE, BUT NEEDLESSLY EMOTIONAL.
It was at once both a comfort and a further darkness that despite all his powers, the Emperor had fundamentally never understood him. Saying the words he had once said before, he looked up and spoke, “I only ever had one father. His name was Konor Guilliman.
SO BE IT.
Sanguinius let go and he felt himself being pulled into the air by an unseen force.
IF YOU WILL NOT REPENT WILLINGLY, THEN I MUST SHOW YOU THE ERROR OF YOUR WAYS MYSELF.
No.
Somewhere, he was screaming. He could feel his thoughts, his cares, his precious memories of better times that he hoarded, all being ripped away by burning metal hands, as if a terrible machine was taking apart the seams of his being to reuse the fabric. And at his core, the faint ember still remaining of his belief in a better world for the future, was snuffed out. His last thought, as his soul was pulled apart like a children’s candy, and his body turned to metal, was that he had never had any choice at all.