"Long time no see, Captain-General."
The voice sliced gently through reality and dissipated in the next heartbeat. Reyna was certain her ears had heard him, yet she couldn't determine his tone, his pitch, or even the volume of his voice. She couldn't even be sure if he had truly spoken at all.
The man was cloaked, appearing slightly taller than an Astartes, though his form seemed shrouded in a hazy phantom—expanding and contracting, making his true size impossible to pin down. His fingers gripped the hand of the Custodian who had lunged at them.
As they grappled, the cloak trembled slightly, and the surrounding air crackled with sharp, staccato pops. Bizarrely, the Astartes, Harlequins, and Deathmarks guarding Macragge seemed utterly oblivious to the confrontation happening right in front of Reyna and Joan.
"You're not dead?" The Custodian's muffled voice echoed from beneath his helmet.
"Captain-General, of course I'm not dead. Have you forgotten the story of Hercules and the Hydra? Cut off one head, and two more grow back..."
The cloaked man continued in a voice devoid of any memorable quality. "Then again, perhaps I am dead, and what stands before you is merely a ghost who drank the poisonous blood of the Hydra..." His arm remained unyielding, firmly blocking the Custodian whom he called Captain-General and whom Joan had called the Sun God.
Tensions flared between them. The Custodian stared at the man, a few muffled, complex syllables leaking from his helmet. The cloaked man let out a low growl as blood began to seep from his arm, yet he remained unfazed. "Captain-General, do you really want to cause trouble here? With so many eyes watching, you are no less a subject of suspicion than I am."
"...Let us compromise," the man suggested. "You may speak with this child, but you cannot take her away."
The Custodian fell silent for a moment before nodding slightly. "Fine," he rasped, his voice sounding as if blood were flowing in his throat. He shifted his gaze to Joan, observing her soul. "You..."
"Sun God, I was once His vessel," Joan answered before he could even finish his question. "But the Gods are protecting my soul. My will is no longer an empty void for Him to inhabit. I will not become Him."
"Even with others protecting your soul, if you were willing, you could still become the vessel," the Custodian countered in a low, raspy tone. "Humanity has worshipped Him for so long. If there was a chance to trade a single life for His resurrection, I believe almost all of mankind would agree. To many, He is perfect, flawless, and worth discarding all reason to sacrifice for."
"I was raised by Him since I was a child," Joan's voice rose slightly.
The air suddenly froze. The cloaked man opened his mouth, looking at Joan with a gaze of pity, sympathy, and shared experience. The Custodian also fell silent for a long time, eventually retracting the arm he had reached toward Joan.
"If His parenting skills haven't improved in ten thousand years, I believe you won't choose to become Him," the Custodian remarked, his voice carrying an indefinable sense of barely being able to keep his composure.
"When I was little," Joan began, "He often told me stories about how Oll Persson hid his identity and served in the mortal guard under Guilliman in Ultramar, receiving a generous pension after retiring. Then Oll decided to invest that money, along with his savings, into real estate on a thriving planet in Ultramar. He chose Calth and bought twenty hectares of land."
Joan's voice wavered. "Then the Battle of Calth broke out. The Word Bearers' bombardment stripped dozens of meters off the surface and shattered the atmosphere. He told that story many times, laughing loudly at the end, mocking Oll Persson's investment foresight. I swore then that I would never grow up to be someone like Him."
"Oh? Did He ever tell you that to get Oll to join His 'great cause,' He set fire to Oll's sheep pen, only for the fire to get out of control and nearly burn Oll to death?" the cloaked man asked, his lip twitching.
"Do you two know that for a long time, Oll hated the Emperor but believed in an ancient religion on Terra symbolized by a cross?" the Custodian added, unable to resist. "The carpenter who sacrificed himself on that cross was actually the Emperor Himself. Oll never knew; for tens of thousands of years, he worshipped one of the Emperor's own aliases..."
"Oll Persson really had the worst luck in the world, running into the Emperor," the three of them lamented almost simultaneously.
The Custodian shrank back into the crowd—who still seemed to ignore them completely—and with one final look at Joan, he melted into the shadows like a ghost.
Reyna hesitated, unsure if letting him leave was the right choice.
"You can't stop that Captain-General, little girl who punches the Warp," the cloaked man chuckled softly. "Ten thousand years ago, he was suspected of being one of the strongest beings below the Primarchs. Some even believed he could rival them. Now, ten thousand years later, who knows how much ancient knowledge and skill he has mastered? The incantations he just used were enough to raise his threat level significantly."
The cloaked man raised his arm, revealing gruesome wounds that tore through his flesh like cracks. Crimson blood flowed uncontrollably—the result of just a few syllables uttered by the Custodian. "If that strike had hit an ordinary Custodian, even in Auric armor, they would have been blown to pieces. My father specifically sought him out for a reason... Perhaps he is a remnant human god from the Unification Wars? Or a manifestation of some great thought?"
"Who is he, really?" Reyna demanded. Joan seemed to know, but Reyna was still lost.
"Can't you guess? Sun God. Captain-General. I thought it was clear enough." The man laughed. "If we said his full name, it would take all day—that's how Custodes naming works. In my memory, he had 1,932 names; today, they'd fill an entire volume of a book. He has many informal titles too: The Right Hand of the Empire, one of the Triumvirate of the Unification Wars, Chief Custodian, Sun God, First Captain-General, Spear of the Emperor... or the most famous one: Constantin Valdor."
"The missing First Captain-General?" Reyna gasped. Her history was shaky, but she knew the religious legends of the Ecclesiarchy. "Yes, but unfortunately, he has discarded all those titles. Now... he should be called the King in Yellow," the cloaked man said with a smirk.
"And you? Who are you?" Reyna asked, narrowing her eyes. If the man before her could stop Valdor—the man raised by the Emperor, equal to a Primarch—then he could only be...
"Me?" The man seemed to have been waiting for her to ask. "I was the first child to follow the Emperor. When my other brothers had yet to return, I stepped into war by His side. When they were still on remote planets, I sat beside the Emperor, gazing into the void, observing the stars, reading ancient works, and discussing the destiny of humanity, civilization, and the galaxy."
"While my brothers were still ignorant, I already knew my mission—to fight for the Imperium, for the Crusade, and for the Master of Mankind. Many call me a traitor, and many try to erase my records, but it is laughable. Before they were even born, I had already sacrificed everything for human survival and achieved forgotten feats. If you ask who I am, I can only tell you: I am the First Found of the Master of Mankind."
"Lorgar!!" (Wait, actually "Alpharius!" or simply "Traitor!") — Note: The text implies Reyna mistakes his bald head/identity for a traitor like Horus or Lorgar. "RAAAAGH!!" Reyna let out a furious roar. The portable pyramid hidden in her hair amplified her psychic potential, and the high-efficiency pills behind her teeth boosted her output. The veil of reality was instantly torn asunder. Her intense will, carrying massive psychic power, slammed into the Warp.
The entire Warp surged violently. The dormant wills within the currents let out ear-piercing wails; they instinctively wanted to resist, but as they looked at Reyna, they saw the shadow of Alexander standing beside her. The Warp entities whimpered and looked away, terrified of drawing Alexander's attention, and immediately began weaving a spell to fulfill Reyna's desire for a Warp lightning strike.
A hideous rift appeared in the sky. Because so many powerful wills had gathered near Macragge to watch the funeral, the spell they wove was exceptionally powerful.
From within a deep green, feral storm, two bursts of maniacal laughter erupted—one cunningly brutal, the other brutally cunning. These two (Gork and Mork) were purely there to watch the show. Reyna's power couldn't touch them, but her savage act of punching the Warp into submission, combined with her "cunning" use of Alexander's influence to force the spirits to obey, earned their favor. They thought Reyna was very Waaaaaagh!!!
A bolt of lightning that defied all laws of physics, swirling with immeasurable primordial fell-energy, crashed down from the heavens, piercing reality and striking toward the bald man.
The mortals nearby finally noticed the horror and screamed in panic, scattering in all directions. The Astartes, Inquisitors, and assassins also reacted, lunging from all sides toward the man. The storm blew back his hood, revealing a shiny bald head.
Seeing that bald head, Reyna's expression became even more terrifying. Her psychic power surged, turning into whips that lashed the Warp. The Warp spirits wailed in grievance; to them, this was more humiliating than painful, but to avoid the "Master's" attention, they accelerated the spell.
The two green gods added their own chaotic energy into the mix. The bald man's eyes twitched. How could a mortal body brew such massive psychic power? He also felt several other powerful psychic presences rising in the distance, locking onto him.
"Wait!" the bald man reached out, smiling awkwardly. "You misunderstand, I'm not Horus, I am—"
The sharp lightning slammed down, incinerating and melting the heavy mountain stone, leaving nothing but a bottomless pit. A rift in reality remained in its wake, leaking Warp energy.
Reyna panted heavily, unable to believe she had released such power. But she also felt a sense of intense confusion and uncertainty. Was that psychic energy real? Had she really hit the man? Did he even exist? Everything felt uncertain.
"Why do you all think the First Found is Horus?"
That unremarkable voice rose again from behind Reyna. The assassins, Inquisitors, Raven Guard, and Ultramarines had somehow all collapsed around the bald man. The events of the last few seconds seemed blurred, hidden, and indescribable. Reyna realized this man was indeed different from the Horus of the legends.
"He is indeed not Horus," Joan said, nodding as she observed him. "He is..."
"He is Alpharius, but he might also not be," a heavy, gloomy, and slightly maddened voice echoed from the distance.
The bald man looked toward the horizon and smiled. "One of my... oh no, several of my brothers are here."
Reyna looked toward the voice, hoping to see which Primarch had come to help—Sanguinius, Guilliman, or Lion? A billion gloomy red eyes peered down from a murder of crows circling the sky. A massive man in dull metallic armor, surrounded by shield-bearing automata, stepped out from the dust, his armor's weapons locked onto the bald man.
The screeching of the crows was harsh, like gravel grinding against a mirror. Their crimson eyes hung in the sky like dim stars, filled with extreme hatred, prolonged suffering, and deep gloom. Finally, all of it coalesced into a single, manic laugh: "Alpharius! ALPHARIUS!!"
Crows let out death-rattling shrieks as blood seeped from their bodies, transforming in the blink of an eye into sharp spikes that lunged toward Alpharius.
"Wait, Corax!" Alpharius let out an urgent, startled cry, trying to interrupt the Lord of Crows' attack. But his plea was met only with more manic laughter. "You're still alive! You're actually still alive! Good! Excellent! I can finally have my revenge with my own hands!"
Amidst the sharp laughter, a bolt of azure lightning tore through the dark clouds formed by the crows, striking directly at Alpharius's face. Alpharius let out a cry of pain as his form suddenly became fixed, as if pinned by the lightning.
The attacker manifested: black hair flowing, iron wings unfurled, a pale face like a death-specter, and entirely black eyes filled with madness. He kicked Alpharius in the chest, pinning him down, while sharp lightning claws pressed against Alpharius's throat.
"Can you see it? The blood on my claws?" Corax questioned with a mix of hatred and self-reproach. His claws, looking like a blend of iron and bone, shimmered with a cold light as clean as a shadow on a starless night—completely devoid of blood. Yet, as he stared at his own claws, a single tear of blood fell from his pitch-black eyes.
"This is the blood of my sons. They were excellent warriors, loyal sons, great heroes... but I had to kill them. Why, Alpharius? Tell me! WHY!"
The interrogation was as sharp as the claws that pierced into Alpharius's shoulder. Blood began to flow from the wound. Facing the King of Crows' fury, Alpharius instead wore an expression that was half-amused and half-aggrieved.
"Corax, I am sorry for what happened to your sons. I truly am. But the Twentieth Legion has twin Primarchs. Omegon and I are nearly identical, yet distinct individuals. During the Rebellion, our choices were different. It was Omegon who turned your sons into those monstrosities, not me. I am loyal. I have always been on your side."
"Don't mix us up! Think about it—it would be like someone confusing you with Konrad Curze—"
A sharp claw suddenly clamped onto Alpharius's face, its tips sinking beneath his skin. "Lies! Lies! LIES!" Corax's voice grew increasingly extreme. "You think you can deceive me? I will skin this snake and see how many faces you have hidden beneath your flesh!" He yanked his claw from Alpharius's shoulder, preparing to strike at his face.
Suddenly, an Iron Circle robot carrying a massive shield slammed into the Lord of Crows. The shadowy Primarch's form barely flinched, and the robot was instantly torn to shreds. However, even more Iron Circle automata surged forward to surround Corax.
"How did you bring so many automata onto Macragge?" Corax's voice was chilling as he glared at Perturabo, who stood behind the wall of machines.
"Through customs, obviously. I even paid the taxes," Perturabo replied matter-of-factly, lifting his head slightly. "Macragge Customs has a registration form for Primarchs attending the funeral; it includes a declaration sheet for carried items. Didn't you fill it out? Did you sneak in as an illegal immigrant?"
"The fact that you filled it out is what's bizarre! You're a Traitor!" Alpharius shouted, his head still pinned by Corax.
Corax's fingers dug deeper into Alpharius's face. "Are you going to stop me?" his voice was lethal. "Do you think you can escape? I will slaughter you all..."
"You're going to go on a killing spree? At our Father's funeral?" Perturabo wore a look of disgust. "Even I, who suffered so much mistreatment from Him, am willing to attend His funeral without disturbing His burial. You claim to be loyal, yet you cannot do the same?"
"Killing you would be a blood sacrifice for my Father... and for my sons," Corax said gloomily.
At that moment, the thunderous roar of teleportation echoed as pale light exploded around them. The Primarch's Honor Guard of the Ultramarines—the Victrix Guard in their blue-and-gold power armor—fanned out rapidly. With firm footsteps, the Master of Ultramar stood tall among them. Roboute Guilliman's face, resembling a monarch on a coin, swept over the scene. He gestured slightly, and together with Perturabo, they surrounded Corax and Alpharius.
Corax stared gloomily at Guilliman. "Guilliman, why are you standing with Perturabo?"
Guilliman blinked, momentarily stunned. "You... Corax?" It was only now that he recognized the shadowy, wraith-like being pinning Alpharius was his brother. Faced with the question, Guilliman opened his mouth: "He entered through customs legally. He reported his presence and has a visa. You, however, are illegal stowaways."
Perturabo tilted his head, looking almost proud. People often thought the Lord of Iron was a stubborn man capable only of rage, but that wasn't true. Perturabo derived pleasure not from war or glory, but from moral superiority. He loved standing on the moral high ground.
He had come to the funeral largely for this reason; he wanted to appear filial and magnanimous. By queuing up at customs and declaring his equipment like a commoner just to bury a father who had mistreated him, his sense of moral righteousness was deeply satisfied.
"Let him go, Corax," Guilliman said. "This is our Father's funeral. It is not a place for vengeance."
"You want me to spare him?" Corax's voice bordered on hysterical. "Guilliman, if your sons had suffered the same catastrophe as mine, could you still say those words?"
"Yes," Guilliman replied softly, looking at Corax. "Even if Lorgar stood here today, I would say the same: This is Father's funeral; it is not a place for vengeance. To be honest, I even sent Lorgar a funeral invitation, promising his safety, but he didn't dare come. Corax, some things are nobler than revenge. Sometimes we must betray the dead for the sake of the living."
Corax's expression wavered, his fingers trembling, but his lightning claw remained pointed at Alpharius. Guilliman kept his eyes lowered, the conversation clearly evoking his own grief, yet he stood his ground.
In Corax's pitch-black eyes, one could see the reflection of planets burning under betrayal and Ultramarines falling to surprise attacks. In Guilliman's eyes, one could see the reflection of mutated sons weeping and Corax ending their lives with his own hands. The air became stifling.
Click.
A crisp sound broke the tension. Alpharius had moved his fingers, opening a small compartment hidden in his wrist armor. Corax let out a feral roar and lunged, but Alpharius raised a hand to block him. Between his fingers, he held an object.
Corax's claws stopped in mid-air. His black eyes locked onto the item in Alpharius's hand: an ancient gold ring engraved with a nine-headed serpent. More importantly, it pulsed with an ancient psychic power—unmistakably the Emperor's.
"Hidden in Mystery, Ever Loyal."
A faint voice echoed from the ring; it was the Emperor's voice.
"This is the token of my loyalty," Alpharius said. "Given to me by my Father when I was young, and kept by me ever since. I am His First Found—the true First Found. When you were all sent into the stars, I landed right on Malcador's head. To you, the Emperor is a father by blood; to me, He is a true father who raised me."
"When I was young," Alpharius continued, "I would stand on the peaks of the Himalayas, looking at the stars and imagining what you were experiencing out there. My Father noticed this, and on a night He could spare, He sat with me to watch the stars. He taught me outdated knowledge about Chaldean constellations and ancient star-maps."
"He told me that we twenty brothers were like twenty constellations, each representing certain traits. He asked which I loved most. I said I loved Sagittarius—the Centaur—for its bow and military might, like a Master of Armies. I said I loved Libra for its balance and statecraft, like a Master of Nations. I mentioned the Sextant for its precision, like a Master of Construction. And I mentioned Corvus—the Crow—for its silence and protection of the weak."
Alpharius smiled. "But Father was surprised I mentioned so many yet skipped Hydra. That was the seat He had reserved for me. He told me Hydra was the most venomous constellation—one body, nine heads, omnipresent. Cut off one head, two grow back. Fatal venom, killing from the shadows. My battlefield is not in the open, but in the mysteries behind the enemy. No one understands my thoughts or my actions, but I alone know that everything I do is for loyalty. Then, He gave me this... my gold ring."
"Do you all have a gold ring like that?" Perturabo asked, his voice a bit rushed. He immediately looked annoyed at himself. Hearing about Alpharius's ring reminded him of Horus's Sagittarius ring, and he suddenly felt mistreated again, wondering if every Primarch except him had one. He regretted asking, not wanting to look desperate.
"I don't have one," Guilliman said calmly.
"Neither do I," Corax added, finally letting go and patting Alpharius's shoulder in apology. He sensed no lie, and the power in the ring confirmed the Emperor's recognition. Omegon was the culprit, not the man before him.
Alpharius's wounds vanished almost instantly. Corax watched, uncertain if he had even attacked him at all.
"Think nothing of it, brother. I understand your rage," Alpharius said warmly. He then looked at Perturabo. "The Crater ring—symbolizing primordial sorcery and wine—is with Russ. I'm not sure if the Second Brother had one... it might be related to what happened back then."
"It seems the conflict is over," Guilliman's tone softened. "Now, we have important matters to discuss."
A short while later...
Alpharius sat in the office Guilliman had arranged. He looked at Corax next to him, who was scribbling furiously on a pile of forms. He looked at Constantin Valdor, who had been brought in as well, looking utterly weary of life.
Alpharius lowered his head to look at the thick stack of papers in front of him: Primarch Funeral Attendance Declaration Form.
"I really hate the constellation Libra," he muttered.