“Quiet!
I will not allow a newly arrived Primarch to disrupt the normal operations of the XII Legion!” With a roar of fury and frustration, Khârn slammed his fist onto the command table.
Clang.
A dent appeared in the forged steel surface.
The commanders of the World Eaters, who had been moments away from boiling over, fell silent at once.
Each of them was filled with bewilderment, unable to fathom the motive behind this move by the Imperium and the Master of Mankind.
“We have less than three days until this Primarch arrives.” Khârn rumbled.
Warp communication had delayed the transmission of the message.
Furthermore, upon learning the news, Khârn had not immediately notified the Legion.
He first spent an entire day alone with the news, standing in silence outside Angron’s quarters.
Then, Khârn asked the Imperium to confirm the report, which cost additional time.
Thus, by the time he dropped the news into the council like a depth charge, the World Eaters had less than three standard Terran days remaining.
“Use your heads!
We must showcase the glory and honor of the Legion!
Let the Imperium see the might of the World Eaters!” Khârn bellowed.
As his words rang out, the World Eaters seemed to snap back to themselves.
If this new Primarch was truly coming under their tutelage, then the Legion had to show him its finest face.
Some veterans even began to ponder: in the past, it had always been the most honored Primarchs and Legions who were entrusted with guiding a newly found brother, but this time the Imperium had chosen the World Eaters.
Could the Imperium be offering the World Eaters a chance?
A chance for the Imperium to see the true splendor and honor of the XII Legion?
If the Master of Mankind had chosen the XII Legion, then perhaps the Imperium still believed the World Eaters worthy of teaching a new Primarch.
The command chamber erupted into fervor once more, men turning to each other, discussing and debating.
“We must show the Legion at its most imposing,” said the Third Captain, elbowing the Centurion of the Fourth Company beside him.
“The Imperium has not forgotten us.
See this?
We can lead a new Primarch into the Imperium.” Leading a Primarch into the Imperium was an unparalleled honor for the Legion.
“Alright, I take back what I said about the Eleventh Legion.
But if we welcome the Eleventh Primarch into the Imperium, perhaps the Eleventh Legion could also be remade.
Maybe we’ll finally have battle-brothers who truly acknowledge us.” The Centurion spoke excitedly.
Just as Horus and Sanguinius had brought their Legions to recognize each other, perhaps this could become the same kind of bond.
Within the Imperium, there were far too few who acknowledged the World Eaters.
“Hah!
Those warriors of the Eleventh Legion?” The Third Captain sneered coldly.
In truth, the World Eaters were least willing to cooperate with the current Eleventh Legion, the Dawn Walkers.
“Perhaps the Master of Mankind wants their Primarch to come here and learn something of our ferocity in battle.” The Centurion quickly shook his head.
“Show some reverence, brother.
Show them our best.
This is the glory bestowed upon us by the Imperium and the Master of Mankind.” Nearby, by the command table, other World Eaters were talking as well.
They were trying to recall how long it had been since the Imperium last arranged for the Legion to host a Primarch’s return.
Ever since Angron’s return, the Legion no longer organized formal welcome ceremonies.
Angron never actively sought out his brothers; only those Primarchs who had never met him and were curious about just how volatile their brother was would come to visit of their own accord.
These visits were always private, so the Legion never staged a Legion-scale welcome parade.
And every one of those visits had ended in bitter discord.
Their gene-father attacked every brother-Primarch who tried to meet him.
This time, the Imperium had informed the Legion, commanding them and their Primarch to oversee the return of a new Primarch.
This was not a private visit; it was an event that would be recorded in the archives, in the history of the Imperium.
Everyone would know that when the Eleventh Primarch returned, it was the XII Legion, the World Eaters, and their father Angron who led the Primarch back to the Imperium.
They were both anxious and excited.
How long had it been?
The last time the Legion formally hosted a Primarch was before Angron’s return.
Back then, they had still been the War Hounds, fresh from a glorious victory.
Many battle-brothers had fallen, but they had not yet been driven into slaughtering their own, and the Legion’s discipline and tactics still drew praise.
That was why the great Horus had once visited their Legion.
He proclaimed the War Hounds’ glory and, on behalf of the Imperium, affirmed their discipline and order.
The Ninth Company Centurion still remembered standing in the ranks, watching the Emperor’s magnificent son.
Lord Horus was so majestic and wise.
The Luna Wolves at his side seemed to share in their Primarch’s radiance as they escorted him through the War Hounds’ parade.
Behind the Centurion, one of his former battle-brothers muttered under his breath, “Look at those Luna Wolves.
What’s so special about them?” “Our Father must be even more gallant than Lord Horus.” “Keep it down.” The Centurion turned and glared at his subordinate, though he had been thinking the same thing.
But regardless, the fact that Horus had personally come to commend the Legion was honor enough.
It made the War Hounds proud for a long time.
Until the Imperium notified them that their gene-father Angron had been found.
Then came the blood, the chaos, the decimation, the roaring.
Their gene-father was not glorious, and he did not care for them.
The brother who had once joked with the Centurion about the Luna Wolves perished in one of the decimations.
After that, the Centurion rarely reminisced about the past, until now, when the Imperium entrusted the return of a Primarch to the Legion.
They too had once known glory and honor.
The Imperium had not forgotten them.
The Imperium still remembered them.
The Imperium was still willing to entrust them with something that mattered.
“We have to hold a welcome parade!” The Centurion suddenly raised his voice, recalling those shoulder plates gleaming in the sunlight, the fluttering banners and horns, the discipline they had once been most proud of.
He remembered the old days, standing with his brothers in the ranks, basking in the cheers of the crowd.
He stood up, and those around him were caught up in his emotion.
Like forgotten veterans suddenly remembered by the world, they happily recalled that they too had once been glorious.
They hurriedly scrambled about, pulling together whatever they could, desperate to show their best face when the guest arrived.
The World Eaters began to speak all at once.
“Clean the ship’s decks and interior.
Call the Techmarines.
The dents in the hull need patching too.” “Where is the nearest Adeptus Mechanicus vessel?
I think my warriors and I need to have our armor serviced.
At the very least, we should all greet that lord in gleaming, spotless plate.” Another chuckled, “Feth!
I need to tell my whelps to watch their mouths!
They need to relearn Legion protocol!” Khârn said nothing.
The veins on his forehead throbbed as he watched the World Eaters brighten with cold contempt.
He knew full well what his brothers were thinking.
They thought the Imperium valued them again.
Ha.
Dogs wagging their tails for scraps.
These old bastards were still dreaming of their old days as War Hounds.
Khârn sneered inwardly.
Had they forgotten who shaped the World Eaters of today?
Who reforged them into weapons of brutality?
“Quiet down,” Khârn said.
His voice was quiet, but deep enough to make every warrior in the room, who had been cheerfully discussing moments ago, fall silent at once.
Khârn braced his hands on the table, head lowered, and looked at each warrior from beneath his brow.
“I said, I will never allow a new Primarch to interfere with the normal operations of the XII Legion.” “What are you all so happy about?
Do you think our Father would welcome a new brother?” Khârn spoke softly, watching them glance at one another as the room went cold.
He had doused the warmth in them at once.
Khârn bared his teeth in a grin.
“Yes.
A parade.
That is clearly necessary.
Let the Imperium and this new lord see what the XII Legion has been forged into at last.” “Since the Imperium chose us, it proves they approve of what we are now.” The War Hounds were gone.
In their place stood a berserk axe: the cruel and brutal World Eaters.