The meeting broke apart into a heavy, resentful silence.
Khârn had vetoed the Company Captains’ proposals, then mocked them before the entire council.
“When did all of you become so obsessed with pride?
Did some seed from the Emperor’s Children get mixed into our Legion’s gene-seed vaults?” Khârn’s words struck the World Eaters like a sledgehammer.
Yes, what did it matter whether the Legion fought with glory and discipline?
The moment this new Primarch laid eyes on their gene-father, every glorious illusion the Legion had built would shatter.
This new Primarch would see a madman, a tormented soul, a creature made of nothing but bellowing rage.
The men left the chamber in silence.
No one spoke.
The faint hope that had kindled in their hearts was extinguished once more, replaced by confusion.
Their false hope shattered, and the brief gratitude they had felt curdled into the anger of men deceived and bewildered.
They stood guard over their mad Primarch, not knowing what to do.
Had the Imperium sent this new Primarch specifically to humiliate them?
No one would know the answer until the Eleventh arrived.
But before the meeting ended, Khârn had ordered Centurion Mago of the 18th Company and Chief Librarian Vorias to remain behind.
“I suspect you have reached the same conclusion I have.” Khârn crossed his arms.
A hard light burned in his eyes.
Now only the three of them remained inside the command chamber, a space large enough to hold the entire Legion’s high command.
“The Imperium clearly has a problem with our Father,” Khârn said.
“Otherwise, why would they send a new Primarch?
Any other Legion would be more suitable than the XII to shepherd a new Primarch into the Imperium.” “Unless…
he was not sent here to learn from us.” Khârn finally spoke the thought aloud.
Mago remained silent, his lips pressed tightly together, his brow drawn into a deep knot.
Beside them, Vorias, leader of the Librarians, had never imagined Khârn would entertain such a thought.
The notion was too terrifying to accept.
“You mean the Imperium has decided to…
No.
What about the Dawn Walkers of the Eleventh Legion?
There has never been a precedent for this.” Khârn gave a cold laugh.
“We all know the cowards of the Eleventh Legion are a brittle lot, nothing more than a display piece the Imperium keeps so it can boast, ‘Behold!
The Emperor’s great son did not simply vanish between the Tenth and the Twelfth.
He has another son, named the Eleventh!'” He glanced instinctively toward the place where Angron resided.
“Precedent?
Has the Imperium ever done anything like this before?
The Master of Mankind tore our raging Father from his comrades and cast him onto the War Hounds’ decks after he slew several Adeptus Custodes.
Has any Primarch’s return ever been more abnormal than our Father’s?” Khârn had always believed the Emperor was responsible for all of this.
The Master of Mankind had allowed a mad Primarch into the Legion, offered no restraint and no salvation, and instead used the XII Legion as a chain to bind Angron.
The Legion’s descent from the disciplined War Hounds into the blood-crazed World Eaters was also part of the Emperor’s design.
But now, clearly, the Imperium had grown dissatisfied with them once more.
Had He first let the XII Legion be soaked in blood, only to hypocritically toss them a Primarch from a weak Legion to replace Angron?
No.
That was utterly impossible.
That was Khârn’s private conviction, but he would not voice it.
He harbored many grievances, yet none of them could be spoken aloud.
Still, the two before him both understood his meaning.
Mago believed Khârn’s implication was not only plausible, but the most likely scenario.
Within the Imperium, the Eleventh Legion ranked among the worst-performing.
Even in the early Great Crusade, before any Primarch had returned, the Dawn Walkers’ record had been near the bottom compared to other Legions.
Before their own Primarch’s return, the XII Legion had been among the finest.
Yet Mago still refused to believe it.
This possibility was too absurd.
Was the Emperor truly abandoning His sons?
Was the Imperium really going to let a Primarch of another bloodline rule over them?
“No…” Mago forced out a single difficult word in High Gothic, making Khârn stare at him intently.
Khârn was clearly angered.
As the World Eater closest to Angron’s side, he was too deeply affected by his Primarch.
“Perhaps we have misunderstood.
We do not yet know this new Primarch’s character.
What if he can truly stand beside our Father?” Khârn let out another cold laugh.
He and Mago were locked in confrontation, so neither noticed that Vorias, who had been listening nearby, shifted expression after Mago spoke and fell silent, thinking hard.
“What kind of Primarch could accept us?
Accept our Father?
And what kind of person could our Father accept?” Khârn spoke.
Mago saw the rage brimming in Khârn’s eyes, but buried deep beneath that fury was a bleak sorrow.
“The Imperium wants us to bow our heads to another.
Then they’ll toss our Father into some forgotten corner of the Galaxy like a useless thing.” Khârn spoke through gritted teeth.
“They will not succeed.
The World Eaters belong to Angron.
Long before all this, we swore to give everything, life, honor, all of it, to our Father.” “Mago, I know you carry considerable weight among those battle-brothers who oppose the Primarch.” Khârn stared into Mago’s eyes.
“Let’s drive this newcomer away together.
I know you are dissatisfied with the Primarch, but no matter what, that is our own affair as World Eaters.
This is an internal Legion matter.” Mago’s heart was filled with anguish.
He knew that following Angron meant nothing but destruction for the Legion.
By keeping him here, Khârn was merely using his reputation to unify the World Eaters on this issue.
Khârn feared him, Mago realized.
Khârn was afraid that he and those World Eaters who opposed Angron would kneel before the new Primarch sent by the Imperium.
He feared being abandoned by the Legion alongside his Primarch.
Mago’s reason told him, over and over, not to choose Angron.
Not to tread that path.
But Khârn’s words were like daggers piercing his heart.
This was the Legion’s own business.
No matter how dishonorable they were, no matter how much they disappointed the Imperium, this was still the XII Legion’s affair.
The Imperium should help or rescue their Primarch, not send a replacement.
Amid immense hesitation and inner struggle, Mago made the choice every World Eater would make.
“I agree,” he said in a low voice.
“I agree, Khârn.
The World Eaters will not accept any Primarch other than Angron to lead this Legion.” Khârn exhaled a long, hot breath through his nostrils.
He stepped forward in silence and patted Mago on the shoulder.
“I am glad we see eye to eye on this.” He spoke as if settling the matter, then turned his gaze toward Vorias the Librarian, who had been left waiting all along.
“I called you here, brother, because the Imperium says the incoming Primarch may be a Psyker.
They emphasized that he has no formal training, so there is a risk of psychic outbursts.
That is why I summoned you: you are a Psyker.” “During this Primarch’s time aboard the ship, you and your brothers are to remain on full alert, ready to be summoned at any moment.” At that, Vorias’s face darkened further.
Both officers noticed his troubled mood.
Khârn and Mago exchanged a glance.
“What is wrong, Vorias?
You do not look well.” “I…” Vorias hesitated, stumbling over his words before finally speaking slowly.
“In truth, ten days ago, every Librarian brother shared the same dream.
In standard psychic terminology, it was an omen, or perhaps our souls brushed against the same presence in the Immaterium.” “Why was this not reported?” Khârn’s face hardened, but Chief Librarian Vorias only shook his head.
“Captain, have you forgotten?
The Legion does not value the Librarius.
Besides, ten days ago our Primarch was in a foul temper, and the entire command structure was occupied with his affairs.” Primarch Angron despised Psykers.
Psykers had always lived on the margins among the World Eaters.
“Wait.
Is there a connection between this and the arrival of the new Primarch?” Mago suddenly spoke.
The Librarian could only manage a bitter smile and shake his head.
He opened his mouth, hesitation plain on his face.
“I do not know how to describe it, but please believe me, brothers.
In that dream ten days ago, every Librarian saw it…” He swallowed.
“Speak!” Khârn urged.
Vorias took a deep breath, as if the next words terrified him.
“We saw a naked, skinless humanoid monster.
It was utterly profane.
Every feature but its mouth had been stitched shut with black thread.
Blood ran through the seams between its muscles, and it laughed without end.” “What does that have to do with what we are discussing today?” Khârn frowned.
“That monster…
was the size of a Primarch.
It had a Primarch’s build.” For a heartbeat, neither warrior spoke.
Librarian Vorias watched helplessly as Khârn and Mago exchanged horrified glances.
Now it was their turn to be afraid.
Only then did Khârn realize something.
He had cared so much about the XII Legion.
He had cared so much about Angron.
So much that he had never truly considered one thing.
What was the Eleventh Primarch really like?
Would he be glorious, like Horus?
A savior, like the radiant Sanguinius?
Or a madman?
Or worse, a bloody, grinning, skinless monster.