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Hyperspace to Malachor, 20 BBY

Mephiston stood in the center of a living space with closed eyes as a soft sound filled his senses. There was a faint rumble that was nearly drowned out by the beating of his own hearts. It was strange to be in the transit between star systems and not have the horrors of the Warp looming constantly. Instead there was just the silent blue void that was 'Hyperspace'. Yet again there was an uncomfortable peace in the way this galaxy operated. Reaching out with his otherworldly senses, the Blood Angel could feel the faint 'shadows' of worlds as they shot past them at incredible speeds. When he returned back to his own galaxy, it would be difficult to describe this to his brothers.

The release of a held breath reminded the Lord of Death of his unfortunate means of a guide. This was now the second time in less than a decade that he was having to rely upon a xenos for travel, a fact that didn't sit well with him. Admittedly, the Devaronian female who sat in the captain's chair had not caused nearly the same amount of problems as the Harlequin Cyric had. She had volunteered to take him to this Malachor, though she had done so from behind the force field of a prison cell.

Initially, he had rejected the idea outright, not trusting the xeno or her words of professed innocence. Sadly, and rather embracingly, he was too large for the ships that sat in the space port. The craft were all tiny by comparison to anything back in the Imperium, some just larger than the size of a gunship. With his options much more limited, and not desiring to dwell on the xenos planet for longer than he had to, Mephiston was left little choice.

Searching the xenos mind for any notions of deception or betrayal, he wasn't surprised to find she was innocent for what she had been imprisoned for. As vile and treacherous as the alien could be, these posed nearly no threat to him. The xeno, Vina Juyan, had inherited this vessel, The Sojourn, from her elder brother upon his demise from illness. As she was looking the craft over for the first time it was raided by the planet's docking authorities. They had found illegally modified weapons and some sort of drug called Spice. Despite her pleas, the droid siege of the world meant that military law was in place and she was imprisoned on the spot. Upon the liberation of the city, she had overheard him talking with Commander Trauma and felt it was a means of freedom.

"Welp. Our course is set to Malachor. I don't even want to know how you knew it's coordinates. It'll be a few days until we drop out of Hyperspace, hope you don't get bored easily." He scowled as she attempted to make a joke, but did not respond. He was already fighting back the innate compulsion to rip the thing apart. The alien apparently took his silence as a sign that he had not heard her as she continued.

"I had heard rumors about spacers finding the planet and bringing back artifacts. It almost always was a fake though. You don't strike me as the scavenger type though." Again, he ignored her attempts at conversation. The only words that had been exchanged between the two of the thus far were the coordinates needed to get to the planet. A few minutes of silence passed as her discomfort would have been obvious even if he didn't have his powers.

"So….more of the strong silent type I see. That's fine, my brother had a friend that was like that. I don't know if he's still around though. Being unfairly imprisoned really kills the social time." She again attempted to joke as the Lord of Death opened his eyes and moved his gaze towards her. Vina froze and sank into the captain's chair as his cold glare bore into her soul, a promise of a violent end looming behind it.

He spoke no words, as none were needed for her to understand his point. Slowly, she rose from her seat and crossed the living space. His scowl never ceased as she passed by, a flick of her eyes showed her gaze was on the unsheathed Vitarus. Her thoughts were drifting, imagining her being sliced apart by the blade and to when she was a child assisting in the temple's maintenance. The latter was more interesting to the Blood Angel as he focused on them. A tome on ancient weapons had been her hands, illustrations of blades and axes. She had been cleaning the Master's library when she found it hidden. She couldn't understand the words but found the pictures interesting. Fantasies of ancient Jedi wielding them in battle against monstrous creatures born of a child's infatuation with the mystics she had served.

Vitarus bore some similarities to a few of the blades in the book, changing her view of it. Instead of them being wielded by ancient Jedi, she imagined legions of people like him butchering the populous. He found a great amount of irony in that her fears, things she tried to write off as paranoia, were very much a reality.

She continued past him and entered her own quarters as his senses picked up her letting out a held breath once again. Her heart was racing as she slumped to the floor. Her mind was filled with gloom and sadness, the emotions she had been bottling since her imprisonment overwhelming her. She believes he will kill her once he gets to Malachor. That the sole reason he had helped her people was that he could be taken back to an ancient lair on the planet. Among her paranoia and fear driven emotions were small shreds of truth. He had liberated her people solely for his own convenience, but had little intention on killing Vina at the moment.

As cruel and cold as he was, he was still one of the Sons of Sanguinius. There was a nobility that he needed to embody in addition to the savagery. Killing her on Malachor would be foolish as well. He still couldn't fly the ship. Ridding himself of the xeno, as pleasant as it would be, would just leave him stranded.

He found that he had little space to move in the Sojourn. Many of the halls were either too narrow or too short for his size, a problem he imagined would be frequent unless on a larger ship. The cargo hold, the main passageway, and the living quarters were all that could accommodate him. Sending his mind out, he could explore the parts of the vessel, but there was little of interest.

Wandering through the few parts of the ship he could, the Chief Librarian stopped when he came to the mostly empty cargo hold. Boxes had been stacked to one side of the chamber, giving rest of the space an empty feeling. Mephiston moved to the center of the room and took a kneeling stance. After a prayer asking for forgiveness for the actions he had to take, he used his eidetic memory to recall his Librarium.

Roaming the perfectly recalled halls, he remembered the smells of the sacred oils, the faint sounds of music, and the vast rows of books, tomes, parchments, and scrolls. He was not searching for any bit of arcane lore or forgotten knowledge that was in his vast repository. Instead he made his way to the section of his study that held more artistic selections. Pulling a book of poetry, Mephiston opened the leather bound cover and began to read.

In his Chapter's early history they simply had been a tool for destruction and death. Acting as vanguards for the most violent and deadly of campaigns, the ninth legion held a dark reputation for much of its early years. 'Eaters of the Dead' was the nickname they were given for their practice of devouring fallen members. It wasn't until the discovery of Sanguinius on Baal that things would begin to change. The Angel had seen a legion of butchers and aimed to turn them into something greater. This came about through the introduction of culture into the Blood Angels. Art in many forms; poetry, literature, music, and painting became staples of Blood Angels life outside of the warzone. After all, how could an army made to be humanities defenders do so if they didn't fully appreciate what humanity was capable of?

As he recalled and cited the stanzas, Mephiston was able to smooth his rising anger at the xeno. Reading a poem written about the heroic sacrifices of the Imperial Guard, he felt a strange presence in his mind. Now alert and on edge, the Lord of Death sought out the source of this presence. Despite the relative calm of the Warp, he had not been so foolish as to lower his mental defenses. In short, something shouldn't have been able to sneak in so easily.

The sound of the removal of books from their shelves echoed through the Librarium. His mind began to be going through sections on the Chapter's history. Whatever this thing was, it was trying to learn about him. Mephiston had a perfect recollection where the specific text that he was remembering was placed. Dashing through his mind space, he slowed when he drew near.

Calm. Peace. Humility. Self-Sacrifice.

It was a similar sensation to what the temple had given him, but it was becoming more specific as it went through the tomes. Whatever this thing was, it was trying to embody what the best of the Blood Angels should be. When Mephiston finally located the source, his eyes narrowed. A translucent blue image of Dante, cald in armor and wargear, flipping the page of a black and red covered book.. The mask of Sanguinius that the Chapter Master wore turned towards him and gave a curt nod.

Attempting to expel the entity from his mind, Mephiston watched as it faded away, book dropping to the floor. All of his previous encounters with the Neverborn told Mephiston that the entity wouldn't have gone that easily if it was a demon. Approaching the fallen tome, the Librarian figured he was receiving some sort of vision or warning of things to come. With a thought, he was holding the book, his thoughts now seemingly confirmed.

It was not a book on the Chapter's history like the entity had been initially reading. No, this was a far more tragic thing, one of the darker additions to Mephiston's collection. It was a copy of a journal, specifically observations of one of his brothers. It was notes and observations of Astorath the Grim, High Chaplain of the Blood Angels and known as the Redeemer of the Lost. The grim and sad reality of killing those who had succumbed to the Black Rage fell to him.

As The Flaw lingered in all of those descended from Sanguinius, not just the Blood Angels, Astorath was far traveled. He had a gift, or curse depending on how you wanted to look at it, to sense when the Black Rage would claim more brothers. Upon Mephiston's asking, he had given the Chief Librarian what he knew of the curse that plagued the Chapter. While it had not helped him figure out how he had overcome the Black Rage, it had still been a gesture of trust between the two.

Placing the tome back, Mephiston pondered on the significance of him being shown this. Since his rebirth into a Primaris, he had far more control over himself than ever before. Perhaps this was a reminder, that though he was here in this galaxy seeking answers, his brothers still suffered. While a possibility, why would Dante have been the one to show him that and not Astorath himself, or even Lemartes?

A knocking against metal in the real world drew the Lord of Death from his thoughts. Turning his head, he saw Vina standing in the doorway. The xeno seemed sheepish as she held a plate of, presumably, food. He didn't say anything as she approached, setting the plate down on one of the boxes. Scanning her mind, he discovered he had been in this position for over a day. Turning to him, Mephiston held back a look of surprise as she bowed.

"I'm sorry." Her words seemed sincere, though he did not know why she had said them. Diving deeper, he found that the xeno felt she had insulted him in some manner, hence his silence. She was correct, though it was due entirely to her being an alien than any actual act. For the first time since they took off, he spoke to her.

"The offense is not one you can control." She furrowed her brow and then seemed to realize what he meant. Standing, her face was crestfallen as she spoke.

"I don't know what other Devaronian's have done to you in the past, but I don't have bad intentions." She was telling the truth, surprisingly. It seemed that she only wanted to escape her homeworld, his arrival granted that opportunity. She was running from something.

"I believe you. What are you running from?" His question caused her eyes to widen as her thoughts tried to move around. Her attempts amounted to nothing against him, though all he received was the image of her dying older brother.

"I'm not running from anything." She tried to lie, though he could tell she knew it was a bad one. There was more than just the brother, there was a familial connection she was trying to escape. A deceased father, and a mother who Mephiston recognized as one of the four who had volunteered for his ritual. She did not know of her mother's fate, the two had cut ties after some argument. Ultimately, all of her concerns did not concern or involve him so he left her mind.

"Of course not." He had hoped to dismiss further conversation by giving her a means to leave. She remained though, her gaze investigating his armor and appearance. They sat in silence for several minutes before she left the cargo hold. The remainder of their journey was uneventful as the Sojourn exited Hyperspace.

Looking through the front window of the ship, Mephiston was greeted with a desolate wasteland of a planet. There were no signs of any civilization, no cities, no space ports, nothing. It was like the galaxy was trying to forget this world existed. Mephiston had no need to use his Seer-Sight, he could feel a spot of anger coming from Malachor. It was faint by the standards that he was used to, but it was there.

"It doesn't seem that bad. It looks creepy, but not nearly as bad as I thought. I can't imagine what you expect to find here." He didn't pilot's words against her. Many of the Imperial pilots would have thought the same if they had to make their own assessment. That was why people like him existed, to see what and warn against what hid beyond normal sight. Passing through the thickly clouded atmosphere, they were greeted by a grey dead world.

"Knowledge. Land there." He ordered as he pointed to a large empty plain in the center of a crater. Whatever he was looking for lurked underneath, but there was more. It was a feeling he hadn't felt for a while now, not since his sight had been blocked by the Necron device. Vina brought the ship down, several obelisks rising from the earth. As he turned to leave the ship, he heard the xeno rising from the chair. She approached and opened a small cabinet that held several blaster pistols inside. It seemed she thought she was to join him.

"I am going alone." His words left no room for argument as she still gave an angered look.

"You want me to sit on the ship, by myself, as you wander out there alone?" Her tone was incredulous, but not insulting.

"That is exactly what I want. Your presence will only slow me down." She grew more frustrated at the truth. But he could tell underneath that frustration was something else…..concern?

"What if something happens to you? What if you get hurt?" He found himself surprised that she was once more genuine in her words. For all the fear and worry she had of him, she was worried for him. He did not know if it was the species of the Devaronian or her experience with the Jedi that gave her that.

"...I will be fine. There is more than just a desolate wasteland here though. I have the power to deal with anything I may encounter, you do not. If you were to perish I would be stranded here. So I am asking you to stay aboard the ship." Mephiston found it uncomfortable to explain himself and the situation. A xeno who would not betray him and was worried for his well being was causing him far more problems than any agent of Chaos had. His words seemed to be persuading her as she looked him over. After several moments she gave a nod, but kept the blaster. It made her feel safer.

"Alright, comm me if there is a problem though. And…..whatever your name is, may the Force be with you." He simply gave a nod as he departed as fast as he could. As his boot stepped onto the wasteland, his mind was assaulted by screams.

Incorporeal beings clad in brown robes filled his vision as they faced the obelisks, composed of both humans and xenos. Many had their lightsabers in hand as the leader, a human male, pointed down. Mephiston let out a sigh as it seemed he had not fully escaped the visions and wants of the dead. At least the ghosts of these Jedi were far less intrusive than the ones he had previously dealt with.

Passing by each spirit, he saw their eyes were all widened in shock and confusion. Each of them had been surprised by what had killed them. Arriving to where the leader stood, the spirits vanished as he was directly in front of a pillar. An ancient language he did not know was scrawled across it as Mephiston committed the symbols to memory. There was something buried far below the earth he stood on, something old and full of anger. The Lord of Death mentally laughed at the irony of his situation. Here he was on a desolate world, an ancient temple hidden underneath, with visions of the dead trying to communicate with him. Malachor and Morsus, two dead worlds with plenty of secrets. If there was a trapped clone regiment underneath him he would be convinced the Emperor himself was playing some kind of joke on him. But Mephiston couldn't help but feel something was off about the spirits. They were not giving off the feeling that the Force had shown him.

Backing away from the pillar, Mephiston called forth his immense psychic might and blasted through the ground with a lightning bolt. Shattering like glass, the earth around it began to crumble as well, taking him with it. Calling forth his crismon wings of energy, he stopped his hard collision into the dark chamber below with a flap. As debris and rubble fell around him, light from the surface bleeding through, his eyes adapted to the darkness.

Jagged rock and shattered ancient ruins, purposes and meanings long lost to time, blanketed the blackened landscape. In the center of this underground city sat an ancient temple, power radiating from it. Power was the word to describe the black and grey pyramid like structure. Pure and violent in its nature, strong emotions lurked inside. Of course the place of power would sit in the middle of the dead. As he stepped towards the edge of the rock he had landed upon, the spirits of the Jedi returned. Whereas before they had looks of shock, now they held faces of determination and focus.

They stared at the temple as the lead one held his lightsaber a loft and activated the blade. His army followed as the spirits faded away as they rushed the temple. Not the ghosts from earlier then, but an echo of the past. The Jedi had come here to wage a battle, one that they did not walk away from. Taking flight with his wings once again, the Lord of Death flew to the pyramid. This place had been scorched in its entirety, the temple the only thing left fully standing.

As he flew over, the ghosts of the Jedi began to fight blacked and whisp like figures wielding red blades of light. Anger began to push itself into his head as Mephiston fought a blood lust rising from within. The new entities seemed to feed off rage and hatred, two things he had in abundance. The floor of the cavern and the ruins were blanketed in the petrified forms of those who once fought here, the rock serving as a tether to their spirits. Keeping his concentration, Mephiston noticed that the lead Jedi was confronting the largest of the shades. These hateful echoes must have been the Sith, their spirits still trapped here as the Jedi's were.

The Blood Angel was bombarded with emotions, none of them his. Feelings of fear of oppression, desires for justice, hatred, death. Strong as those emotions were, they were not enough to fully distract him as he flew to the pyramid. Mephiston found himself landing at it's base, a door blocked by heavy stone. Three black robed shades came out from petrified bodies, igniting red lightsabers. As they approached him, he let loose a bolt of Warp lightning that destroyed the spirits, and the statued remains they had come from.

As their wispy forms faded into ash, a new form began to take hold. The fury from his lightning lingered in the air, now drawing the shadows closer. Drawing Vitarus, he prepared himself for a fight. It seemed the ghosts of the Sith were far more vengeful than that of the Jedi. As a more distinct shape began to form, a snarl came from the Lord of Death. The Sith spirits were not just feeding off of his fury and anger, but also his regrets. A shadow mirage of his old apprentice Antros came into being, a sinister look that the Codicer never had in its eyes.

The spirit said nothing as it looked past him to the door. As Mephiston went to extend his senses, images of battlefields and lost brothers filled his mind, trying to mask what was there. It may have worked against a lesser Psyker, but had it had little hope against him. Pushing through the distractions, the Chief Librarian could feel something hidden in the temple. A great machine of destruction, the device that caused what he was witnessing. But, for all the evils and darkness of this place, it was not like what had been found on Devaron. The energy here was from what had happened in the past, not what lurked in the present.

Mephiston gathered that he would not be able to focus on this place as he had previously while all of the emotions of the dead blanketed the ruins. The dark spirit of Antros continued to remain silent as it stalked towards the stone doorway. It's incorporeal nature allowed it to pass through the heavy stones like they were not there. Either this spirit was trying to lead him towards his goal, or it was a trap. The Blood Angel figured he was more than capable of handling any possible trap this place could throw at him, and so he proceeded to the door.

It was a simple matter to lift the stone, his immense psychic might holding the massive object in the air. There was another stone behind it though, and he guessed that it would be a reoccurring sight down this hall. Lifting the second stone took only slightly more effort, revealing yet another stone. Mephiston gathered that unless you were powerful in the Force you would need two people to pass through the hall. While he had no way of knowing how powerful in the Force he was, he knew he was one of the Imperium's mightiest Psykers.

Coming to a cut off walkway, the Antros shade pointed across as casm to a tiny pyramid object suspended in light. Manifesting his wing, the Librarian cleared the gap and approached the object with an inquisitive gaze. The Jedi Master had knowledge of artifacts used to store knowledge called Holocrons, but this did not match the shape of the ones used by the Jedi. It did not take a genius to figure out that this was a Sith version of it, something that made him torn.

On one hand, it would be a great source of information, something he was presently looking for. On the other hand, so far everything he had seen of these Sith painted them to be the equivalent of Chaos Sorcerers. If this was something that stores their teachings, it would be better to destroy the Holocron here and now. Additionally, he could feel that this Holocron was a key to the machine that kept the spirits tied to this place. With it gone, he could be free of them.

Looking to the spirit, that now stood to his side, the Lord of Death could feel the hunger for power radiating off of it. If this was the temple's means of trying to sway him, it was a very poor attempt. It had picked someone he felt that he failed, but didn't understand the full context of it. Muttering arcane words, Mephiston began to channel Warp energy in his blade. The spirit backed away in surprise, seemingly panicked by his actions.

'Do you not desire the knowledge inside? Is it not the understanding of the secrets of the Dark Side that brought you here? Power beyond your imagination lay just an arms reach away!' A ghostly, vengeful, voice came from Antros.

'Leave him be brother! Father ordered us to leave him alone. The anomaly seeks to free the spirits here, something that can't be done while this machine still exists.' The blue spirit of Dante manifested to the Psykers other side, flickering like it's connection to this place was weak. The dark spirit hissed at the new arrival in anger, cursing it in some old language. Mephiston ignored them both as he gathered more power into Vitarus.

'The old man is a fool! You've felt it as well as I have, the Dark Side flows through this one like rivers through a valley!'

'And yet here he stands ready to destroy this dark place. His powers may reflect you, but his mind does not. I have seen it.' It appeared the Force did in fact have it's own entities. Sadly it seemed he was now stuck between them as they bickered like siblings. Interestingly, he was considered an anomaly by them. While it was correct that he was not from here, that phrasing bore its own questioning.

'If you destroy the Holocron, this temple will come down with you in it. Powerful as you are, you couldn't hope to survive. Ignore my sisters foolish words, grab the power you so rightfully deserve.'

'Theanomaly is more powerful than you realize brother. Your machinations will be your undoing one day.'

'Your machinations will be your undoing' you sound just like the foolish Jedi now sister. I thought you were better than that. Don't you want to be free sister? Free of our prison of a planet and see the galaxy?'

'You would see the galaxy consumed by hatred, brother. We need to remain where we are and listen to Father.' It was very strange to see the forms of Dante and Antros having this discussion, though Mephiston assumed either entity expected to see the other. But at least their physical forms were imprisoned somewhere. He thanked the Throne for small miracles.

"Both of you, begone from my sight. If you remain after I have destroyed this, you shall follow." Vitarus, now ablaze with crimson energy, was raised up as Mephiston brought the sword down onto the Sith device. Purple and red crackles of energy exploded from the device, washing the room in light. The explosion pushed the Primaris back, but did not knock him from his feet. The sounds of the structure collapsing began to fill his Lyman's Ear. Whatever energy the temple used to power the weapon inside was equally as destroyed as the Sith artifact was. He could feel the power backlashing through the temple towards its peak.

Mephiston always found his steps out of time to be calming and insightful experiences. Few things really allowed one to take in as much of something, or ponder a question as needed. It had been during one of these pauses in time that had let him come to the conclusion that though he was more than likely capable of anything, there were still lines he shouldn't cross. Necromancy had been the subject that cemented that principle into him, an act that he was very much capable of but would never do. The same could not be said for using it to escape a collapsing temple.

The two arguing spirits had disappeared the second Vitarus connected with the Holocron, leaving him alone. There a faint popping sound as he moved, the air from his slowed time popping upon his first step. Ruble and rock were frozen in the air as he flew past it to the stone blocks once more. This time it was a simple matter of lifting the stones one at a time, as they were frozen in place once he let go of them. Leaving the temple, the Lord of Death was greeted by the amassed spirits of the Jedi and Sith. Looking behind him, he could see the larger temple slowly being consumed by its own energy.

With the dead no longer attempting a mental war with him, the Blood Angel was able to truly feel the planet for the first time. It was….disappointing. Whatever Force energy the world had paled in comparison to what he had experienced on Devaron. Mephiston now realized that whatever the spirit masquerading as Antros was had led him here. It wanted him to claim that artifact and seize the power inside. It knew of the dark and black soul he possessed, but not the will of The Angel he had. The Librarian wasn't surprised that his augury had been tampered with, that was always the risk with divinations. Instead he was mentally cursing himself for not realizing it before he had gotten here.

Calling forth a golden shield of radiant energy behind him, Mephiston let time flow once more. The temple imploded more than it exploded, but debris and concussive force slammed into him all the same. The shield withstood the onslaught though, shining like a golden torch in the cloud of dust. The emotions of the dead no longer assailed his mind, he had destroyed what was more than likely some sort of sorcery plot, all good things. The dead began to move towards him as they slowly faded from existence. What little he knew he could feel in the Force felt a tinge of relief, like a great wrong had been righted. Though he also sensed that he had done something to forever change the ripples of history.

Mephiston himself was unfulfilled though. He had come to Malachor seeking a similar feeling of this Dark Side to what he had experienced on Devaron, something this place did not have. But he supposed it wasn't a complete failure. He was now aware that there were beings in the Force that sought to use him as a piece in some game. A fate he seemed to be forever bound in.

A searchlight blasted his position as the Sojourn hovered overhead. Looking around he now noticed that the entire chamber had collapsed around the temple, leaving a crater within a crater. The ship turned and faced its back to him, the ramp lowering as it did so. He could see Vina making her way out as the xeno coughed from the dusty air.

"*cough* *cough* Are you ok!? The whole ground just collapsed in." She managed to get out.

"That was my doing. The vision I had of this place was just some ploy by another to make me a pawn. They did not succeed." He manifested his wings as he spoke, taking to the air and landing on the ramp. The xeno backed and closed the ramp behind him, coughing still. He had not noticed that the dust was particularly intrusive, the third lung making breathing in difficult situations not an issue.

A thought occurred to him as he walked through the ship. If the dead had not been as present as they were, and as annoying, he would have had less of a reason to act the way he had. Once more his moniker proved to be not just applicable to his battlefield prowess. Though now he was at a loss. While he could try and divine again, there was a high chance one of the spirits would get involved to manipulate his path. Perhaps if he meditated in prayer, The Angel or The Emperor would reach across and bestow him with some guidance.

"I am going to meditate in prayer. Do not disturb me like last time." The xeno woman looked confused but nodded, as she began to walk she turned to address him.

"Should I punch in somewhere to go?"

"I don't care. I am searching for an answer to something. Until I have it, I am a passenger."

"Well….if it's creepy old Dark Side stuff you want, crime lords tend to try and get their hands on it, from what Vet said anyways. There's Nar Shaddaa...uhh Tatooine has Jabba the Hutt." Mentioning her brother seemed to upset Vina, understandable given how things went for her following his demise. But there was something about the second planet she mentioned, a feeling from within. He was granted a vision.

For a brief moment after the name left her mouth his mind had seen a desert world with twin suns, mirroring his home of Baal and its moons. The symbol of the Blood Angel was painted in blue blood and dripping down a stone wall as dead xenos lined the floor. Humans liberated from slavery rose up in arms against thier former xeno enslavers. He saw a palace upon a desert mesa, a group of xenos defending it from attack. He saw himself standing on a wall overlooking a burning city as two Jedi confronted him, but not the full him. He saw his spirit crackling with energy and red wings, addressing a female togruta child Jedi in blackness as they watched a dark entity do battle with her master. Strangely, his spirit had pity for the girl on his face.

Blinking, he saw Vina waving her hand at him, not quite able to reach his face. This was a vision from Sanguinius. The visions of the enslaved humans still flashed through his mind, a snarl emitting from him.

"Plot a course for Tatooine. There is filth to purge."

His mission to Malachor may have been a failure, but the scum of Tatooine would soon feel the divine fury of the Blood Angels.