"Sons of Moribus!" The Primarch's furious roar echoed through the council chamber. "Those loyal to me, take up arms and attack them!"
The intense clash jolted everyone awake. Hearing their Primarch's cry, the Legion warriors lunged instinctively for the weapon racks—grabbing arms to protect their gene-father!
"Traitor!" The shout was thick with grief and rage. Someone had torn away the mask with words of high treason, dragging the ugly truth into the light.
The First Captain leveled a finger at the Primarch. He knew the Primarch dared not face the evidence and was attempting to muddy the waters, hoping to drag the Legion into opposition against the Imperium of Man.
"He is a traitor!" the First Captain growled again, backing away quickly from the battlefield where thunder and light-blades intertwined.
His retreat was not an act of cowardice. As a former Legion Commander, the First Captain knew exactly what he had to do.
Unite the Legion! Prevent his brothers from falling alongside their bloodline.
"Moribus Solas, you are unworthy of this glorious Legion," the Captain cursed as he retreated, his heart churning with fury and sorrow as he kept his eyes locked on the figure surrounded by his cousins.
"Legion brothers, hear my command!" He tapped rapidly on his tactical terminal, issuing orders under the cover of his battle-brothers: "The Primarch has betrayed the Imperium. Apprehend every soldier who dares follow him; they are no longer our brothers."
"We are forever loyal to the Emperor, forever loyal to Humanity, and forever loyal to Glory!"
Beside the onslaught of the Doom Slayers, Solas turned back during a brief opening, his voice carrying a multitude of emotions: "Enas!"
He called out the name of his scion; somehow, there was a hint of reluctance in his tone.
"Traitor!" The only response the Primarch received was a curse. Captain Enas was consumed by grief and indignation: "Do not think you can shake my resolve."
The Second Legion had completely fractured.
Within the vast council chamber, conflict erupted inevitably as blood-brothers turned their blades upon one another.
"For the Primarch!"
Some chose loyalty to the Emperor; others remained more devoted to their Primarch. The bond of blood flowing through their veins felt more real than any conviction.
The renegades rushed toward the weapon racks—the cold gleam of bolters and chainswords became their only hope for defending their Primarch.
"Hold back the damned traitors! Kill anyone who attempts to storm the weapon racks!" the First Captain ordered again, uniting his brothers to purge the betrayal.
The loyalists, fueled by intense resentment, struck out at the wavering traitors. They drew tactical knives, driving monomolecular blades through ceramite armor to vent their fury at being betrayed by both father and brother.
Melee combat broke out. The loyalists quickly formed small groups, covering each other back-to-back, their blades drawing blood with every strike.
"Secure the weapon racks! Attack the traitors!" The various messenger groups moved in unison. Hundreds of Space Marines charged into the fray, establishing defensive lines along the walls of the council chamber.
Bang—! A bolter roared.
The first bolt was fired by a Dark Angel. The armor-piercing round punched through power armor, shattering ceramite and superhuman flesh alike.
An Astartes possesses stubborn vitality; he charged until the end, crawling forward even in death just to reach a weapon to protect his Primarch.
It was a tragic sight: the superhuman bodies created by the Master of Mankind were slaughtering each other for their respective convictions.
Set after set of post-human organs failed. Blood sprayed and coagulated rapidly, staining the bronze armor a foul, dark red.
Space Marines do not surrender. Once a goal is set, it is a fight to the death.
The Second Legion was torn asunder. Whether they were loyal to the Emperor or the Primarch, all felt a searing rage, believing their brothers had betrayed them!
"Traitor! You have forsaken humanity—pay for it with your life!"
Amidst the bloody carnage, the Emperor's faction denounced those who had abandoned glory. Tactical knives pierced the chests of kin, shredding the secondary hearts gifted by the Lord of Mankind.
"You are the traitors! You betrayed the Primarch!"
The Primarch's warriors sprayed blood, using gore-stained hands to choke the throats of their brothers until their own breath faded.
The chamber held nothing but original sin and bloodshed. The two factions were locked in a death grip, neither yielding, leaving no room for other Legions to intervene.
They sought to end their brothers with their own hands to prove they were not in the wrong.
The messenger groups held their lines, allowing blood to submerge their combat boots. Their hearts trembled as they watched blood-brothers butcher one another.
The traitors were destined to fail. The loyalists held the advantage in numbers, and the Terran-born veterans were highly experienced, systematically eliminating the younger generation who remained more loyal to the Primarch.
"Is this what you wanted to see?" On the most dangerous part of the battlefield, Bul-Kathos swung a semi-corporeal battle-axe, cleaving through a Legion warrior as he questioned the Primarch: "Did you want to see a river of blood?"
Surrounded by the Doom Warriors, Solas did not answer. His eyes scanned the room, reflecting the images of his scions rolling in pools of gore.
He truly had not expected that even with his betrayal exposed, a third of the Legion would still follow him.
Pulling his gaze back, Solas dared not look directly at the pools of blood. Perhaps there was guilt and regret in his heart.
The Primarch was a whirlwind of emotions; his Legion was treading through blood to kill, and blood-brothers were meeting each other with steel.
But he could not intervene. Under the encirclement of seven Doom Warriors, almost every move he made was met with three attacks coming from different angles.
His war-staff whirled and danced. Solas knocked aside a dimensional light-blade, but his weapon pulled back instantly in the next second.
Dimensional weapons were too sharp; material substances could not block them. His dragon-coiled staff retreated upon contact, refusing to engage in a test of strength.
Warning signs flared in his mind again. The shoulder cannons of the Doom Warriors fired overcharged lasers. Amidst the crisscrossing beams, they struck at his vitals, melting pits into his bronze power armor.
Moving with measured rhythm and calculated intensity, his brother's scions were exceptional. With their fierce blades and the support of their shoulder cannons, he found it difficult to overcome them for the moment.
The Sons of Doom fought with a singular mind. Battling a Primarch was like dancing on a knife's edge; a distraction of even a ten-thousandth of a second meant death was at hand.
The scions of the Emperor were far too powerful. Had they not experienced the Warp-wars, they would have fallen within seconds.
While it appeared to be a back-and-forth struggle, they were in truth pooling every ounce of their strength just to barely restrain the Primarch.
The council chamber was in utter chaos. Various skirmishes broke out continuously.
Astartes fell in swathes. The survivors honed their killing arts in the blood of their brothers. They moved from initial hesitation to delivering fatal blows with every strike.
It was catastrophic—
The hall was filled with so much blood it seemed as though it might drown the living in a pool of gore, soaked in the sin of kinslaying!
The traitors were doomed. Solas had rarely disciplined the Legion; the upper echelons were mostly Terran veterans, possessing incredible organizational skills and combat prowess.
The warriors struck again and again, spitting on one another as they personally ended their kin.
Finally, nearly a thousand men surrounded the Primarch, breathing heavily, wrapping their knives in cloth to prevent them from slipping in the blood.
The doors were pushed open.
The slaughtering parties were momentarily forced apart. Bloodshot eyes locked onto the doorway; combat was occurring outside as well.
Between the traitors and the loyalists, the fighting had spread to the entire Second Legion, even triggering fleet engagements.
What was the truth? Did it even matter now? The fractured Legion was seeing red, their eyes filled only with sorrow and hatred.
Alpharius remained expressionless. Carrying the stone-carved head, he looked down at the slurry of blood on the floor; he didn't even want to step into it.
How many Space Marines had fallen in this hall? The corpses were soaked in blood, many still twitching subconsciously.
The sight before him made the Primarch's heart tremble.
From a Legion of nearly a hundred thousand, how many warriors would remain after such a brutal civil war?
Alpharius stepped into the blood, walking forward pace by pace. The loyalists parted for him, though their eyes remained fixed on the stone carving of the Emperor in his hand.
There was no thirst for truth in the eyes of these warriors. The Space Marines stared intently through their helmets at the Emperor's face—repaying the Master of Mankind with unwavering loyalty.
The loyalists knelt like a receding tide—not to the Primarch, but to the lifelike stone carving of the Emperor in his grasp.
"Stand up," the mysterious Primarch spoke, lifting the carving higher. "The thing inside this is not worth your worship."
Upon hearing this, the Legion warriors stood up from the pool of blood, watching as the Primarch walked toward their gene father.
"My brother." Below the high platform, Solas removed his helmet, gazing at the brother he had never seen before. "What is your name?"
"Alpharius."
"The beginning?" Solas pushed through the encirclement of his scions, a faint, helpless smile appearing on his face. "A highly symbolic name."
The smile carried a hint of mockery; he had a vague guess as to when this brother had returned to the Imperium.
"Since when have you been lurking within the Second Legion?"
Raising a hand to signal the Doom Warriors to take the Emperor's statue, Alpharius smiled back at his brother. "Not long after your return."
"When you were passive in war and prying for information on your brothers' Legions, I had already noticed you."
"What truly made me decide to stay hidden and continue observing the Second Legion was your visit to the Mors system after the conclusion of the first Rangdan Xenocide."
"On the Regal Majesty, I gained the support of another brother. He has sharp eyes and saw through my disguise."
Faced with his kinsman's inquiry, Alpharius held nothing back. As he revealed the causes and consequences, the rebellion reached its final curtain.