I rember their faces. All of them.
Not the snarling animals they've become, not the scheming hubristic nightmares made flesh. Not the hideous bringers of apocalypse.
The faces they had before, the proud and noble guardians of a new age.
Fulgrim, so beautiful; like he'd been sculpted by some artisan of unparalleled skill. His amethyst eyes missing nothing, the casual curl of his mocking mouth. Mocking, yes. But never cruel. Good humoured, his pride hiding a shyness few would notice, fewer still would be invited to know fully.
Perturabo, dear Perturabo. His fear of never being enough, grey eyes pleading for the smallest acknowledgement of how brilliant he truly was. Commander of thousands of men, insecurity behind his eyes visible only to those with the patience to understand it. His pale face forever frowning in concentration, but marvelling at the smallest new idea, revelling in the process of creation.
Konrad, paler still. His pure black eyes, the blade of his thin face belying noble intent. Misguided, yes. But perhaps the purest of us, the strongest will in matters of right and wrong.
Angron; I felt sorry for him the first time I met him. The pain behind his eyes, his nervous twitching showing how much he hated his very existence. But beneath the rage, the gladiator mask of war paint, a gentler soul might one day have emerged. I knew the story of his rediscovery, knew he was capable of love and depth of feeling. But his upbringing crushed any hope of his ever finding the peace he deserved more than any of his brothers.
Mortarion, brilliant and conflicted, like we all were at the start. His gaunt face showing sorrow, his tired eyes a sad reflection of the horrors he'd already witnessed. The soft voice, feeling like he was talking to you alone in the whole universe. He SAW me, understood what he saw. The fleeting nature of life and death didn't frighten him, he embraced it with goodness in his heart.
The Twins. So... ordinary. Easy to miss, easy to overlook. But their indelible guile and brotherly affection plain for those with eyes to see. Opposites, negatives. Two parts of the same whole, laughing at themselves as much as their other brothers. I miss their harmonied smiles, laughing eyes and honest intentions.
Magnus. I truly believe he allowed me to see the real him, only once. Unremarkable in stature, his bronze skin shining in candlelight. His one eye full of mirth, excitement at learning something, ANYTHING new. Eager to discuss ideas for the future, the unmapped possibilities of creating a world of our own making.
Lorgar, so sure of himself, so wise but eager to listen. I told him things I'd never tell anyone else. A true brother at one time, soft spoken but fierce in his conviction. The lustre of his skin impossible for any artist to recreate, his humility and loyalty utterly humbling for me to behold.
And Horus. The best of us. The easy smile, the Cthonian gutter slang utterly scandalous in the right circumstances. His booming laugh disarming, his sculpted face righteous. Daring the galaxy to look him in the eye, willing the universe to meet him on his terms.
I admired them all, each differently, each in their own way. I still do, I'll admit to no-one alive. All of them unique, all of them my brothers, even now. Even after everything, even while they're making me kill them.
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