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“An odd question Uncle.” TalOS said as he gave a small chuckle to numerous thoughts that were within his mind, “But I would say that I am here to support my brother. I only have nineteen others, and each one a surely powerful leader in their own making.”
“You think that for every one of your brothers?” The interest within the voice of Malcador could not be overstated.
“They would need to prove me incorrect, that they are horrible in all forms of existence. Considering they were manufactured the chances of that occurring can only be seen as a manufacturing error.” TalOS said as he thought of the numerous Skitarii that were made within his manufactoriums, “I have a feeling that Ferrus Manus will not be a failed creation.”
“It will be fate and calculation that results in what becomes of your brothers.” Declared Malcador as he looked out over the numerous Astartes, “It is hard to judge what will happen now, the future has become uncertain in the last few centuries.”
The way the Sigillite spoke those words caught TalOS. He knew of Psykers and their ability to see the future, and he definitely knew the sheer power that Malcador held above his fellow kin from the drops of Navigation Blood he consumed. So what of the future was he blind to?
Before a question could be asked there was a series of footsteps that seemed to reverberate across the open field. A unison order of steps that was carried through the wind to be heard over both the Astartes and the few spectators that were allowed to see the event. His mind and cogitators quickly recognized it as Auric and Adamantine, a unique combination that could only signal the arrival of his brother.
Even as a Primarch TalOS found it hard to look over the thousands of Astartes that stood before him. It was only the change of audible steps from adamantine on granite to adamantine on marble that told TalOS that his brother was coming soon. That the man was facing the final, if painless, trial to claim the Legion as his own.
Finally TalOS saw his brother, standing on top of the Marble Tower in black armor. On this day he wore battleplate that covered all but the Primarch’s face, letting their legion look at the face that was perpetually scowing at all that saw it. TalOS had seen such faces, covered in scorched wrinkles and wear, on men who experienced the numerous brutal chemicals of manufacturing but did not run away when the worst came at them.
But that was not what TalOS noticed most of the man. His armor was fashioned in an odd manner to allow his real arms and hands to be exposed to the outside world. And what TalOS saw there was a pair of hands that while obviously organic in structure were made of pure metal.
