I am Vritra of Chemos. It’s something I remember telling myself as I ran with my brothers across some other Emperor-forsaken wasteland a very long time ago. I remember there being a Crusade, perhaps several. In those days we were the Emperor’s finest, his very own children, and from that we took our namesake. Even long after the tedium of the Heresy and our exile that we endured, we keep our title, the Emperor’s Children. None can take that away from us, not our brothers, and especially not our impotent Grandfather. Like all children, we have succeeded our parent. We are the essence of humanity, purified of the flaws of its base genetics. I am Vritra, and I am a Child of the Emperor. This I know.
My true father, flawless and the best of us, Fulgrim, I remember most clearly. Even in those early days, before witnessing blessed perfection, he was beautiful. Every chiseled muscle and every lock of silver hair. To say we loved him would be too human. In truth, we hungered