"You think you know your history? You don't think a Primarch, a foci of destiny, can split our reality by deciding one thing over another? How can we measure the what-if's and could-have-beens when 20 brothers go to war with themselves?

In my past, Ferrus Manus, Primarch of Iron Hands, lived... for a time at least. On that day, hands dripping like quick-silver, cold fury etched on upon his ugly, scarred visage, the murderous arachnid, war-spider, led his Sons to die in reckless abandon. Back then, there was no good or bad, right or wrong, just the sting of betrayal and the drive for retribution.

Despite all this, a Primarch cannot murder a brother. Their hatred may burn like a Sun, but so to does their hope, and as Fulgrims blade raked the Gorgans collar, so to did his hammer break just the one of his brothers legs.

By then, it was too late. His legion had been washed away by plasma and hell-fire, squandered, and then further betrayed. Harried and Broken, Ferrus was contained within some nameless Istavaan mountain while the rebellion blossomed into full-blown heresy around him.

Ferrus would return many years later, leading a disparate legion of war-weary Astarte into the rear of Horus's fleets as they besieged Terra. Their armour blackened and iconography scuffed to nothingness, this brother-less host finally found their end in the sky above their species home, as they drove the scattering traitors back into the vengeful loyalist guns.

Some even say Ferrus boarded Horus's barge, too late to intervene in what was to be played out, but able to encase his Father in the Golden Throne. The fog of vengeance clearing, his calling finally answered, Ferrus Manus disappeared. To where, no one can tell."

Redoing a Primarch series this year, as its coming up to 10 years since the last one, and it was quite a defining point in my art life I think. This time round, I'm going to make it a little different, change a little bit here and there, and make it my own. Hope you enjoy it!