 Much of what once was is lost, for none now live who remember it. These words, taken from an ancient Terran mythic cycle, are apt in this benighted millennium. Ignorance, counted by our Imperium as virtue for these last ten thousand years since the Great Tragedy, has put flame to so much knowledge, that one in the truest depth of despair can ponder as to whether humanity has simply forgotten more than we ever even knew. In our mad rush to bury the sins of the past, from the sight of those we deem unable to handle the catastrophic truth of history, we put libraries to the torch, injected data gin into ancient archived stacks, and wiped cities from existence for the merest mention of the now prescribed. Though one a product of the deepest darkness of the Horus heresy, we, especially those of us permitted by the Blessed Regent to possess knowledge of the tides of history, cannot and shall not pretend that the Imperium was, even at the Crusade's heights, a place where information could not and would not be stricken from memory. The Emperor, beloved by all, has ever been the guiding hand of our species, and it has always been by his writ, his beneficence, the truth is decided, verity maintained, and by his hand that memories are expunged, records deleted, names stricken from records, such as the case of the subjects of this record. I risk both life and sanity by imparting this to my chronicles, but yet I'm driven to. The God-Emperor of mankind is humanity's beacon, always and forever, yet in these times of upheaval, the Primarch, the Lord Regent, informs us that the knowledge we possess is flawed, broken, corrupted by heavy-handed redactionism and wanton zealotry. Could it be, perhaps, that the subjects of this record were victims of the same, albeit an earlier iteration? Could their loss be humanity's greatest mistake? Could the God-Emperor, in his desire to unite the galaxy under human domination, have erred? Is it possible for him to err? These are the questions that weigh heavy upon my mind that terrify me with their sheer innate heresy. But what am I? What historical am I, if I cannot ask questions? Oh, this narrow precipice I walk. Know then that this is a record of the lost and forgotten, the purged, eradicated and expunged, the Primarchs of the 2nd and 11th legionnaires and startes. Appended note, frequent examiners of these chronicles are at this point no doubt accustomed to historical veracity. While it is ever my endeavour to commit the truth where the subjects of this record are concerned, it is by its very nature difficult to verify, difficult to being something of an understatement. You will, hopefully, forgive your humble servant his occasional musings. I, as ever, will strive to present what I can with all surety possible. At their creation, in the unification wars, when the great crusade first left Hera to reclaim the stars, the legionnaires of startes numbered 20. This is fact. When the darkest powers conspired to steal the Primarchs from the emperor's laboratories, they numbered 20. When, over the course of the great crusade's two centuries, the emperor endeavored to bring his sons into the imperial fold and reunite them with their own sons in the Astartes legions. He was successful in doing so on 20 occasions. Yet, when the warmaster Horus Lupercal fell under the sway of the machinations of the malign intelligences of the warp, eight of his brothers did so with them, and nine opposed these fell traitors. Nine brothers fought nine brothers. There is, obvious to almost anyone, a discrepancy. Two Primarchs are lost to human knowledge, and by no lesser authority than the emperor himself, who swore even his own remaining sons to an oath of utter secrecy. Consider, if you will, examiner, the ramifications of this. In the history of the Imperium, the progeny of the emperor stand as both human paragons and the epitome of human imperfection. While their names are not known to the heaving common masses, the Imperium is, for better or worse, still cognizant of the names, histories, and lives of the wretched and hated treacherous spawn of the God Emperor. They, who fell to the warp and who dwell within its depths, are still written off, their existences known to a few, but still, remembered nonetheless. Perhaps this is the simple reality of their continued existence, going to the threat they still pose to our Imperium. Perhaps striking their names from human memory is an act impossible, even for the heaviest handed of inquisitorial ordos. Regardless, the fact remains that the facts remain. They are known, and they have been known, since they first turned blade and bolter upon the true servants of man in their mad rush for venal power. The second, and eleventh, had no such fate. While the Imperium whispers the names Fulgrim, Dorgar, Magnus, and their fallen kin, with terror and hatred, the very cognomens of the second and eleventh are utterly lost. Beyond that, we know not the names of their legions, for it appears for the sins of their fathers, the sons themselves were damned. Only their numerical designations remain. Lost to us are their names, characters, personalities, personal histories, philosophies, mien, the worlds to which they fell, their victories, defeats, wants, hopes, desires, dreams, strengths and weaknesses, triumphs and failures, all consigned unto the oblivion of a deliberately forgotten history. But, as with everything in history, scraps remain. It is, likely, impossible to fully erase the Titanic impact one such as a Primarch may have upon the course of human history, for they are literally sons of the savior of mankind. Such progeny must surely exist in realms beyond the mundane, and so do they warp the sky of reality by their sheer existence. Whether through means illicit, heretical, rebellious or desperate, tiny fragments of information have been retained. What I commit, know that I committed of my own volition, for the sake of knowledge itself. Let whatever inquisitor find this chronicle, know that I do so under the regent's own writ. None but he, and by extension the god-emperor himself, may be the ultimate arbiter of what may happen to my mortal soul. Presented here are the only actual sources one has that directly refer to the knowledge of the lost. A journal, passed to loyalist hands from ministrates that served in the presence of the Primarch of the third legion, Emperor's Children, speaks to that soon fallen Primarch as having openly mused, on at least one occasion, of the character of the second Primarch. He was, according to Fulgrim, a hypocrite who once opposed him, but also quiet, contemplative, a being without humor. Another source, again from the fallen Emperor's Children, cites that the second Primarch led an expedition to the Yimge Monolith. But what happened of that expedition? None know of. It will, however, be discussed further later. Of the eleventh Primarch, we know even less. A member of the seventeenth legion, Wordbearer's Zafen, implies he was known for being still innocent and pure, at the time he was stolen away from Terra with the rest of his brothers. This is, quite literally, the only shred of information on the eleventh one has been able to uncover, but it, in and of itself, speaks more than it initially belies. Around both of the Lost, and their legions, exists an aura of a crime, or crimes, perhaps, so heinous that they were stricken from human knowledge itself. Yet in doing so, representing a tragedy whose melancholy is equally unspeakable, they are remembered not as traitors, this much as obvious. They did not turn against the Emperor of mankind. Turn from his vision, perhaps, but not against his imperial personage. The presence of these Primarchs, or more accurately their lack thereof, has been accorded bizarre forms of respect. In the Tower of the Hegemon, in the Imperial Palace on Terra, were invested twenty statues of the twenty Primarchs. By the outbreak of the heresy, when nine of these men fell to the dark powers, they were draped in sheets to hide the shame they represented. At this time, the plinths of the second and eleventh were bare, their statues removed smashed into dust, but the plinths nevertheless remained. We know from the diverse conversations of the Primarchs, some miraculously preserved, that they were sworn to an oath of secrecy by their father, never again to talk about the fates of their lost brethren. Even when one, such as 17th Primarch Lorgar, were to bring it up, his brother Magnus the Red of the 15th Legion, Thousand Sons, chided him harshly. Admittedly, these were in the days preceding Lorgar's own degeneracy, but the fact remains that the surviving 18 rarely spoke of the purged too, and if they ever did, it was under circumstances of extreme stress, melancholy, or juresse. Rogaldorn, Praetorian of Terra and Master of the Seventh Legion Imperial Fists, did so to the right hand of the Emperor, the Sigillite, Malkador, as he despaired over the impending invasion of Terra. In desperation, he admitted he would rather have his lost brothers at his side, but the difference they could make in the fight against fallen Horus may have turned the tide. The Sigillite rebuked the Lord of the Seventh, in his harsher manner as one such as he could. Do not even think it, my friend. They are lost to us forever. During the darkest days of the traitor's ruinstorm, when the galaxy itself was cleaved in twain by the roiling tides of warped space, Robert Gulliman, Primarch of the Thirteenth Legion Ultramarines and Lord of Ultramar, retained for his two lost brothers two places at his council table. According to them in honour, his brothers Sanguinius and the Lion remarked upon, but did not gain say. The actions of the Lord of the Thirteenth Legion are of a special note in one's attempt to establish patterns regarding the lost Primarchs. One is forced to surmise, given the evidence, that their crimes were somehow more heinous than the hideous betrayal of Horus and his ilk, yet, quixotically, of a fashion that elicits a kind of sorrow, not hatred, from their brothers. Dorn's musings on their potential usefulness at his side during the Siege of Terra, despite the Sigilite's rebuke, evinces that he holds his lost brothers with no damnable enmity, but it remains he sees their losses as tragedies, ones that may have served as warnings, according to his writings on the matter. Fulgrim held his brother the second Primarch in disdain, but not for his fate merely his character, and Gulliman's actions speak for themselves. It would, however, appear to depend on the Primarch in question. Fourteenth Legion Primarch Mortarian, and Fifteenth Legion Primarch Magnus, the former in conversation with the latter, the latter in conversation with Seventeenth Legion Primarch Lorgar, were at pains to never speak of their lost siblings, for whatever their ultimate fate, the Emperor had sworn them to silence, and despite the ideological difference they may have had with their father at one point or other during the Great Crusade, they held to this oath like almost no other. Sanguinius, Angelic Primarch of the Ninth Legion Blood Angels, held his last kin in an altogether different light. Dorn, as mentioned, viewed their separate tragedies as warnings. His brother of the Ninth viewed these warnings without right terror. Despairing at the emerging gene seed flaws in his Blood Angels, Sanguinius swore that he would not be responsible for the condemnation of his own sons for a flaw bred from his own genetic seed. He would not be another plinth bare upon the hegemon. What then were these tragedies? What could result in legions earning a fate singular even after the outbreak of the Great Heresy, yet one that wrought in their brothers not animosity but dread and grief? No traitors were they, it appears. Could their fate have been of an altogether different manner? A failure, perhaps, so great it earned them a judgment like no other? We will likely never have a concrete answer. Despite spending my life wading through the shards of a past to piece together what one's was, despite overcoming the most stringent of inquisitorial redactionism, I have never encountered a subject so deliberately excised from human history, save perhaps the foundation of the twentieth Legion. In point of fact, it is most discernible by the void their absence leaves behind them, since, as I said at the outset, no being as titanic as a Primarch, nor no force as apocalyptic as an Astartes Legion, passes through history without leaving ripples. The largest gap in history they occupy, for want of a better word, concerns the Rangdan Xenocytes. While the records of this particular chapter of the Crusade remain frustratingly closed off to the Logos Historica, we ever endeavor to unseal them, and matters concerning them will be committed to record at the earliest possible date, Emperor Willing. What can be discerned is that Rangda Xenophorms were a uniquely hostile and uniquely destructive Xeno strain, whose invasion from the Galactic North threatened the entire fate of the Crusade, and indeed the Imperium itself. Entire expeditionary fleets were lost without a trait to the Xeno Serbovores, and while I cannot yet comment upon their true nature, they were powerful enough to overwhelm entire legions of Astartes, mauling the first legion Dark Angels to such a degree that it is unsure whether the legion was ever able to recover to its pre-Xenocide strength. Both the second and eleventh legions were known, in as far as a sentence can even be said, to have participated in the Xenocytes. It is possible that, during the fires of the worst conflict the Imperium had seen, and would see until the heresy itself, that one or both of the Primarchs simply led their legion to destruction. In doing so, earning the enmity of the Emperor for failing him so utterly, as the first and only Astartes legion to ever be lost upon the field of battle, whether through arrogance, vanity, or plain stupidity. Darker whispers even go so far as to posit that the very term ascribed to the Rangda, Serbovores, implies a ability to psychically or biologically subvert even in Astartes, perhaps turning them into some sort of thrall slaves. Were this true, the specter of the Emperor's own biomantic and genetic artistry being overturned by a mere Xenos race is a prospect too terrible to comprehend, and one would have to agree, worthy of absolute obliteration from memory, should it be true. Indeed, the shadow of the alien rests large upon this subject, for the previously mentioned exposition to the Yimga monolith, is also a point of keen interest. It is known that the second Primarch led an expedition to the Cursed Artifact, although what transpired there, no one knows. The monolith has been discovered in recent millennia to be a relic of the ancient Necron Tyr Xenos race, a powerful device capable of disrupting the fabric of real space to exclude connection from the immaterium itself. Indeed, such a revelation only came about during the dark days of the 42nd millennium and the advent of the Great Rift and the Crimson Path, with the monolith unveiling the true power of Necron interdimensional technology. The Imperium, the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the Ordo Xenos are all maintaining a keen interest in the site, as it is also known that the Eildari have placed a webway gate near this artifact, denoting the site on their interstellar charts with the same runic symbol as the chronometric or dimensional anomaly in the Galactic Far East, the Hadex Anomaly. The mind reels at the possibilities inherent to this information. Could it be possible that the second Legion and its Primarch simply disappeared into the ether of interdimensional space or across the reaches of time itself? Could it have been a sickening fascination with Xenotech that led to their demise and their downfall? Surely such damnable technological heresy would have earned their sire's ire, not least for the incredible risk that it would have represented to the political alliance scant decades old between the Imperium of Man and the Mechanicum of Mars. Set against all these possibilities is a specter of simple genetic deviance. The Primarch Sanguinius' terror, at the possibility of his own blood angels being censored for genetic flaws, rings all the greater if he himself had witnessed the fate that would befall the Astartes, the Emperor deemed to be genetic failures. Indeed, early accounts of the solar reclamation reference a great disaster that came from the Imperium's use of genetically impure stock. It is indeed possible that, despite the Emperor's literally unparalleled expertise in the field, he simply made a mistake. As hesitant as I am to even think such a thing, I must consider all of the options, dearest Examiner. The master of mankind, or his attendant scientists, may have erred in the intake of potential recruits, causing a spiraling genetic catastrophe so severe it desecitated a purge unprecedented. As to the means by which this purge happened, well, Master of Mankind was in possession of no few amount of forces capable of the task, even a task so great as the extermination of an Astartes legion. Dark and, dare I say, hateful whispers have been known to point the shadowed finger of accusation at the sixth legion's space wolves, and their Primarch, Leeman Russ, the Lord of Winter and War, known by his oft-derided title as the Emperor's Executioner. It is a historical fact that the Sixth were the first Astartes legion in history to fight their fellows, in a dark time known as the Night of the Wolf, where they took blade against the 12th legion world-eaters, in a bloody and utterly inconclusive skirmish over the behaviour of 12th legion Primarch and Grom. Beyond that, it was the wolves who, at the behest of the Warmaster scheming, sacked Prospero, putting this 15th legion thousand sons to the sword and breaking the back of Magnus the Red. While it is no unsafe assumption to imagine that there were plenty of other unrecorded or purged operations the Sixth took part in, it is my personal doubt that the Executioners of Fenris were responsible for the losses of the 2nd and 11th. It has been noted, even by the wolves themselves and their Primarch, that Prospero was an operation unprecedented. Memory is not so fickle as to exclude the same act twice over. That being said, the more terrible answer is that the wolves were either called upon to the service and had all survivors purged themselves, or even worse, that they were not up to the task. Quite what could hold the 6th legion in its entirety one does not know. One hopes to never know. What we are left with is no answer to an unclear question. The second and 11th Primarchs and legions are a gaping wound in the fabric of human history, an eternal inquiry that can yield no fruit, for one mind ordered their destruction and he has been silent for 10,000 years. Despite the dark paths the issues raised in this record may lead one. They must remain firm in my conviction that the God Emperor did what he did for the sake of all humanity. Failure, even on his part, is indeed forgivable by purity of intent. And were he of such a conviction to erase his own sons, we can but shudder as to the answers that lie therein, until such a time as one can uncover any further scraps. Ave Imperator, Gloria in Excelsis Terra. What you've just heard was in fact my 10,000 subscriber special. The simple fact that I've gotten to that number, it just absolutely boggles my mind. As ever I am consistently blown away by the support, by the feedback, by all of the love that you guys send me in every comment section on Twitter, on Facebook, wherever, every time I upload a video. And I just want to say from the bottom of my heart thank you for the support, thank you for the love, thank you for everything that you guys have done for the channel so far and will hopefully do in the future, because I am not stopping anytime soon. This was 10,000, onwards to I guess 40,000 or 30,000, either works. As ever, you can follow me on Twitter, I am at ButstuffKaiju, not change the name, will never be changed the name. We are on Discord, the link is in the description below, and you can find me on Patreon if you want to throw me a few bucks for what I do here. Every little helps, everything keeps the lights on, everything keeps the After Effects subscription rolling. Until next time, thank you, thank you, thank you, and we'll see you around.