Buzz…
In the dueling arena paved with human bones and flesh, the light of a Chaos ritual array flared to life.
More eye-studded tendrils reached out toward the unknown void.
The Chaos spectators craned their necks, waiting for the two combatants to descend.
It was to be a clash between the Fallen Phoenix and the Cursed One, a duel that would bring glory to Chaos.
"Praise the Prince of Pleasure!"
"The radiant one of bliss, the Perfect Phoenix, will surely triumph!"
When Fulgrim's figure appeared upon the balcony of the arena, hundreds of thousands of Chaos spectators erupted into thunderous cheers.
The heat of their roaring applause rolled upward, provoking even more howls and shrieks.
"At last, the moment has come. That Cursed One will die under our watchful gaze."
In the stands, a crippled Keeper of Secrets swung his half-shattered crab-claw, now studded with gemstones in place of missing segments, and snarled with hatred.
These wounds were all gifts from the Savior, and they were near impossible to heal.
He longed more than anything to see the Savior die. That would be the sweetest pleasure his life could ever know.
"When the torment starts, I'll go down there myself and give that Cursed One a personal…"
The Masque-dancer lightly stroked the ruined, scarred contours of her face, where the bone beneath had collapsed.
She swallowed, and even as she spoke the Cursed One's title, a flicker of fear still stirred in her.
Yet her hatred outweighed her terror. She went on: "I'll subject the Cursed One to the execution I've prepared for so long, and turn him into the ugliest creature in the whole Warp!"
During the Commorragh Webway war, this greater daemon Masque-dancer had followed Syll'esh the Doom of Secrets into battle to seize the Webway territories the Prince of Pleasure had always coveted.
They had hoped to reap every Dark Eldar and human soul within, and to take the Webway entire.
Instead, they had been utterly defeated.
Her master, Syll'esh the Doom of Secrets, had been beheaded by the exalted Bloodthirster Ka'Bandha and had yet to recover to this very day.
Of course, that was not why the Masque-dancer looked as she did now.
Her disfigurement, and her inability to heal, came from another battle: the duel between the Cursed One and the exalted Bloodthirster.
During that hateful duel between the Cursed One and Ka'Bandha, the collateral damage struck her as well.
The burning of holy psychic fire had scarred her very soul, leaving damage that could never fade.
To put it simply: while the Savior and the exalted Bloodthirster were trading blows in a sea of Chaos, this weak but meddlesome Masque-dancer had tried to dart in and steal some credit, only to eat a full blast from the Savior. Her facial bones had been reduced to shards on the spot.
Back then, the Savior was controlling a cloned body of the Emperor at its absolute peak. That single hit had left her so grievously wounded that recovery was impossible.
For a daemon of Slaanesh, who revered beauty above all, that was unbearable. Her hatred for the Savior only grew deeper and deeper.
Now, at last, the opportunity for revenge had arrived.
This time, the Prince of Pleasure and the Changer of Ways had jointly woven a Chaos array.
They would seize and bind the very essence of the Savior's power, then cast him into this arena.
In other words, the Savior would be unable to draw upon his own divine might, nor could he call upon the power of the Cursed Sun.
They could torment him at their leisure.
"Kill the Cursed One!"
The disfigured Masque-dancer donned her mask and joined the surrounding Chaos spectators in wild cheers.
They all longed for the glorious spectacle that was to come.
The arena had long since been filled to capacity. It was not only Slaaneshi daemons in attendance; daemons of the other three Chaos Gods were also here to watch.
Quite a few servants of Chaos Undivided had come as well.
They all wanted the Savior dead, or at least to witness the fall of a legend with their own eyes. And if they could join in the feast and devour a piece of his flesh…
That, too, would be a form of honor.
For now, the arena resounded with cheers and adulation for the Fallen Phoenix.
He was the star of this battle.
In the past, Fulgrim would arrive in his most elegant form and luxuriate in the adoration of the host of daemons.
He would even sing like an operatic lead, using exaggerated performance to gratify his bottomless vanity and self-love.
But this time Fulgrim felt nothing of the sort. His features were twisted, his expression venomous with resentment.
He felt only a profound shame.
The louder the crowd roared for him, the stronger and more indelible the shame that followed.
Because everything had gone wrong. The Savior the daemons had gathered to watch never appeared. The one who had been captured was someone else entirely:
The Primarch of the Ultramarines, Roboute Guilliman, his defeated foe.
"Damn it. Roboute, that piece of trash ruined the performance I so painstakingly prepared!"
Fulgrim ignored the reverence of the Chaos spectators and strode swiftly to his throne.
His hatred for the Ultramarines Primarch had already gone beyond measure. If not for Roboute, he would have completed the perfect spectacle he had planned for the Savior.
Now the stage he had labored over had become a place of disgrace, and he might even incur punishment from the Prince of Pleasure.
After all, Fulgrim had to shoulder most of the blame for this plan's failure.
"That wretch wants a duel with me, to wash away the shame of ten millennia ago?
He's dreaming!"
The Fallen Phoenix glared with poisonous fury and said coldly, "I'll make you die in agonizing torment, Roboute. I'll tear your corpse apart and carry your head to the Savior!"
He had no interest in dueling Roboute, this former loser of his. There was no meaning in it.
At this moment, Fulgrim only wanted to vent his rage, then drag Guilliman's mangled remains to the Savior.
He would make that being burn with fury and regret!
"Come, Roboute. This place will be your hell of nightmares. Your pathetic revenge will remain forever out of reach!"
Fulgrim's gaze was locked on the center of the arena, where the other prisoner, still bound by the array, should soon appear.
The gladiators originally prepared for the Savior were waiting.
They would torment Roboute when he arrived, draining him dry and peeling the flesh from his bones bit by bit.
It would not match the splendor of a duel with the Savior, but it would give the Chaos spectators some measure of satisfaction.
It was not only the Fallen Phoenix. The other, uninformed spectators were also staring at the center of the arena, waiting for the other star of the show, the victim, to arrive.
Yet as time trickled by, no figure appeared.
…?
"Where is Roboute? Don't tell me that idiot can resist even the gods' array?"
Fulgrim waited so long his limbs had almost gone numb. "No, that's impossible. More likely the Savior worked together with that pathetic bag of bones to help Roboute break free of his shackles."
That possibility was very real. He could sense that the Changer of Ways was no longer feeding power to the Chaos array, and even its vast phantom in the sky had faded away.
The Prince of Pleasure, too, had lost interest; that god's desire for the Ultramarines Primarch's soul was limited at best.
Especially since Roboute showed almost no potential for daemonhood. He refused even the essence of the Warp; how was he supposed to ascend?
With two Chaos Gods withdrawing their support, the Savior had been given a chance to decipher the array and pull Roboute free.
While the Fallen Phoenix puzzled and fumed, the other Chaos spectators were also growing impatient, muttering and calling out.
When Fulgrim had first appeared, the Emperor's Children tasked with hyping the crowd had already followed the original script and announced the victim's imminent arrival.
Yet half the day had passed, and neither the victim nor so much as a shadow of the Cursed One had shown up.
Suddenly, a Tzeentchian greater daemon spotted the problem and shouted:
"The Cursed One is still in the galaxy. He hasn't been captured at all. Is this some kind of scam?!"
He was furious. He'd paid a hefty price for the chance to take part in what had been billed as a grand spectacle of torment for the Savior.
And yet the Savior was still in the galaxy, safe and sound. Was this not false advertising?!
To deceive a Tzeentchian greater daemon like this was a blatant insult.
He, a dignified greater daemon of Tzeentch, had been scammed out of his ticket price. That had been solid, hard-earned warp-energy!
At these words, the Chaos crowd exploded. Conversations turned into an uproar, and some began shouting:
"Refund!"
"You'd better give us an explanation for this fraud!"
The duel Fulgrim had poured his heart into, for which he'd personally designed even the décor, had become a farce.
The arena was in uproar. Some daemons even began publicly denouncing the Fallen Phoenix.
"Silence!"
Seeing the stage he had built descend into this state, Fulgrim lost his temper on the spot.
He crushed the greater daemon that had spoken against him and hung the mangled remains high above the stands.
The arena quieted somewhat.
Then the announcer from the Emperor's Children stepped forward and bowed low, his posture both seductive and full of contrition.
He addressed the crowd and explained the situation:
"My beloved audience, this is no fraud. On the contrary, it is an even greater feast.
As you all desire, the torment of the Cursed One will indeed continue; it has only been delayed slightly.
Because we have added a warm-up act.
What you are about to witness is our warm-up act:
A special torment prepared for the Ultramarines Primarch, Roboute Guilliman!"
The Emperor's Children announcer laid out the details to the spectators: the first victim would be the Ultramarines Primarch. Only afterward would it be the Savior's turn.
Fulgrim, meanwhile, felt the Chaos array was still running. Roboute was still bound within it.
The Primarch would soon be dragged into the arena to suffer.
Fulgrim was sure that once he had a half-dead Guilliman in his hands, the Savior would move heaven and earth to come here and rescue his brother.
Then everything would return to its proper track.
And Fulgrim would realize his long-cherished dream: a duel in the spotlight, in which he would defeat the Savior and the Emperor of Mankind.
The announcer's explanation soothed the Chaos spectators' outrage. They began to look forward to the show again, waiting patiently for the first victim: Roboute Guilliman.
Thanks to the Chaos array, they could sense the Primarch's aura.
He was about to be dragged into the arena.
And yet another span of time passed, and the center of the arena remained empty, utterly devoid of any figure.
An hour. Two hours. The Ultramarines Primarch still did not appear.
"Roboute, are you humiliating me on purpose?!"
Fulgrim glared at the phantom in the void that represented the Primarch and boiled over, his lips trembling.
"You will suffer the most excruciating torment. I'll kill you, KILL YOU!"
His hatred for Roboute climbed ever higher, to the point that even his normally elegant bearing began to warp.
Nor was it just the Fallen Phoenix. The other Chaos spectators were also losing their patience.
A new disturbance rose, and some spectators stormed out in anger.
Just when Fulgrim and the Chaos crowd had almost exhausted their patience, the Chaos array finally changed, as if someone had reactivated it.
Boom.
A figure in heavy blue armor slammed into the center of the arena. The Ultramarines Primarch was late, but he had arrived.
For him, this was just another casual, ordinary instance of being late in his long life, far from the worst. It didn't even compare to the time he had arrived late to reinforce Holy Terra.
If there was anything worth noting, it was that this time he was late to a meeting with the forces of Chaos.
Causality really was a terrifying thing.
The main issue was that Chaos daemons had no experience with this. If it had been the Savior, he would have gone back to bed already.
In fact, this was relatively fast. At least Guilliman had made it before the crowd dispersed. Last time, he hadn't even arrived in time for the champagne.
So for the Ultramarines Primarch, a temporal delay in teleportation hardly registered.
Whereas Fulgrim and the Chaos crowd were fuming with rage from the wait, Guilliman felt almost nothing at all.
From his point of view, he had stepped into a spatial rift, his vision had gone black for an instant, and then he had arrived in this hateful arena.
Guilliman's fighting spirit burned. He roared, "Fulgrim, you treacherous cur, come and face me in single combat!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he was under the gaze of countless hateful eyes.
There were rather a lot of Chaos abominations here. Fortunately, most were just ordinary daemons, not enough to pose a fatal threat.
The spectators in the stands had waited so long that they were seething with anger and malice. Each and every one of them wanted to rush down and tear him apart.
Fortunately this was an arena. Until the Fallen Phoenix spoke, they would not break the rules.
This was the glorious performance of that daemon prince.
"Fulgrim, are you afraid? Afraid to face me in a duel?"
Guilliman stood alone before the dark mass of daemons. Though he was terrified inside, he forced himself to remain composed.
He started verbally goading Fulgrim. As long as he baited his brother into coming down, he could defeat him and intimidate the other abominations.
If all these daemons swarmed him at once, he really would be in trouble.
"Coward!"
Guilliman bellowed again and ignited the flames of his holy sword. With a muffled whoomph, fire flared to life.
The flame was far smaller than usual, because the Chaos array had cut off the flow of holy psychic power.
Even so, that much fire was more than deadly enough.
Once the Sword of Sanctity blazed to life, the restless Chaos spectators grew much more restrained.
"Heh-heh-heh-heh…"
Fulgrim's trademark, sultry laughter rolled out, thick with fury.
He stepped to the edge of the balcony and looked down at Guilliman, teeth grinding. "Roboute, you've finally come, to the stage I prepared.
This place was built for the Savior. You, you piece of trash, are unworthy of it. You don't deserve to duel me."
Fulgrim's eyes were full of contempt. He laughed coldly.
"Of course, you can always try to defeat every opponent and claw your way to me.
Unfortunately, you no longer have that ability. You'll only die miserably, still shackled by your former humiliation."
Now, the Fallen Phoenix thought only of breaking and defiling the Ultramarines Primarch, of making him fall in the most disgraceful manner possible.
He would hang Guilliman's body in chains above the arena and torture him, forcing the Savior to come and rescue his beloved brother.
Then he would make the Savior watch as he used the Malgata Stone to strip Roboute of his warp-essence… presuming he had any.
Fulgrim was genuinely curious whether this brother of his, who wielded no psychic power at all, possessed a warp-essence in the first place.
He gave Guilliman a long, deep look, then sat back upon his throne. For now he was the spectator, and Guilliman was the pathetic performer.
The Primarch was owed no fairness and no honor.
He would play the clown, performing for the crowd.
Fulgrim's taking his seat was the signal for the performance to begin.
Wild, decadent music filled the arena.
The Emperor's Children announcer used an over-the-top tone to whip the crowd into a frenzy.
"Gladiators of Chaos, our first victim has appeared. Unleash every cruel trick you possess.
Make him collapse. Make him convulse. Make him kneel and beg for mercy. Let his delicious screams fill the entire arena!"
Roar!
"Dog of the False Emperor, die!"
Suddenly, a Khorne greater daemon could restrain himself no longer.
He leapt from the stands and crashed down into the arena, hefting his axe high as he chopped down toward the Ultramarines Primarch.
Clang!
Inside the Armour of Fate, a newly fitted relic engine roared to life, pouring out tremendous power.
Guilliman merely lifted his hand, and with a casual squeeze of his gauntlet, stopped the Bloodthirster's axe cold.
"So this is all the strength the Blood God's champion can muster?
How pitiful. How weak."
With a single powerful motion, he slammed the Bloodthirster down onto the floor, radiating a dominance he had never shown before.
The newly refitted Armour of Fate housed multiple power-engines, and its outer plates were forged from high-strength alloys of humanity's Golden Age.
With such potent panoply, the Primarch who had once fought relying almost solely on his flesh now found his might magnified.
"My brother's gifts are astounding. This… this is power worthy of the word."
Guilliman felt an unprecedented sense of satisfaction. He stomped down on the Bloodthirster's head, every inch the conquering warlord.
The crowd gasped as one.
Then he simply thrust the Sword of Sanctity forward and executed the Khorne greater daemon, reducing him to ash.
Nameless creatures of no renown could not withstand the holy blade at all, though each such strike did drain its divine energy.
Guilliman had fought with the Sword of Sanctity before, but it had never felt this effortless.
Such was the blessing of upgraded wargear. It was terrifying.
He, the Primarch of the Ultramarines, Lord of Ultramar and true brother to the Savior, would no longer be beaten to the ground.
He would display power like never before.
He would wipe away his shame.
"Fulgrim… all of you… you've underestimated me. And you'll pay the price for it."
Guilliman glared at the Fallen Phoenix and the other abominations, a hint of savage delight in his eyes.
Even if ten greater daemons surrounded him, he felt no fear.
Ten of them, so what? He was no longer the Primarch he had been. He would not fall so easily.
He wanted a battle to his heart's content, not a one-sided beating like last time.
"Abominations, are you ready… to die?"
Guilliman stared down the circle of Chaos greater daemons, thunder in his gaze.
In this moment, the Ultramarines Primarch who had once endured so much humiliation finally rose, ready to carve a bloody path through his foes.
His plan was to unleash an unstoppable offensive, hewing a road of corpses across the arena toward Fulgrim's throne.
He would force his brother to face him, for that was the only path to victory.
The Armour of Fate roared to full power.
Buzz…
Before the stunned eyes of the Chaos crowd, the engines of Guilliman's heavy armor let out a mighty bellow.
Light blazed over him in wave after dazzling wave.
It was blinding.
The light extended several meters outward, forming who-knew-how-many layers of…
Force-field shields.
(End of Chapter)
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