Chapter 187: Different Trajectories
In the 41st Millennium, on an unmarked Aeldari Crone World within the Eye of Terror.
Fabius Bile, former Chief Apothecary of the Emperor's Children, was busy in his mobile laboratory. His fingers, pale as a corpse's, moved deftly over the controls of a gene-culture vat that glowed with a sickly green light. A fluorescent, viscous fluid flowed through writhing biological conduits and, with the precise operation of his instruments, was injected into twitching, vat-grown bodies. He was fulfilling a special order from his Primarch, just one of countless commissions he had accepted during his ten-thousand-year exile.
On the laboratory walls, dozens of stasis-pods held twisted, malformed test subjects. They slapped unconsciously at the reinforced glass, making dull thudding sounds.
'Failures.'
Looking at the contorted bodies, Fabius frowned and, in a fit of irritation, tore out a few strands of his own hair, making his already sparse scalp even thinner.
"Melusine," he called out to the daughter he had created by blending several genetic templates.
"Father."
A woman of stunning beauty, with two horns sprouting from her head like a daemon, entered the laboratory.
Fabius turned his head. Looking at his idealized "New Man," a rare softness appeared in his otherwise indifferent eyes. He pointed at the malformed creatures. "Reclaim them. Be careful not to destroy the original cell cultures."
"Yes, Father."
Melusine nodded, but her gaze lingered involuntarily on a particular culture tank. Through the murky nutrient fluid, a face as resolute as a statue could be vaguely seen.
That Primarch is here again.
Fabius noticed her glance, and a flicker of displeasure crossed his face. "...Do not go out," he warned in a low voice, afraid that Fulgrim's depraved, twisted presence would corrupt his daughter.
"Yes, Father."
Only after confirming his daughter would obey did Fabius turn and leave the laboratory. The Primarch's commission was now well underway. He could afford to relax a little and gather his thoughts.
The lift shaft ascended slowly. Through the thick observation window, Fabius Bile scanned the neat rows of culture tanks below. Each vat was filled with nutrient fluid of a different colour, and floating within were his "masterpieces" from the past ten millennia. Some had retained a perfect human form; others were twisted into shapes so horrifying that even a Chaos Daemon would do a double-take.
In the ages after the Horus Heresy, the "Pater Mutatis" had traveled the galaxy, providing technical services and legion-strength reinforcements to various renegade warlords and Chaos Lords. In exchange, he received experimental subjects and ancient techno-arcana. He even journeyed to Commorragh, the capital of the Drukhari, to study under the Haemonculi and learn their dark arts.
But soon, the rulers of every faction, including the Imperium, began to regret their dealings with him. Fabius's many creations gradually infiltrated numerous Imperial worlds, assisting him in his various schemes and covering his tracks, only to turn on their former patrons at the most opportune moments.
From then on, Fabius Bile made countless enemies throughout the galaxy. The Imperium of Man, Chaos warbands, and the Aeldari had all spent ten millennia hunting this "Master of Flesh." But Fabius had survived, and had even built a consortium of Apothecaries from the various Traitor Legions, securing several worlds within the Eye of Terror as his bases of operation.
"Hnngh~ Ahhh—"
As the laboratory doors slid open, a rapturous moan interrupted Fabius's thoughts. An Emperor's Children warrior was strapped to a specially designed interrogation chair. Twelve precise mechanical arms extended from the back of the chair, each connected to a syringe filled with a strange, glowing chemical. The needles were expertly inserted into the gaps of his joints, injecting Fabius's special concoction directly into his nerve bundles.
This should have been an unimaginably torturous form of execution, yet the warrior's head was thrown back, his breathing ragged and heavy, his face a mask of ecstatic stimulation. It had been so long. The sensation was like the faintest whisper of a fly's wingbeat, but it was enough to bring some feeling back to his deadened body.
Lucius the Eternal, swordsman of the Emperor's Children, currently serving in the Black Legion.
Since his defeat in the Gothic War, Abaddon had been preparing for his Thirteenth Black Crusade. But recently, as if the warp-addled brains of the Chaos forces had collectively gone mad, a series of bizarre events had occurred. Perturabo and Vashtorr, who were responsible for supplying the Chaos warbands, had both experienced a complete halt in production. Even more absurdly, when the Warmaster of Chaos had personally gone to demand his delivery, he was beaten half to death by the enraged Lord of Iron and was now licking his wounds aboard the Vengeful Spirit. As a result, the number of ambitious warlords challenging the Warmaster's position had surged.
In a fit of rage, Abaddon had cancelled all his subsequent orders and instead sent souls and subjects to Fabius Bile, hoping to obtain more gene-seed for reinforcements. Lucius was in charge of this particular transaction. Or rather, he had fought for the opportunity.
After being defeated by the Thousand Sons sorcerer Iskandar Khayon of Abaddon's retinue, Lucius had his five senses psychically sealed away for lusting after Khayon's Drukhari companion. This left him unable to feel any pleasure in any of his subsequent activities. Any nerve impulse was forcibly suppressed by the psychic block, like a screen with its power cut, leaving only an empty darkness. The once flamboyant and elegant swordsman was reduced to a dull, rigid machine.
Seizing this opportunity, he had come to the Pater Mutatis for help in restoring his senses. As it happened, Bile was also curious about the sorceries of the Thousand Sons. Eager for another method to control Slaanesh's followers, Fabius had unhesitatingly offered his assistance.
"Pathetic," Fabius said, tapping Lucius's rigid knee. There was not even a basic patellar reflex. Twelve more mechanical arms suddenly stabbed into his spine, the silvery-grey liquid in the syringes warring violently with the warp-forged shackles. Lucius's spine arched, and a broken moan escaped his throat. He trembled, the skin of his face, stretched by a collar, contorting through a dozen different expressions every second, from ecstasy to rage.
"How does it feel?" Fabius asked, already knowing the answer.
"Better than ever before," Lucius replied, his trembling fingers touching his own cheek. The return of sensation nearly brought him to tears. Especially, especially in the presence of his Primarch. He had never expected a simple trade to lead to a long-awaited reunion with his gene-father. The profound stimulation was almost too much to bear.
"Good," Fulgrim said, watching his son ascend to a new peak of sensation. His serpentine tail suddenly lashed out, neatly snatching the chemical canister connected to Lucius's spine. With a soft pop, the familiar numbness returned. Lucius's world went silent again.
"NO!" his scream pierced the laboratory's dome. He thrashed wildly, the chains scraping against the adamantium surgical table, sending up a shower of sparks. "Don't take it away! DON'T TAKE IT AWAY!"
CLANG! His frantic struggles pulled at the chains. Lucius the Eternal began to scream and thrash like a gambler about to lose his last chip. Fulgrim dangled the chemical from the tip of his tail, swaying it back and forth before his son's eyes.
CRASH!
Lucius lunged. With a wet, tearing sound, he ripped the twelve mechanical arms from his own spine, pulling out clumps of nerves and muscle fibers with them. Thanks to the blessings of the warp, such a grievous injury was not fatal. The despair of being cast back into a sensory desert drove the former dueling master to leap at his Primarch like a rabid beast.
"Heh~" Fulgrim gracefully sidestepped. Lucius stumbled past the canister and fell heavily into a pool of blood, the impact sending up a spray of dark red flowers.
A suffocating silence fell.
Lucius was no longer thrashing. In a single moment, the ecstatic swordsman became utterly exhausted. He lay with his cheek pressed against the cold floor, letting his own blood pool around his face. His pupils were dilated, his gaze vacant, as if his very soul had been drained away.
"Give it to me... Father... give it to me..." he begged weakly, his face buried in his own blood.
"If you want it, then come and take it," Fulgrim said, swinging the canister from his tail, his voice a long, drawn-out tease. He watched as a sick desire rekindled in his son's dull eyes. Lucius immediately scrambled to his feet and lunged for the canister.
The Primarch gracefully sidestepped again. It was exactly like a master toying with a dog.
SPLAT!
Missing again, Lucius landed at Fulgrim's feet. He looked up, his face a mask of desperate pleading. "Give it to me, Father. For my loyalty to you, I beg you."
Fulgrim was unmoved, watching Lucius with an amused interest. The pain of having something given only to have it taken away was unbearable. The desperate Lucius suddenly turned to Fabius Bile, crawling on all fours, begging and kowtowing. "Please, for the Primarch's sake, intercede for me—"
"Look at you. No honour. No self-respect," Fabius said, kicking away the hand Lucius extended towards him. "You are like an animal in heat."
"Yes, I am an animal! I have no honour! Say what you will, I just want the chemical," Lucius cackled in agreement, his crushed hand twitching, his eyes still locked on the swinging canister.
"Oh, my dear son, that look in your eyes... it is so enchanting," Fulgrim's operatic voice was suddenly cut off by a whistling sound.
"You shut up too!"
Fabius's Chirurgeon's tool whipped towards the Primarch. The daemon bound within the tool trembled in fear, but Fulgrim gracefully dodged the blow. See how powerful I am, Fabius thought. The mere touch of my tool makes daemons tremble in fear. He could easily crush me, grind me under his heel, yet he avoids my attack. Because he needs something from me.
Fabius Bile despised these slaves of Chaos, and he despised his fallen gene-father. This master of flesh, seen by countless souls as the epitome of depravity and evil, was, in fact, an unwavering believer in the Imperial Truth.
"Alright, alright. I suppose I am the one asking for a favour," Fulgrim said, raising his four hands in a gesture of surrender, though his serpentine tail still toyed with the canister.
"..."
Fabius silently tossed a data-slate to the Daemon Primarch. It flew through the air in a cold arc and was deftly caught by Fulgrim's tail. The Primarch browsed the gene-map on the screen with delight. He raised a hand, batting away Lucius who was trying to grab the canister. When he saw the sequence labeled "Ferrus Manus," a sick nostalgia flickered in his serpentine eyes.
"No, this is wrong." His gaze shifted downwards, and the tip of his tail suddenly went rigid. The data-slate cracked under his grip. "I didn't want the Lion—I want Arthur."
"I do not have his sample," Fabius replied coldly. He had only just learned from his own "dear father" that the Emperor had secretly created four new Primarchs, and this madman had his sights set on one of them.
"I told you, he's not like that arrogant brute, the Lion. He's... restrained..." Fulgrim began to describe his idealized version of Arthur to Fabius, his tone, once affable, now sharp and acerbic. Fabius quickly began running simulations on his machine, trying to capture any residual information of this "Arthur" from the warp.
"Like this?" A hololith showed a figure fighting in a forest.
"No."
"Like this?" A figure stood solemnly in a knightly hall.
"NO!" Why is it always the Lion?
The Primarch suddenly erupted, his four hands tearing the hololith to shreds. A crimson mist condensed around him into a vague human silhouette. A slender form, a slightly bowed head, and those eternally calm eyes, like a placid green lake.
"Arthur! I want Arthur!" his voice suddenly softened, as if afraid to startle the phantom. "Calm and restrained... not a trace of extremism..." The serpent-daemon coiled gently around the ethereal form. "The brightest star in the longest night..."
Fulgrim was now like a paranoid collector, obsessed with an imaginary, perfect piece for his collection. He cared nothing for the Black Legion's war, nothing for the will of the Chaos Gods. He cared for no one, and wanted no one to disturb his plans for pleasure.
This gave Fabius a headache. No gene-sample, no soul-fragment, no personality profile. What am I supposed to do with just your words?
Fabius slapped away the hand Fulgrim extended towards him. "If you've truly gone mad, then go to the Imperial Palace on Terra and help me tear down the Emperor's laboratory. Otherwise, give me something useful. Or do you expect me to create a Primarch from thin air?"
A strange silence fell over the laboratory. Lucius cowered in a corner, holding his breath. No one could have imagined someone would dare to speak to a Primarch that way.
But Fulgrim was smiling, a smile that made his serpentine scales tremble. "Then go and find him. Haven't I told you everything?"
"I will go," Fabius said. A new Primarch, and apparently a "normal" one. He felt it was worth investigating. He turned to the control console, his fingers hovering over a red button. "Then I will destroy subject one."
"Don't!" Fulgrim quickly stopped him. A change of pace now and then couldn't hurt. So what if it was his elder brother? He'd still take him! Look at him, Fabius thought, unable to watch. Trapped on the precipice of his own desire, unable to even see how far he has fallen. He put away his instruments and spat, "Damned slave of Chaos."
But I am different.
You are no different.
"I admit I am a slave," Fulgrim said, surprisingly calm. "Once a slave to the forge-lords of Chemos, then a slave to the Emperor, and now a slave to the Lord of Pleasure~"
He nonchalantly took two culture tanks brought by a Pain Engine, letting the precious chemical shatter on the floor. When he saw the embryo floating in the tank, a childish smile spread across his face—it was a perfect specimen with black hair.
Such a naive child, Fulgrim thought. So self-important, thinking he is above the gifts of the gods, thinking he has never served their will. Those twisted experiments, those profane creations... is not each one a step deeper into the darkness? And he is so proud of it, thinking his madness is still "science," still part of the Imperial Truth. Others repeat their mistakes, tripping over the same stone again and again. But Bile... he creates new mistakes. To think he can escape the Great Game of Chaos... so amusing.
Fulgrim knew very well that from the moment he had allowed the whispers of Slaanesh into his ear on Isstvan III, there was no turning back. This universe was merely the gods' playground, and even the Primarchs were just slightly larger puppets.
Since that is the case... why not enjoy it?
Fulgrim looked at Lucius, who, now that the chemical's effect had worn off, was repeatedly stabbing the spikes of the mechanical arms into his own skull and marrow, seeking a deeper stimulation, only to have his emotions forcibly suppressed again and again by the psychic block, driving him into a frenzy. Fulgrim savoured this twisted emotion and burned a new command into Lucius's mind: go to the materium, prepare the sacrifices for his manifestation, and find that brother of his. Only by following this command could the swordsman gradually regain his senses.
The serpent-daemon let out a mad laugh and turned to leave. He had given the Emperor's Children the power of choice, and had they not all chosen to indulge themselves in depravity?
'I will find you,' the slick body left a wet trail in the warp. 'My still-pure brother, and my sons!' He could hardly wait.
OPERATION: SEMPER FIDELIS
NATURE: Phased Mission Debriefing
TIMESTAMP: ████.██.██ 13:13
INTEL LEVEL: CLASSIFIED (IV)
[TECHNOLOGICAL ASSETS: FIELD APPLICATION] (Ironwing, Firewing, Pentaculum Wing Joint Report)
OBJECTIVE: Complete weapons testing and implement combat doctrines via battlefield metrics.
STATUS: Exceeded Expectations
DETAILS: Successfully annihilated all surface-level enemy forces. Combat effectiveness of Librarius assets validated. Combat data for all armaments, including 'Spirit-Forged' series war engines, has been logged. Surveillance-psalms have been successfully implanted within the 'Industrial Park.'
FOLLOW-UP: Continue weapons development and construct an independent psychic training system.
[ALPHA LEGION PURGE PROTOCOL] (All Six Wings, All Nine Orders Joint Report)
OBJECTIVE: Eliminate all Alpha Legion warbands entrenched in the southern Ultramar Sector, including the 'Risen,' and eradicate their local influence.
STATUS: Substantially Achieved
DETAILS: 81 core members terminated, 863 operatives eliminated, mortal armed forces unknown. 26 armed strongholds destroyed. Core leader, 'The Risen,' is suspected to have escaped via unknown means. Operation exposed personnel shortages within the Legion, resulting in the loss of two Stormbirds (wreckage has undergone melt-down procedures).
FOLLOW-UP: Trace target's escape route, assume control of Alpha Legion intelligence networks.
[FALLEN ANGELS AND THEIR SUCCESSORS] (Deathwing, Firewing Report)
OBJECTIVE: Annihilate Fallen Angel and successor cells located in the Ultramar Sector.
STATUS: Risk-Contingent Success
DETAILS: Majority of Fallen members have been recovered and placed in stasis. Some members exhibited uncontrollable brainwave phenomena during the assault, identified as members of the Fallen's inner circle. Unknown positional data has been transmitted. Traces have been urgently sanitized. No current risk of exposure. Recommend re-training for Librarian #131.
NOTE: A Fallen Angel containment protocol must be submitted to the Round Table within 48 hours. All traces of our own involvement must be concealed.
[DAWNBREAKERS SECURITY PROTOCOL] (Ravenwing, Firewing, Pentaculum Wing Joint Report)
OBJECTIVE: Monitor and infiltrate Alpha Legion internal systems, construct an independent intelligence network.
STATUS: Substantially Achieved
DETAILS: Successfully infiltrated 'The Risen's' network and are establishing contact with other Alpha Legion warbands. Coordination with the Firewing is proceeding smoothly. Have now fully assumed control of all surveillance protocols.
NOTE: A contingency plan for dealing with the Ultramarines is required to preempt any potential power struggles.
[ANOMALOUS EVENT LOG]:
Intercepted Chaos warband communication containing recurring crypto-codes related to 'The Lord of Formless Chaos, Annihilate, Hunt.' Suspected connection to Ramesses's recent daemon-capture activities. Recommend raising warp-containment alert level to Orange.
Unconfirmed third-party communications detected simultaneously in all four operational zones. Signature code matches the First Company operational designation of the Alpha Legion from ten millennia ago.
[NEXT PHASE PRIORITIES]:
Concentrate resources on analyzing and integrating Aeldari technology. Prioritize elimination of 'The Risen's' remaining forces. Expand our own manpower. All Six Wings and their respective Orders are to optimize their operational protocols and submit proposals within 48 hours.
When all the reports were concluded, the gates of the Angels of Redemption's sanctum slowly opened. Arthur parted ways with his warriors and strode into the decontamination chamber.
"Well done. Thank you," Arthur said before leaving, a smile on his face. The expression brought his stern features to life, like a ripple spreading across a frozen lake.
"It was an honour," Zahariel replied, bowing low.
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