"Baal has fallen, my dearest brothers, it fell at my feet and the feet of my progeny, it fell before the invincible might of the Emperor and the Imperium, becoming yet another testament to the divine right of our dominion."
"I struck it down, struck down all who dared to oppose the Emperor, with my strength, my words, and my nobility. I, with only my seven progeny, conquered this world."
"I will not conceal from you, my brothers, that this was not an easy or effortless task; quite the contrary, it possessed attributes of difficulty and danger. Yet, despite this, I completed it."
"I believe now, no one can question that I and my progeny are capable of independently joining this Great Crusade, to fight for the Emperor and Terra?"
"What say you, Heidrich?"
The scarlet blood in the cup reflected the gentle lamplight, and silver strands of hair even more dazzling than the light itself. This splendor, brighter than the finest Macragge silk, naturally belonged to Fulgrim, the Phoenix of the Phoenician, the sole favored child beheld by the proud Imperial Aquila.
To describe the pride and beauty of the master of the Third Legion in mortal tongues was an almost impossible feat. Fortunately, the Phoenician Phoenix of today was not yet that untouchable figure; he had just emerged from the protection, guidance, and shadow of the Luna Wolves' master, possessing only a few hundred commendable veterans and a large contingent of new recruits from Holy Terra and Chemosh.
But this did not prevent Fulgrim, the progeny of the Emperor, from proudly raising his head, leading his New Generation Phoenix Army alone into the void, towards the unknown, towards victory.
Everyone opposed this. Fulgrim clearly remembered how seven Primarchs had spoken to him directly, questioning the strength of the Emperor's Children. Among them, the words uttered by his golden-haired brother were the most grating and the most hurtful.
And now, after his victory, after achieving such flamboyant and boast-worthy, world-shaking accomplishments, the first thing The Phoenician thought of was to correct his brother's words. This was not verbal revenge or humiliation, but a declaration proving capability and arrogance.
But as Fulgrim's gaze, brimming with the light of victory, fell upon him, his silent and hypocritical brother, the golden beast, merely raised his wine glass, easily deflecting the most arrogant words.
He sat amidst several Primarchs, yet maintained a slight distance from each. Only Horus and Ferrus Manus were relatively close to him; their relationship was still decent.
He was not tall, but he was handsome enough. Even in this relaxed moment, he remained clad in a black military uniform, adorned with silver eagles and golden oak leaves. It was a ceremonial uniform he had personally designed, and even with The Phoenician's proud taste, he had to admit its excellence. It possessed a meticulously carved beauty that was both sharp and cruel.
He held a glass of wine, but did not truly drink or savor it. He listened to the words of every brother, yet offered no further response. He simply sat there, participating in the Primarchs' gathering, and nothing more.
He remained silent, as if this were not a relaxed gathering of kin, but another workplace, a liaison ground for connecting the various Legions, as he understood it.
An interesting thought.
Morgan mused.
The Spider Queen sat on a cabinet to one side, her legs crossed, her gaze fixed on the round table. The meticulously carved artifact occupied most of the room. Several Primarchs sat scattered around it, their respective Legion Champions standing by their sides.
She watched the Primarchs, both those she knew and those she didn't. At this moment, there were no more words to speak. All eyes were on The Phoenician, the only one standing among them, and all the attention and energy of the Third Legion's master were fixed intently on the golden beast seated before him.
It was a signal of challenge.
"Mengel, my brother."
"My Heidrich-Mengel."
"Why do you not answer the question I posed? Even the simplest suggestion, or a summary, would make me happy."
The Phoenician's soft words echoed in everyone's ears. It seemed he had no intention of letting the matter rest.
The golden beast, or Heidrich, or Mengel, did not answer immediately. Instead, he quietly and solemnly placed his wine glass on the table in front of him, slowly raised his head, and met The Phoenician's gaze with eyes of the same golden hue.
Behind him, the Eleventh Legion's Champion, a man with rather high cheekbones, stood silently. His gaze showed no change, whether directed at the noblest figures or other Astartes warriors, as if he were a defunct machine.
"Speak?"
"Fulgrim of Chemosh, what do you want me to say?"
Heidrich raised his head, looking directly at his brother, his pupils gleaming with a coldness that was not disdainful.
"Do you want me to praise your actions? Or disparage them?"
"Forgive me, I will do neither."
"Because I cannot understand the purpose or reason behind your actions, Fulgrim. In my view, you are like someone who abandoned an already paved road, deliberately trudged through a path overgrown with weeds, and then came to us to show off."
"What do you want me to say?"
"For such an action, I cannot utter a single word that would satisfy you."
These sharp, rational words were inevitably somewhat cold. Beside him, Leman Russ rubbed his brow helplessly, wanting to say something, but Fulgrim had already begun to laugh.
He was not angry.
"You are jealous of me, Heidrich."
"You are jealous of my astonishing imagination and creativity, jealous of the spontaneous brilliance I displayed on Baal. I do not wish to belittle you, my brother. You possess your own talents. Your achievements in certain fields of war are unparalleled; I hear mortals even call you 'Warmaster'."
"Perhaps you deserve that title, but you still have your weaknesses, weaknesses in imagination and creativity. You only deduce the best solutions, indulging in clean, brutal victories again and again, but never envisioning additional paths or romance."
"So, when you saw what I did on Baal, you were jealous."
The Phoenician Phoenix's words were utterly self-satisfied, yet also profoundly sincere. But as this most essential love and counsel for a blood-kin came before the golden beast, he leaned back, shying away from them.
"I am not jealous of you, Fulgrim."
"Your actions on Baal: taking only seven progeny to conquer this world of no small strength, even using your flowery words to unite the resistors to hasten your progress, and then annihilating them in one fell swoop, using your so-called noble demeanor and power to make them kneel before you."
"I even heard that during this operation, you were once in dire straits. Had any one of the resistors possessed the impulse and resolve to order a shot, you and your seven warriors would have had no chance of survival. You possessed a mighty army and fleet, yet you stubbornly chose to believe in your so-called power and nobility."
"Do you think this is something to boast about?"
"Is it not?"
Even the dullest observer could see the sparkling pride and joy in The Phoenician Phoenix's eyes.
"Of course not."
"To entrust your life and the possibility of victory to your so-called words and power, when you clearly possessed overwhelming military might. As a commander, you recklessly placed yourself in a trap; as a general, you disregarded your army."
"If it were me, I would have no less than a hundred ways to kill you, Phoenix."
"There are no 'ifs' in this world, Heidrich, only reality. And reality is, I won. I won the glory of a world, and the rekindled courage and resolve in the hearts of my progeny."
"Through my actions, I showed my children that I can, and that I possess the strength and wisdom, to lead them, to plunge alone into the Galaxy's war."
"I filled their chests once again with pride, and the courage that pride brings."
"That is not pride."
A cold light flickered in the golden beast's eyes.
"That is the venom of a death-seeker; it will destroy your Legion."
The Phoenix smiled, his smile appearing somewhat hollow.
"You are simply jealous, Heidrich."
"You are jealous of me and my progeny, because I encourage them to look towards a brighter sky and greater possibilities, instead of confining them to their posts like you do, making everything revolve around your thoughts."
"You have a powerful Legion, Heinrich. Anyone would envy their strength and achievements, but I do not. Because I possess a group of even more outstanding children. They constantly look up at the sky I unveil for them by parting the clouds. They are constantly progressing and self-reflecting, sketching out a better future."
"But your Legion is different. You control them, making them fervent, making them achieve victories and miracles for you, but you are also stifling them, stifling their future and creativity."
"One day, my progeny will fulfill my perfection through their progress. They will step into a grander stage, follow in my footsteps, and become true Emperor's Children."
"But your progeny will not."
"So, you are jealous of me, because you have already foreseen this future."
The Phoenician Phoenix laughed and spoke thus, freely displaying his triumphant views and inner thoughts.
This even made Morgan want to laugh.
But then, she heard Heidrich's voice.
"Assigning each warrior to his appropriate post is a capability every commander should possess, Phoenix. You are the commander of your Legion, and you should be responsible for the Legion's ideology. What warriors need to know are orders and execution; their intellect is not needed elsewhere, as that would only lead to unnecessary thought and heretical behavior."
"One Legion, one leader, one will, one voice."
"Everything of the Legion belongs to us, and everything of us belongs to the Emperor. Only in this way can our great Gene-Father ascend to his rightful place, the apex of a myriad worlds and beings, the sole Throne and ruler of the eternal Imperium. That is the place that should belong to our Gene-Father."
"You cannot be ignorant of this, Phoenix of the Phoenician. Your self-satisfaction is delaying our Gene-Father's return to his rightful place."
"When you revel in the so-called progress of your progeny, have you not considered this? They are not like you. They will never catch up to a fraction of you in their entire lives. Such blind encouragement and so-called guidance will only make them indulge in goals that do not belong to them, abandon their responsibilities, and ponder things they are not fit to ponder."
"Ultimately, chaotic thoughts and pursuits will make them lose their strength as warriors. You teach them to worship, to follow, yet you are an unreachable goal for them. In the end, they will only worship others, worship and follow those who are within their reach."
"When those who should have accomplished nothing gradually become arrogant in this atmosphere of hubris, when those incapable failures become the targets of countless people by virtue of one or two strengths: this irrational and unstructured so-called worship will destroy your Legion."
"And even yourself."
"When this hollow aura eventually backfires on you, perhaps, you might even one day grow jealous of your own children, Phoenix of the Phoenician. This is not impossible."
Fulgrim was not angry. He continued his smile, a smile that gradually grew cold and sarcastic.
"Your long discourse has truly impressed me, Heidrich."
The Phoenix raised his wine glass and took a small sip.
"Perhaps I should learn from you, learn your methods and abilities, and turn my Legion into a thoroughly efficient machine, making every warrior a thoughtless cog. Isn't that what you're doing, Heidrich?"
"I am merely unifying the thoughts of my warriors and my Legion, so that they will not be interfered with by meaningless so-called freedom, and then fulfill their duty as warriors: execute orders, until death."
"They are your progeny first, your children, and only then are they warriors, Heidrich."
"There is no difference. Their duty is to fight to the death; that is their only value. I am merely making them recognize that such an ideology is the most advantageous."
"A united will, unwavering faith, and necessary sacrifice: is that not so?"
The Phoenix snorted lightly.
"While you secretly criticize me for imparting ideology to my progeny, you too are imparting ideology to your progeny. So, what exactly is the difference between you and me, Heidrich?"
"The ideology you impart will only lead your progeny to decadence and incompetence, while mine will enable them to fulfill their proper responsibilities."
"Ruthless war machines?"
"Were they not born for that very purpose?"
The Phoenix drank his wine, saying no more.
Hypocritical fellow.
Fulgrim thought.
——————
Enough.
Morgan clapped her hands, and everything instantly stopped.
She had wasted enough time here.
Colors rapidly flickered through the Spider Queen's dead eyes. Everything before her shattered like a mirror. The Primarchs, the warriors, the meaningless arguments, a handful from the river of memory, all vanished.
Morgan looked up and saw the cold reality before her.
A Hall, a Throne, corpses…
An Apple.
She saw an Apple.
She saw Food.
She saw the rotten corpse on the highest Throne, at the innermost end of the simple and spacious Throne Hall.
She glanced at it, then turned her eyes away.
That was not her Food, that was not the Apple that made her mouth water. It was…
Here.
Following the Spider Queen's thought, her greedy gaze shifted towards the blurry figure on the staircase, the only light in the Hall.
She knew what that was. She even wanted to laugh about it.
She composed her face and walked forward, approaching the blurry light and shadow.
That light and shadow, that blurry figure, had the most brilliant golden hair, a perfect face, a black military uniform, and a silver Imperial Aquila. He wandered aimlessly, as if a master inspecting his domain.
Morgan walked up to him.
Smiling.
——————
[First meeting.]
[Heidrich.]
——————
"Heidrich!"
"What the hell did he do?!"
Abaddon gritted his teeth, slowly forcing out the Primarch's name.
Under his command, a portion of the Luna Wolves remained in the grand assembly Hall, while the rest, following Hector's intermittent premonition, ventured into this bizarre place.
Horus' most arrogant progeny was now trudging through a most disgusting ocean. Ever since they passed through that foul gate guided by Hector's premonition, Abaddon had begun to regret it.
He even started to miss the cold marble pillars he had just seen.
Viscous, acidic, foul-smelling…
No words could adequately describe what they saw. Beyond that Hall, large enough to accommodate countless people, was an iron tomb thoroughly contaminated by nameless flesh. They felt as if they had stepped into the throat of a giant beast. In every corner they could see, there was only flesh, only Iron Eagles slowly corroded by unknown mucus and juices.
Disgusting flesh.
The pale, viscous liquid already covered the ground and stairs, making even the Astartes' power boots struggle. And looking up, every inch of space was covered in a chilling texture. Abaddon recognized that texture; it was the sight of flesh after a person's skin had been flayed alive.
When Abaddon stomped heavily, he could even feel the sagging ground embracing his power boot, and it maintained a strange rhythm, as if it were alive.
The Luna Wolves even had to reduce their breathing as much as possible. He did not want to recall the smell that permeated the air; it reminded him of the storage facilities of the cannibals he had killed.
For a moment, he even considered a temporary retreat, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Before entering, he had sent a signal to his Gene-Father and left enough battle-brothers to guard the entrance. Their task was to scout ahead and find the missing Primarch as quickly as possible.
Hopefully, Hector's premonition would be useful.
He sighed, then instinctively communicated with the accompanying Luna Wolves. In this eerie dark passage, he had to maintain contact with everyone every thirty seconds.
Fortunately, so far, nothing…
…
Wait…
Abaddon pricked up his ears.
He heard something.
What was that?
Why hadn't the Luna Wolf at the rear reported to him?
Abaddon paused, called out to the subordinate who hadn't reported, and then looked in his direction.
The Luna Wolf was gone. He had vanished into the darkness.
…
…No!
He hadn't vanished!
Abaddon continued to prick up his ears, listening intently.
He heard a sound, a very faint but distant sound.
But he heard it clearly.
It was the sound of armor being torn, flesh and sinews being shredded, a familiar sound, a faint moan.
It was…
A chewing sound.
"…"
"…"
"…"
"PREPARE FOR BATTLE!!!!"
My thoughts are a bit muddled today, feeling quite foggy…
Hmm, I need to properly think about the Eleventh Legion's situation. I've changed direction too many times with him. Anyway, no matter what, this underground dungeon will be finished in three days, and then it will be the Emperor and the Legions' story.
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