[The slender body of the Harlequin drops and is still.]
["Of all the species in this galaxy that speak Imperial," you say to no one in particular, "not a single one who could finish the thought."]
[You blink, and pull your attention back to the approach.]
[The fight has shifted while you were occupied. With you and Fulgrim's clone appearing at the edge of the engagement, the Harlequins have lost their composure: the fluid precision of their movement has broken apart, their patterns disrupted by the new variable. The Black Legion Terminators have no such problem. They advance the same way they always advance, absorbing what comes at them and closing the distance, metre by measured metre.]
[Neither you nor Fulgrim's clone moves to intervene.]
[Whichever side ends the engagement will simply mark the beginning of the next one.]
[The sounds of Shuriken rounds and chainswords carry on for a short time, then fall away. Five black Terminators stand in the silence, largely unmarked. The Harlequins are finished.]
[The Terminators rotate their helmet visors and find you.]
[You are already reading the formation: angles, spacing, which one is giving the commands.]
["Look at this." The lead Terminator steps forward, his bolter rising to track you. His voice carries genuine satisfaction. "A Primarch and his lackey. The gods truly do provide."]
[You and Fulgrim's clone both smile at exactly the same moment. The smile does not reach either pair of eyes.]
[You go first.]
[Boom boom boom...]
[All five bolters open up simultaneously, massed fire converging on you as you close. You raise one vibranium arm to cover the helmet. The rounds detonate across the arm and chest in rapid succession, each impact throwing sparks across the approach. The power armor shudders and keeps moving. You hit the lead Terminator at full stride.]
[Boom!]
[Metal on metal, the impact sending the lead Terminator back several steps despite his mass and his planted stance. The Blood Scythe comes around before he recovers, the green-lit blade sweeping fast and low toward the neck joint.]
[Fulgrim's clone is already among the others.]
[He moves in the same purple and gold storm you saw in the alien corridors, but tighter here, the angles more precise. One hand closes around a Terminator's helmet. The other drives the longsword through the chest plate of the Terminator immediately beside him. Both strokes land in the same second.]
[The Terminator whose helmet has been seized makes a sound that belongs to someone discovering the full weight of a Primarch-grade grip.]
[The Blood Scythe finds its mark. You step across the falling body and drive into the next contact.]
[The exchange is direct and close and without elegance. Two chainswords deflect off the Blood Scythe's haft in rapid succession. You take the force of both, redirect, and open the shoulder plate of the Terminator on your right in a single stroke. The lead Terminator, headless, goes down. The one beside him follows a moment later, his helmet caved in by Fulgrim's clone's bare hand. The one with the pierced breastplate is nearly done when you finish the second-to-last with a diagonal cut.]
[You and Fulgrim's clone look at each other, then at the last Terminator, in the same instant.]
["Abaddon above! Long live the Black Legion!"]
[The surviving Chaos Marine fills the approach with his roar. He is already stepping forward.]
[Clap. Clap. Clap.]
[The sound is slow and deliberate and comes from above.]
[You spin in your armor, the Blood Scythe coming up. Fulgrim's clone breaks off and turns beside you in the same motion, his longsword redirecting without hesitation.]
[A figure stands on the elevated rim of the palace entrance. Its silver metallic body catches the available light and returns it in cold, even radiance. The form is clearly above Cryptek designation: taller, more ornate, the skeletal architecture of its frame built for command rather than maintenance. A scepter rests in one hand. Its eyes burn steady green.]
["Tsk tsk." It shakes its head very slightly, the gesture almost human in its rhythm. "Double happiness. If I could add the two of you to the collection, every loss I have sustained today would be offset entirely."]
[You exhale through your nose and angle your voice toward Fulgrim's clone without taking your eyes off the figure above.]
["That is Trazyn the Infinite. Overlord of this Tombworld. The collector himself."]
[Fulgrim's clone is already watching the scepter hand.]
["If the engagement turns against us," you continue, quieter, "I will use what molten bombs I have left to create an opening. Get out through it." A brief pause. "I should tell you: I am effectively unkillable in this place, in a way that matters for what comes next."]
[Fulgrim's clone does not answer immediately. He turns his head and holds your gaze with his purple eyes for a moment. Then he nods once, slow and certain.]
["For the Emperor, brother. We go together."]
["For the Emperor."]
[You draw a full breath. The roar that comes out of you fills the approach from wall to wall.]
[The Blood Scythe rises.]
[...]
[Chapter N.]
[You open your eyes.]
[For the first second, your expression is blank, orientation assembling itself in the usual sequence. Vibranium power armor, weight and fit across every surface. Blood Scythe in your right hand, blade trailing green light. Something at your waist that is heavier than it should be: a bolter, battered, holstered there as though it has always been.]
[The metal floor beneath you is shaking.]
[Directly ahead, a Necron Cryptek stands less than ten meters away. Cold radiance. Steady green eyes. It has gone still and is running assessments.]
["Where did you come from?" it asks. "Out of some static field?"]
[You frown.]
[Something about this is sitting wrong beneath your skin. The room. The question. The angle the Cryptek's gaze takes as it reaches for the catalog on its forearm. The particular quality of the shaking floor. All of it carries the specific, uncomfortable texture of something already done.]
[But the Cryptek is already looking up, and its eyes have found the Blood Scythe, and you do not have time to sit with the feeling.]
[Your vibranium armor surges forward. The Blood Scythe becomes a green arc.]
[Click.]
[The Cryptek's metal head spins upward, flips twice, and strikes the floor with a hollow ring.]
[You stand over it.]
["The poor Cryptek has died by my scythe once again." You pause. "...Why did I say 'once again'?"]
[You blink several times. The doubt sits behind your eyes and does not resolve.]
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