He stood bewildered on top of a dark spire. His brothers stood beside him in similar bewilderment. Only one of them had comfortably settled on the head of a stone gargoyle protruding from the edge of the roof, and his posture was so natural as if he were born there.
The acrid stench and the gunshots echoing from the streets made the beautiful demigod frown involuntarily.
He didn't need to turn around to know that Rogal Dorn and Ferrus had impassive expressions on their faces, and Lorgar, frowning, was pondering their father's order.
If they could endure it, so could he.
"Konrad?" he called softly. "Where are we?"
"Quintus."
His brother, sitting on the gargoyle, replied in broken High Gothic.
His voice was sibilant and bore little resemblance to High Gothic, the accent was still very
He was strong. However, he spoke softly, with a strange habit in his intonation.
Fulgrim pursed his lips. Konrad Curze's ragged clothes made him look away – they couldn't hide the young Primarch's superhuman physique, but they spoke volumes about other things.
"Chaos."
A calm voice said, "I don't see the slightest order, not even a bad one. Konrad Curze, why is it like this here?"
Fulgrim sighed involuntarily. In Rogal Dorn's voice, he heard a quiet reproach.
"Because the Great Purge is coming," their young brother replied. "It happens once every twenty years. Kariel says it was even worse last time."
"The Great Purge?"
"Yes."
"Didn't you think of doing something?" Rogal Dorn asked.
"What to do?" Konrad Curze calmly asked again.
Fulgrim flinched, thinking their new brother was about to argue with Rogal. It wouldn't have been surprising – almost everyone argued with Rogal Dorn.
But he didn't want that to happen to a year-and-a-half-old child.
However, Dorn remained silent. Only after some time did he speak: "You don't know what needs to be done, do you?"
"I do," Konrad Curze replied. "Kariel told me."
"Why do you let him tell you what to do?"
Rogal Dorn's voice remained calm, but Fulgrim was already starting to blink rapidly. He turned to Ferrus and saw him sighing silently, arms crossed.
Lorgar, standing next to Ferrus, turned silently and met Fulgrim's gaze. His face held a complex expression.
No one uttered a word.
"And why not?" Konrad Curze said. "At least, Kariel has always been right so far."
"You are a Primarch, Konrad Curze. Perhaps you don't yet understand the meaning of that word, but you will soon. You will bear a great responsibility, and it requires you to think for yourself, not rely on a mortal."
"Kariel is not mortal."
"Yes, he's a psyker, but that means nothing."
Konrad Curze stood up from the gargoyle. For a moment, Fulgrim thought he saw anger or something similar flash across his brother's face. If it had, Fulgrim would have understood him.
But no.
Only calm.
He returned to the roof. He was shorter than all of them, but he walked past confidently and leaned against a humming mechanism.
Then he smiled. The smile was strained, and one could doubt its sincerity. But the Primarchs present did not err.
They saw Konrad Curze's eyes and knew there was no malice in them.
Fulgrim pursed his lips, not understanding Konrad Curze's mood as he took Rogal Dorn's words.
"If someone told me something like 'Corin is just a worker,' I'd probably do something unreasonable," he thought.
"You don't know him well, Lord Rogal Dorn."
"Call me Rogal or Dorn. You don't need to add such an address to me. We are brothers."
"Not yet," Konrad Curze replied calmly.
"..."
A cold wind blew, and silence fell.
Of course, the wind couldn't penetrate the skin of demigods. In fact, even if the temperature dropped much lower, they wouldn't feel the slightest discomfort.
But in that cold wind, the tall giants fell silent. Only one of them, the shortest, continued to lean comfortably and calmly against the air filter.
"What does that mean?"
Rogal Dorn asked, frowning slowly. Seriousness gradually appeared on his face. Fulgrim, watching this change, felt the atmosphere heat up for the first time.
"Oh, this is bad," he thought silently.
"Not yet," Konrad Curze repeated. "You are his sons, aren't you?"
"Of course," Lorgar replied quickly.
"And I don't know if I am his son," Konrad Curze said. "And if not, then I am not your brother."
"You cannot not be," Ferrus said quietly. "The blood bond, brother, don't you feel it?"
The gaze of black eyes fell upon him. Then the questioned nodded slowly, but immediately shook his head, his soft black hair fluttering in the foul air.
Though he was dressed in ragged clothes, at that moment he looked so calm that it seemed natural.
"How can you not be?" Lorgar asked excitedly, as if trying to prove something. "Father said you are his son..."
"Not yet, Lord in Gold," Konrad Curze said. "And forgive me for interrupting you."
Fulgrim almost laughed.
He had been looking into his new brother's eyes all this time and knew that Konrad Curze genuinely regretted it. He had interrupted Lorgar, called him "Lord in Gold," and apologized for it.
"He doesn't mean it," Fulgrim thought, smiling. "He's just so naive."
"My name is Lorgar, Lorgar Aurelian."
The "Lord in Gold" said this with a strained intonation.
"But, Konrad Curze, you are truly his son."
He paused, then waved his hand fervently: "If it weren't so, where would you get such height, such strength? Your agility, with which you leap in the night, is unattainable for ordinary mortals!"
"Why do you all use that word – 'mortal'?"
Konrad Curze frowned. For the first time, he showed displeasure mixed with bewilderment.
"I don't understand how you use it. Am I not mortal?"
"Of course not."
Fulgrim began to explain gently, his tone so affectionate that even Ferrus, standing nearby, was surprised.
"You learned High Gothic without a teacher, you see in the dark, you don't feel the cold, you can go without food... And you know many things from birth, don't you, Konrad Curze?"
"Correct."
"Then you are not mortal."
"But I can get injured."
Konrad Curze tilted his head.
"I can bleed, I get hurt. These are all signs of a mortal, aren't they? A laser shot hurts, a bullet too... Doesn't it hurt you?"
For a moment, Fulgrim couldn't answer.
He fell silent, and a look of bewilderment flickered across his beautiful, almost perfect face. He lowered his head, and when he raised it again, his expression had changed.
Now he was serious.
"It does, brother," he said quietly. "It hurts us."
...
"We live here," Konrad Curze said.
He raised his hand and pointed to a small rainwater filter on the roof of the Sanctuary. There was a hidden satisfaction on his face.
"This is a rainwater filter. It turns acid rain into drinking water."
Rogal Dorn silently looked at the terrible structure. Some of his inner convictions prevented him from calling this pile of rotten boards and rusty iron a home.
Then he asked, "May I come in?"
"Of course!" Konrad Curze nodded. "Just be careful when you enter. You have to lift the door to open it. Oh, and please don't sit on that chair, it's Kariel's."
"I understand."
Rogal Dorn approached the door. He looked at it, took the handle made of rusty bent metal with two fingers, and slowly lifted it.
Then he pushed the door and saw a grim darkness. It looked more like a prison than a dwelling.
However, the darkness did not hinder Rogal Dorn. He could see every corner without difficulty.
Inside, there was no decoration, no soft bed, nothing that could make this place even slightly resemble a home.
The walls vibrated from the wind. There were several cracks in the ceiling, which meant it would leak during rain.
This shelter offered no protection from wind or rain.
Dorn silently surveyed the corner covered with a torn rag, then looked at the broken chair.
It was clearly made for a mortal. Rogal Dorn understood at a glance what was wrong with it – its construction was unstable, and one could only sit on it by straightening their back.
This was unacceptable for a chair. In addition, there was a plastic plate on the seat, containing something black that emitted a strange smell.
Rogal Dorn took a deep breath, having obtained all the necessary information.
"Is this food?"
He turned and asked Konrad Curze. At that time, he was standing while Fulgrim was taking his measurements. There was embarrassment on his face, clearly uncomfortable with such close contact.
It wasn't easy for Fulgrim either. He kept pursing his lips, and his face held a complex expression.
"Yes, nutrient paste. Kariel often eats it," Konrad Curze replied immediately.
"This stuff has few nutrients, and it probably tastes like wax."
"Exactly!" Konrad Curze nodded. "Kariel says so."
"And is this all you eat?"
"Ah, no!" Konrad Curze blinked. "I sometimes catch rats."
"Rats?"
"Yes."
Dorn saw their new brother smile proudly. The smile was so pure that he almost gritted his teeth.
"I know twenty-three ways to prepare rats!"
"And there's no normal food?" Ferrus Manus asked in a low voice.
"And isn't this normal food?" Konrad Curze replied with bewilderment.
"..."
Dorn lowered his head and asked no more questions. He turned and walked to the edge of the building, looking down. After some time, he continued, "And what do others eat?"
He asked this briefly and calmly, then added, "I mean those... gang members who patrol the streets."
"..."
"Konrad?" Fulgrim asked quietly. "What happened?"
"They eat meat."
Konrad Curze answered Dorn's question in a low voice. At that moment, he was almost unrecognizable.
"Meat? What meat?" Dorn continued to press.
He was calm, but his hands clenched into fists. Obviously, he had already guessed the answer, at least in part.
"Meat from others..." Konrad Curze said. "Commoners, workers. But they don't eat their own. And they don't eat aristocrats."
Fulgrim's hand froze. He was measuring shoulder width, and it was easy for him. He had already memorized a lot of data. But at that moment, all the data became confused.
His always steady hand now trembled almost imperceptibly.
"Almighty Emperor..." Lorgar Aurelian muttered. "What kind of place is this?"
"Nostramo," their pale brother replied quietly. "Quintus, Underhive."
Silence.
A heavy silence fell upon them again, easily crushing these giants. No one resisted its power. Dark purple clouds gathered and swirled overhead. A foul smell spread in the cold wind.
Lorgar Aurelian began to recite prayers quietly. Ferrus Manus crossed his arms behind his back. Rogal Dorn remained as calm as ever, only his hands were now clenched into fists.
Fulgrim stopped trembling. He calmly ran his hand over his brother's shoulder and patted him.
"Shall we continue?" he asked softly.
"But, Fulg..."
"Fulgrim."
"Lord Fulgrim."
"Without 'Lord'."
"Fulgrim?"
"Yes, Konrad. Fulgrim."
"But I don't want new clothes."
"Why?"
"Because I'll get them dirty."
Fulgrim heard his brother say, "Blood makes clothes heavy, and when it dries, it becomes stiff. If you move, blood crusts will fall from your clothes. If I wear clothes like yours, I'll get them dirty."
"And what if you get them dirty?" Fulgrim asked.
He didn't allow himself to sigh. He was afraid of being misunderstood.
"You have beautiful clothes."
Konrad turned and said quietly, "Kariel told me that beautiful things are usually valuable, and valuable things must be cherished, right?"
"Yes," Fulgrim smiled. "Valuable things must indeed be cherished, yes... so I'll make you... hmm, ordinary clothes, how about that?"
"Ordinary?"
"Yes, like yours, also black. But they will be waterproof, so blood won't be able to soak through them. How about that?"
"Won't I trouble you? Kariel says it's not good to trouble others."
"Of course not," Fulgrim said. "It's a trifle."
"Then... thank you?"
"You're welcome."
Fulgrim turned with a sigh and met Ferrus's gaze. The same emotions raged in the latter's eyes. They exchanged a few glances and understood each other.
Lorgar was still praying, his face expressing compassion. And Rogal Dorn turned and walked towards the Sanctuary. He approached the door, stopped, bent down, and pulled out the chair that was too miniature for him.
"You won't be able to sit on this chair, Rogal Dorn," Konrad Curze said with some doubt.
"I'm not going to," Dorn replied calmly. "I'm going to fix it."
"Fix it?"
"Yes."
Dorn nodded and lifted the chair. His strength allowed him to do so with ease. However, he held the chair very carefully.
"There's just a small problem with the construction. If there are any spare boards or metal, I can fix it."
"Hmm, behind the Sanctuary, there's an old, unnecessary water purifier."
Konrad Curze blinked with bewilderment.
"Maybe it will help you. But why do you need to fix it?"
"Because I want to apologize," Rogal Dorn said, his back to them.
"Apologize?" Konrad Curze asked, confused. And Fulgrim, standing behind him, was even more confused. Even Lorgar interrupted his prayer and looked in their direction.
Ferrus slowly raised an eyebrow.
"Don't be surprised," Rogal Dorn said without turning around. "If I've done or said something wrong, I need to apologize. And the best way is to do something to fix the mistake."
"You didn't do that before," Fulgrim said quietly.
"Because I didn't make mistakes before."
"Including when you said that Magnus, reading books all day, suffers from a mental disorder?"
"Yes."
Fulgrim finally laughed.
He patted Konrad Curze on the shoulder: "That's Rogal Dorn, Konrad. That's just how he is. You don't yet know what his apologies mean. But believe me, when we all get to know each other, it will amaze everyone."
...
"Number seventeen."
"Number seventeen?"
"Yes, number seventeen," the pale giant nodded. "I number them."
Ferrus Manus looked at the gargoyle.
They had jumped across spires and rooftops many times, and Ferrus had seen many gargoyles. In his opinion, this one was no different from the others.
"Do you number them in the order you encounter them?" Ferrus asked.
"Yes. But I don't give numbers to some. I don't want to."
"Why?"
Fulgrim looked at Ferrus in surprise, not expecting him to be so interested in this question.
"Hmm..."
Konrad Curze thought for a moment and said, "Because they should have their own names, not numbers. I number those gargoyles because I don't know how to come up with names yet, but..."
He frowned and fell silent, as if not knowing how to express his thought.
Fortunately, Ferrus didn't press.
"You're right. If you value something, you should give it a name."
Fulgrim chuckled.
The giant nicknamed Gorgon gave him a dispassionate look and continued. His voice was low but strong.
He asked, "You keep mentioning one person, Konrad. Kariel Lohars, can you tell us about him?"
Lorgar turned sharply.
"Hmm..." the pale giant nodded thoughtfully. "I can, but I don't know where to start."
"What's his personality like?" Ferrus asked.
"Huh?"
"Has he ever been angry with you?"
"No," Konrad Curze replied quickly. "Never. And he constantly apologizes to me."
He frowned.
"I don't like it," he said quietly. "No matter what happens, whether it's his fault or not, he always apologizes. I don't like it."
He raised his head and looked at Ferrus. The latter remained impassive but nodded as if encouraging him to continue.
"And also... he's very smart, very patient, tells me a lot, knows a lot... But he's very pessimistic."
"Pessimistic?" Rogal Dorn repeated. "Why do you describe him that way?"
"I can't explain."
Konrad Curze shook his head.
"Kariel is always very pessimistic. He never says it directly, but I know how he feels about Nostramo. Once I told him that this world is sick, and he didn't argue, just smiled."
"Since then, I realized he's a pessimist. He smiled because he thought Nostramo's sickness was incurable... he even wanted to burn this world."
"But I understand him."
"Workers dying of lung diseases on the streets of slums, children joining gangs and becoming cannibals, meat sold in butcher shops... miners... aristocrats... and all these drugs..."
His voice became quieter and quieter until it turned into a murmur.
"All this causes him pain. He never says it directly, but I see his suffering."
"..."
Ferrus shook his head silently. He wasn't very talkative to begin with, and even less so compared to his brothers.
He knew his character well: he was a fighter by nature, with a stubborn will. But that was just an outer shell. Among all his brothers, only one could see in him a passion for overcoming difficulties.
The one who called him Gorgon.
Ferrus didn't hate the nickname; in fact, he quite liked it. He considered it fitting, as fitting as the power hammer gifted to him by Fulgrim.
And now – this steel Gorgon raised his hand and patted Konrad Curze on the shoulder.
"You see his pain," he said quietly. "That's very important, brother. Keep it."
His brother looked at him in bewilderment. Half a second later, Ferrus Manus smiled for the first time, and there was only kindness in his smile.
Above the demigods, the night still stretched.
***
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