V3 Chapter 28: What Are You Looking At, Whoremaster of the Emperor's Sons?
In the most opulent palace in existence, everything was in motion.
The walls were at once soft as flesh and polished as gemstones. The dome above rose and fell in an endless cycle, and the palace's fragrances, sounds, and light all mingled together for the pleasure of its master.
Fulgrim reclined on his throne.
He took in everything happening around and within him without reservation: pain, pleasure, ecstasy, and those other stimulations that mortal language had no accurate words for, all of them moving through his senses in turn. The favoured daemonettes nearby attended him carefully, afraid their movements would fail to satisfy the Daemon Prince.
Then a vision broke through his consciousness.
Fulgrim opened his eyes slightly.
It showed a world in the Ultramar system. A world called Tarentus.
He saw his sons executed. He saw the daemons of the Prince of Pleasure destroyed. He saw Shalaxi Helbane's projection expelled back into the Warp.
This provoked a measure of interest.
Fulgrim knew Shalaxi Helbane. The Prince of Pleasure's most cherished hunter was not comparable to his own perfection, but it was still a formidable existence. For something like that to be defeated meant prey worth watching had appeared.
The vision continued to flow.
He saw an Aeldari woman. He also saw a peculiar mortal.
That mortal had no Primarch's body, no Astartes gene-work, and no form given by daemons. And yet he stood at the centre of the battlefield as though everything that changed did so around him.
"Interesting."
Fulgrim murmured the word with languid ease.
He raised one hand and indicated to the favoured daemons nearby that they should redouble their efforts.
But in the next moment, another figure in the vision made his expression change.
A tall blue shape appeared in the deeper part of the image.
That face he knew all too well.
Roboute Guilliman.
Fulgrim's eyes opened slightly wider, his long serpentine tongue moving slowly. When he spoke, his voice carried a tremor, and beneath it something that could not be suppressed.
"My brother."
"You have woken far too soon."
Guilliman should have remained within the wound he had left. That mark at the edge of death was meant to be a permanent record. Someone had pulled that brother back from his sleep and set him standing once more beneath the stars of the Imperium.
This delighted Fulgrim.
It also made him feel affronted.
The vision shifted again.
A celebration.
A celebration.
His returned brother intended to hold a celebration.
This was too enjoyable.
All eyes upon him, banners rising, statues freshly polished, countless mortals lifting their heads at the same moment to look at the same man. Glory would accumulate there. Reverence would ferment there. And loneliness and the weight of duty would settle together beneath that crown.
Fulgrim had a fine idea.
He would let his brother experience what true glory was.
He summoned a daemonette.
The daemon prostrated itself on the palace floor, its body shaking continuously under Fulgrim's gaze. Fulgrim reached to one side and produced a crown.
The thing was extravagantly ornate, the metal surface alive with moving light, the gems set into it apparently breathing. It looked like a gift presented to a monarch, and equally like a shackle presented to a prisoner.
"Bring it to my brother," Fulgrim said softly.
"Let him feel the glory that is owed to him, with all those witnesses present."
News of Guilliman's return had spread across all of Ultramar.
The Emperor's thirteenth son had returned to the realm that was his promise. For the vast majority of Ultramar's population, this had moved beyond the category of a miracle.
The Macragge Civic had long since been prepared to receive this day.
Old Macraggians wanted to see the thirteenth son, to witness the original lord of Ultramar with their own eyes. In practice, most of them would see only banners, hololithic projections, official announcements, statues, and parade holograms.
Those who could see Guilliman himself, at close range, were a small number of selected representatives.
Duvette was among them.
He was standing not far behind Guilliman.
Being summoned by Guilliman to attend the celebration was within his expectations. What he had not anticipated was standing this close.
It appeared he had been chosen to represent the Astra Militarum officer corps.
Duvette glanced to his left.
Standing there was the Ultramarines Chapter Master, Marneus Calgar.
The former Lord of Ultramar was looking ahead at Guilliman with no expression on his face, and had not spared a single glance in Duvette's direction.
Duvette let out a quiet breath.
Was that really necessary? He had only deceived the man once. Guilliman had returned, hadn't he?
He looked to his right.
Standing there were an Ecclesiarchy Archbishop, two Lord Inquisitors, and the mortal Lord Governor of Macragge.
The Archbishop was looking at Guilliman with an expression that bordered on delirium. His face was working hard to maintain its dignity, but his lips trembled faintly, as though he was reciting a prayer that would never end.
Wonderful.
A fanatic on one side and a statue on the other.
This celebration was going to be a long wait.
Guilliman stood at the centre of the high platform.
His figure was amplified by projection systems and broadcast to every public square in the Civic. Countless soldiers, nobles, labourers, officers, and pilgrims were watching from a distance.
Ceremonial cannon fire rolled across the sky.
Battle standards rose on both sides.
Below the platform, formations of troops were passing in the most precise order, receiving the Primarch's inspection.
The Ultramarines Honour Guard stood positioned around the platform, and Calgar's attention had not left Guilliman.
Then a mortal spoke quietly with a nearby Honour Guard member.
The man was dressed in the formal attire of a Consul-General and was carrying a box draped in gold-embroidered silk. His manner was respectful, and his words could not be faulted.
After receiving permission, he began to walk toward Guilliman.
Duvette had glanced at the exchange without particular interest.
In the next moment, his eyes narrowed. He looked at the dense, sickly-sweet red light saturating the man, and something came to him. The corner of his mouth moved slightly.
Without explaining himself to Calgar or acknowledging the Honour Guard, he walked toward the Consul-General.
In front of everyone's confused and wary eyes, Duvette stepped into his path.
In his palace, Fulgrim watched the celebration through the connection of the pendant.
He was already picturing his brother's expression as he put on the crown.
Roboute Guilliman would stand before the witness of tens of millions, receiving their adulation, receiving their faith, receiving their desperate need for a saviour.
The crown would amplify everything.
Glory, duty, loneliness, and the pride buried deep beneath all that rationality.
How delightfully...
Fulgrim stopped.
A mortal was blocking the path of his puppet.
"That is the interesting mortal."
His voice became soft.
At the celebration, the daemonette disguised as the Consul-General came to a halt.
It looked at Duvette standing in its path and produced an expression of anger and offence.
"Move aside."
The Consul-General lowered his voice.
Duvette did not move.
The man raised his voice.
"Marshal-Commissar, you are disrupting the most significant moment of this ceremony. You cannot afford the consequences."
Every eye in the vicinity turned toward them.
Including Guilliman's.
The Primarch's brow came together slightly.
Calgar also finally looked at Duvette. The look carried a particular impatience, the expression of someone concluding that Duvette was about to create another incident in front of everyone.
Several Honour Guard stepped forward.
They did not draw weapons immediately, because Duvette was also someone Guilliman had permitted to stand in the inner circle.
The Consul-General felt the weight of the surrounding attention.
It appeared to give him confidence. He spoke in a sharper voice. "Stand down! You have no authority to prevent me from presenting Ultramar's crown to the Primarch!"
Duvette looked at the pendant at the man's throat, as though he was holding eye contact with something behind it.
Then his expression carried a trace of something that was almost amusement. He stepped half a pace closer and spoke in a voice low enough that it barely carried.
"A pleasure to meet you, whoremaster of the Emperor's sons."
The words did not carry far.
But they carried far enough for what lay behind that pendant.
In the distant palace, Fulgrim's expression twisted in an instant.
In that moment, every pleasure became fury that drove directly into the soul.
A mere mortal.
A mere mortal who was nothing.
And he had used that address.
Duvette was entirely unconcerned with whatever the former Emperor's son and current Daemon Prince thought about it.
In the next instant, Silence deployed.
Its range was not large, but for the Honour Guard members standing nearby, that moment was like having every sound stripped away from around their souls. They felt a blankness, a silence that even fighting instinct paused inside.
The one it struck hardest was the Consul-General.
The box in his arms lurched violently.
The silk fell away. The crown inside it struck the floor and rang out.
In the next instant, the ornate crown dissolved into a pool of black fluid with a hissing sound.
The Consul-General let out a sharp shriek.
White smoke rose from his clothing and flesh simultaneously. Scales shifted under the skin. Bones began to elongate. Fingers twisted into warped claws.
The disguise peeled away from the body as though being stripped off.
A loathsome shape covered in scales, muscles knotted and deformed, exposed itself to everyone present.
Even the most inattentive person in attendance now understood what had happened.
"Daemon!"
The Archbishop's voice nearly broke.
The Honour Guard were already moving.
The Ultramarines who had permitted the imposter through moments ago gave voice to something close to a roar. Power swords came out of their scabbards simultaneously, and blue-white disruption fields blazed to life.
The revealed daemonette wanted to shriek, and wanted to throw itself at Duvette.
But the residual effect of Silence was still pressing down on it.
It was slow by one beat.
That beat was sufficient for the Honour Guard to complete the execution.
The power swords, driven by fury without limit, dismembered the creature at full speed. The daemon's body came apart with a piercing shriek, collapsing into black smoke.
Before the smoke dispersed, a cold gaze from somewhere in the Warp fell across the high platform.
It looked at Guilliman, whose expression had become hard and still.
It also looked at Duvette, who had not moved from where he was standing, his expression composed throughout.
Duvette looked down at the black fluid on the floor, then at the smoke still dispersing.
"Not a bad gift," he said quietly. "Pity about the one who sent it."
The scene descended into disorder.
The Honour Guard rapidly expanded their perimeter. Calgar had already stepped half a pace in front of Guilliman. Lord Inquisitors Juno and Heinz were both issuing quiet orders simultaneously, and their retinues began sealing the passage corridors below the platform.
Guilliman raised his hand.
The disorder steadied under the gesture.
"Seal the area."
His voice carried through the amplification system to every point around the platform.
"Detain everyone involved in the ceremony's formal proceedings. Trace the origin of that crown. Audit every clearance document."
The Honour Guard executed the order immediately.
Guilliman then looked at Duvette. "How did you know there was something wrong with him?"
Duvette gave him a slight bow. "That is a matter between the two of us, my lord Primarch."
Guilliman's eyes narrowed. He understood what Duvette meant and did not press the question.
Not at this moment.
He turned and looked out toward the Civic.
The hololithic projections were still running, and a vast number of people had watched a daemon be destroyed in front of a Primarch.
If the celebration ended here, fear would spread.
If he continued standing where he was, the assassination attempt would instead become its own kind of declaration.
Guilliman stepped forward.
"The celebration continues."
His voice carried out again.
"Let everyone see clearly."
"I have returned."
Duvette stood where he was, listening to the sound of voices rising again in the distance.
He could feel that the gaze from deep in the Warp had withdrawn.
But he knew Fulgrim had taken note of him.
Not that it mattered much. Duvette was fairly certain the eyes of all four Ruinous Powers had been on him at various points long before this. None of them had found a way to act on him directly. As for the fallen Primarchs, they were simply debts that would be settled when the time came.