Chapter 188: Different Trajectories |
In the forty-first millennium, upon an Aeldari Crone World nestled deep within the Eye of Terror and unmarked by any faction's starcharts.
Fabius Bile, the Chief Apothecary of the Emperor's Children, was hard at work within his mobile laboratory.
His corpse-pale fingers danced across the controls of a gene-cultivation vat that cast a sickly green glow. Eerie, luminescent fluids pulsed through writhing biological tubes. Driven by precise Instruments, these fluids were meticulously injected into a row of twitching test subjects.
He was currently fulfilling a special order from a Primarch, which was merely one of the countless commissions he had accepted over his ten thousand years of exile.
Lining the laboratory walls were dozens of cultivation pods, each suspending a twisted and deformed experiment. They mindlessly slapped against the reinforced glass, producing dull thuds.
'These failures.'
Looking at those mangled shells of flesh, Fabius frowned. In his mounting frustration, he tore out a few strands of his hair, leaving his already thinning scalp even barer.
"Melusine."
He called out to the daughter he had created by splicing together multiple genetic strains.
A stunningly beautiful woman with a pair of horns upon her head, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a daemon, strode into the laboratory.
Fabius turned his head to look at his idealized vision of the new humanity. For a fleeting moment, a rare softness crept into his otherwise apathetic eyes.
He pointed a long finger at the malformed creations.
"Recycle them. Be careful not to destroy the primary cells."
"Yes."
Melusine nodded slightly, but her gaze involuntarily lingered on a particular cultivation vat.
Through the murky nutrient fluids, the faint outline of a rugged, statuesque face could be seen.
That Primarch had returned.
Fabius noticed where her attention had drifted, and a flash of displeasure crossed his eyes.
"Do not go out there."
He issued a low warning, terrified that Fulgrim's corrupt and twisted presence might taint his daughter.
"Yes, Father."
Only after ensuring his daughter would obey his command did Fabius turn and leave the laboratory.
With the Primarch's commission firmly on track, he could finally allow himself a brief moment of respite to organize his thoughts.
As the elevator slowly ascended, Fabius Bile peered through the thick observation window, surveying the neatly arranged cultivation pods below.
Every pod was filled with a different hue of nutrient fluid, suspending the masterpieces he had crafted over ten millennia.
Some maintained a perfect human form, while others were twisted into such horrific shapes that even the Daemons of Chaos would avert their gaze.
In the millennia following the Horus Heresy, the ancient Apothecary had traveled across the Galaxy, providing technical services and troop reinforcements to various traitorous warlords and Chaos Lords. In exchange, he received experimental subjects and all manner of ancient technological Grimoires.
He had even traveled to Commorragh, the capital of the Dark Eldar, studying under the Haemonculi to master even more esoteric techniques.
But before long, the rulers of various factions, the Imperium included, began to deeply regret their dealings with him.
Through these transactions, Fabius's myriad experimental creations gradually infiltrated numerous Imperial Planets. They aided him in his countless schemes, helped mask his tracks, and allowed him to ruthlessly betray his former benefactors whenever the time was ripe.
Because of this, Fabius had made countless enemies across the Galaxy. For ten thousand years, a multitude of factions, including the Imperium of Man, Chaos warbands, and the Aeldari, had relentlessly hunted this Master of Flesh.
Yet, despite it all, Fabius survived. He eventually forged an alliance comprised of Apothecaries from various Traitor Legions and seized several worlds within the Eye of Terror to serve as his bases of operation.
"Mmm... Ahhh!"
As the laboratory's heavy blast doors slowly slid open, a decadent moan interrupted Fabius's train of thought.
A warrior of the Emperor's Children was securely strapped to a custom-built interrogation chair.
Twelve precise mechanical arms extended from the backrest, each tipped with a syringe glowing with an eerie fluorescence. The needles plunged flawlessly into the gaps of his joints, injecting Fabius's specially concocted cocktail directly into his nerve clusters.
This should have been a maddening, torturous ordeal. Yet, the warrior merely tilted his head back, gasping heavily with an expression of sheer, unadulterated ecstasy.
It had been far too long. Even if the sensation was as faint as the buzzing of a fly's wings, it was enough to restore a sliver of feeling to his numb, rigid body.
Telemachon Lyras, a dueling master of the Emperor's Children, was currently serving in the Black Legion.
Following the failure of the Gothic War, Abaddon had been relentlessly preparing for his Thirteenth Black Crusade.
Lately, however, it seemed as though the Chaos factions had collectively lost their already warp-addled minds, with bizarre occurrences continuously disrupting their ranks.
Perturabo and Vashtorr, the two entities primarily responsible for supplying weapons and wargear to the various Chaos warbands, had simultaneously fallen into a crippling production halt.
Even more comically, when the Warmaster of Chaos had personally visited to demand his shipments, he had been beaten half to death by an enraged Lord of Iron. Abaddon was now cowering within the Vengeful Spirit to nurse his wounds, leading to a recent surge of ambitious upstarts seeking to challenge his position as Warmaster.
In a fit of fury, Abaddon had outright abandoned all subsequent orders. Instead, he funneled souls and populations to Fabius Bile, hoping to acquire more gene-seed to replenish his dwindling forces.
Lyras was the overseer of this particular transaction.
Or rather, it was an opportunity he had fought tooth and nail to secure.
After being utterly dismantled by Iskandar Khayon, a Thousand Sons sorcerer under Abaddon's command, Lyras had his five senses psychically sealed away as punishment for coveting the sorcerer's Dark Eldar companion.
This left him completely unable to experience even a fraction of pleasure in any of his subsequent endeavors. Every nerve impulse was forcibly suppressed by psychic power, leaving him as utterly blank as an unplugged monitor, trapped in a hollow void.
As a direct result, the once boastful and elegant swordsman had been reduced to a dull, rigid automaton.
Seizing this rare opportunity, he had sought out the ancient Apothecary for help, desperate to restore his lost senses.
Conveniently, Bile was rather curious about the Thousand Sons sorcerer's spells. Seeing an opportunity to develop another method to control Slaaneshi cultists in the future, Fabius had provided his assistance without hesitation.
"How pathetic."
Fabius tapped Lyras's stiff knee. The warrior lacked even the most basic patellar reflex.
Suddenly, the twelve mechanical arms plunged deeper into his spine. The churning silver-gray fluid within the syringes warred violently against his psychic shackles.
Lyras's spine snapped rigid, and broken moans forced their way out of his throat.
He trembled violently. His facial skin, pinned back by metal hooks, twisted into a different expression with every passing second, oscillating wildly between raw ecstasy and blinding rage.
"How does it feel?"
Bile asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Better than ever before."
Lyras's trembling fingers brushed against his own cheek. The return of his tactile senses brought him to the verge of tears.
Especially... especially in the presence of his Primarch.
He never could have imagined that such a simple transaction would reunite him with his genetic sire after all this time.
The profound stimulation was absolutely intoxicating.
"Excellent."
Watching his Progeny climb toward the peak of euphoria, Fulgrim's serpentine tail suddenly lashed out, precisely snatching away the vial connected to Lyras's spine.
With a soft pop, the familiar stifling numbness returned. It was as if someone had just muted the entire world, plunging Lyras back into sensory deprivation.
"No!"
His scream pierced the laboratory's dome. He thrashed madly, his restraining chains scraping against the adamantium surgical table in a shower of sparks.
"Don't take it! Don't take it away!"
Clang!
His frantic struggles rattled the heavy chains.
Telemachon Lyras began to scream and writhe like a desperate gambler being robbed of his very last chip.
Fulgrim hooked the vial with the tip of his tail, dangling it tantalizingly just out of his son's reach.
Clatter!
Lyras lunged forward with all his might.
With a wet, sickening tear of flesh, he forcibly ripped the twelve mechanical arms from his spine, pulling out thick clusters of nerve bundles and muscle fibers in the process.
Thanks to the dark Boons of the Warp, such a gruesome injury was not fatal. Yet the utter despair of being thrown back into a sensory wasteland drove the former blademaster to pounce at his Primarch like a rabid beast.
"Hah."
Fulgrim nimbly sidestepped.
Lyras stumbled past the vial and crashed heavily into a pool of his own blood, sending dark crimson droplets blooming across the metallic floor.
A suffocating silence followed.
Lyras was no longer as frantic as before. In a mere heartbeat, the ecstatic swordmaster of the Emperor's Children became incredibly weary. He pressed his cheek against the freezing floor, allowing his own blood to soak half his face.
His pupils dilated, his gaze growing vacantly dull, as if his very soul had been siphoned away.
"Give it to me, Father. Give her to me."
With his face buried in a pool of blood, he begged weakly.
"If you want it, come and take it yourself."
Fulgrim swished the vial at the tip of his tail, intentionally dragging out his final syllable as he watched a morbid hunger reignite in his son's dull eyes.
Lyras immediately scrambled to his feet, lunging weakly toward the nearby vial.
Once again, the Primarch nimbly dodged him.
It looked exactly like a master toying with an obedient hound.
Thud.
Missing yet again, Lyras collapsed at Fulgrim's feet. He lifted his head with agonizing effort to plead.
"Give her to me, Father. For the sake of my absolute loyalty to you, I beg you."
Fulgrim remained unmoved, simply watching Lyras with a look of deep amusement.
The agony of losing what he had just regained was too much to bear. A desperate Lyras suddenly turned to Fabius, crawling on all fours, desperately kowtowing and begging.
"Please, for the Primarch's sake, plead for me..."
"Look at yourself. Devoid of Honor, stripped of all dignity,"
Fabius snarled, kicking away Lyras's outstretched hand.
"You are acting like a beast in heat."
"Yes, I am a beast! I have no Honor! Call me whatever you want, just give me the vial!"
Lyras chimed in with a delirious giggle. His crushed hand twitched on the floor, yet his gaze remained obsessively locked onto the swaying concoction.
"Oh, my dear Progeny. That exact look in your eyes... she is absolutely mesmerizing."
Fulgrim's theatrical aria was abruptly cut short by a howling gust of wind.
"You shut your mouth too!"
The Torment rod swung toward the Primarch. As the Daemon housed within the weapon trembled in terror, Fulgrim casually sidestepped the strike.
Look at him. He was so incredibly powerful that merely coming into contact with his aura made Daemons quiver in absolute dread. He could effortlessly crush the Apothecary under his heel, yet here he was, dodging the blow.
Simply because he needed something from him.
Fabius despised these slaves who had succumbed to Chaos, and he held equal contempt for his fallen Genetic Father.
This Master of Flesh, widely regarded by countless souls as a figure of bottomless depravity and boundless sin, was, ironically, a steadfast believer in the Imperial Truth.
"Alright, alright. I suppose I am the one asking for a favor here."
Fulgrim raised his four arms in a mock surrender, though his serpentine tail continued to tease Lyras with the vial.
"..."
Fabius remained silent and tossed the experimental data to the Daemon Primarch.
The Data-slate cut a cold arc through the air before Fulgrim's tail neatly caught it.
The Primarch happily browsed the genetic sequences displayed on the screen. He lifted a hand to idly bat away Lyras, who was still trying to snatch the vial. When he spotted the sequence labeled "Ferrus Manus," a flicker of morbid nostalgia passed through his slitted pupils.
"No, this isn't right."
His gaze moved further down, and his tail suddenly went completely rigid. The Data-slate cracked under his tightening grip.
"I didn't ask for Lion—I want Arthur."
"I don't have his sample."
Fabius replied coldly.
He himself had only just learned from his genetic sire that The Emperor had secretly forged another four Primarchs, and this lunatic standing before him had apparently set his sights on one of them.
"I already told you, he isn't like that arrogant Lion. He's... incredibly restrained."
Fulgrim once again began painting a vivid picture of the man in his mind's eye to Fabius. The Primarch, who had just been acting so amicably, instantly turned bitter and sharp-tongued.
Fabius swiftly operated the console to run a simulation, attempting to capture whatever residual echoes the entity had left in the Warp.
"Like this?"
An image materialized, showing a figure slaughtering foes in a dense forest.
"No."
"This one?"
A solemn form standing tall within a grand knightly hall.
"No!"
'Why are they all Lion?'
The Primarch lunged violently forward, his four hands shredding the Holographic Projection. A crimson mist coalesced around him, forming a blurry, humanoid silhouette.
A slender frame, a slightly bowed head, and eyes that were forever calm, like a placid emerald lake.
"Arthur! I want Arthur!"
His voice suddenly softened to a whisper, as though terrified of startling the phantom.
"Calm and utterly restrained... not a trace of extremity..."
The serpentine Daemon lovingly coiled around the ethereal outline.
"He is the most radiant star in the endless dark."
Right now, Fulgrim looked exactly like an obsessive collector fixated on a flawless prize. He cared nothing for the Black Legion's war efforts, nor did he give a second thought to the decrees of the Chaos Gods.
He cared for no one else, and he would not tolerate a single soul interrupting his pursuit of pleasure.
This gave Fabius a splitting headache.
Without a single genetic sample, devoid of any soul fragments, and lacking a proper psychological profile, how the hell was he supposed to create anything just by listening to this madman rant?
Fabius swatted away the hand Fulgrim had stretched toward him in disgust.
"If you've truly lost your mind, then go to the Imperial Palace of Terra and tear open The Emperor's laboratories for me. Otherwise, give me something I can actually use. Did you expect me to conjure a Primarch out of thin air?"
The laboratory was suddenly plunged into an eerie silence.
Lyras curled up in the corner, his breathing halting altogether. No one could have fathomed that anyone would dare speak to a Primarch in such a manner.
Yet, Fulgrim was laughing. He laughed so hard that his scales trembled.
"Then go out and find him! Didn't I already tell you everything you need to know?"
"I will."
A brand-new Primarch, and apparently a 'normal' one at that.
Fabius felt he had to see this for himself. He turned toward the control panel, hovering a finger over a crimson button.
"In that case, I will dispose of Subject One."
"Don't!"
Fulgrim hastily stopped him.
A taste of something new every now and then wasn't entirely disagreeable.
So what if it was his elder brother? He would take him all the same!
Just look at him—trapped at the precipice of his own lust, entirely blind to the depths of his own depravity.
Fabius couldn't bear to look at the wretched sight. Packing away his Instruments, he cursed,
"You damned slaves of Chaos."
But I am different.
You are no different.
"I admit that I am a slave,"
Fulgrim replied, surprisingly calm.
"Once, I was a slave to the mining lords of Chemos. Then, a slave to The Emperor. And now, a slave to the Lord of Pleasure."
He casually accepted the two cultivation canisters delivered by a Pain Engine, allowing the precious vial of medicine he had been dangling to shatter into glittering fragments upon the floor. As he gazed at the embryos floating within the canisters, the Primarch broke into a childlike grin—it was a flawless specimen with raven-black hair.
'What a naive child. So full of hubris, believing himself to stand above the Boons of the Gods, convinced that he has never bowed to Their will.'
'Those twisted subjects, those blasphemous creations... are they not all footprints marching deeper into the dark?'
'And yet, he remains so immensely pleased with himself, deluding himself into believing that his madness is still rooted in science, that it still upholds the Imperial Truth.'
'Others repeat their mistakes, stumbling over the same flaw time and again. But Bile? He simply engineers entirely new mistakes.'
'Thinking he can escape the Great Game of Chaos... how truly amusing.'
Fulgrim knew full well that from the very moment he allowed the whispers of Slaanesh to penetrate his mind on Isstvan III, there was no turning back.
This universe was nothing more than a playground for the Gods, and even the Primarchs were but slightly larger playthings.
Since that was the case—
Why not revel in it?
He looked at Lyras. Deprived of the concoction, the desperate warrior was frantically driving the mechanical arm's spikes straight into his own skull and bone marrow, craving a deeper stimulation. Yet, blocked by his psychic shackles, his emotions were brutally suppressed again and again, driving him into absolute madness.
Savoring the twisted agony of his son, Fulgrim carved a command directly into Lyras's mind: venture into the material universe, gather Sacrifices for his manifestation, and track down his elusive brother.
Only by walking the path to fulfill this command could the fallen swordmaster gradually reclaim his stolen senses.
The serpentine Daemon burst into a fit of maniacal laughter before turning and slithering away.
He had given the Emperor's Children every opportunity to choose their own fate, yet had they not all abandoned themselves to the depths of depravity?
'I will find you all.'
His slick, viscous body left a wet, glistening trail through The Warp.
'My brothers and Progeny who remain so agonizingly pure!'
He could hardly wait.
——
Operation Code: "Forever Loyal"
Nature: Phased Mission Briefing
Timestamp: Year ████, Month ██, Day ██, 13:13
Clearance Level: Classified (Level IV)
Combat Application of Technical Reserves (Joint Report from Ironwing, Firewing, and the Conclave of the Five Points)
Mission Objective: Complete weapons testing through battlefield metric analysis and execute combat protocols.
Completion Status: Overachieved
Details: Successfully annihilated local ground-based Fighting Forces. The combat efficacy of the Librarians has been verified. Wargear and combat data, including the "Soulforged" series of war machines, have been fully logged. Simultaneous surveillance Spells have been embedded within The Enclave.
Subsequent Plans: Continue driving weapons research and development, and establish an independent, self-sustaining psychic training network.
Alpharius Eradication Protocol (Joint Report from the Hexagrammaton and the Nine Conclaves)
Mission Objective: Eradicate Alpha Legion warbands entrenched across the southern Planets of the Ultima Segmentum, including the "Firstborn Sons," and completely uproot their regional influence.
Completion Status: Principally Achieved
Details: Confirmed kills of 81 core operatives and 863 legionnaires, alongside numerous Mortal auxiliary Fighting Forces. Successfully dismantled 26 fortified strongholds. However, the core leader "Firstborn Son" is suspected to have escaped via unknown means.
The operation exposed critical manpower shortages within the legion, resulting in the crash of two Stormbird gunships (wreckage successfully scuttled via melta charges).
Subsequent Plans: Track the target's escape vector and requisition the Alpharius intelligence network.
Fallen Angels and Successor Chapters (Report from Deathwing and Firewing)
Mission Objective: Annihilate Fallen Angel cells and affiliated branch operations located within the Ultima Segmentum.
Completion Status: Achieved with Hazards
Details: Core Fallen Angel operatives were largely secured in stasis fields. During the assault, specific members exhibited uncontrollable telepathic spikes, positively identified as operatives of the Fallen Inner Circle. Unknown coordinates were broadcast prior to capture. Forensic traces have been urgently scrubbed, and there is currently no risk of exposure. Re-evaluation and retraining of Librarian Designation 131 is highly recommended.
Notes: A comprehensive containment strategy for the Fallen must be submitted to the Round Table Council within forty-eight hours. Absolute obfuscation of our operational footprint is mandatory.
Wings of Dawn Security Framework (Joint Report from Ravenwing, Firewing, and the Conclave of the Five Points)
Mission Objective: Surveil and slice into the Alpha Legion's internal architecture to construct an autonomous intelligence matrix.
Completion Status: Principally Achieved
Details: Successfully infiltrated the "Firstborn Son System." Currently establishing comms-links with peripheral Alpha Legion warbands. Coordination with the Wings of Expansion remains optimal. Full administrative control over all surveillance protocols has been seized.
Notes: A contingency plan concerning the Ultramarines must be drafted to preempt any potential jurisdictional conflicts over authority.
Anomalous Event Addendum:
Intercepted Chaos warband transmissions containing recurring ciphers translated as "Lord of the Formless and Faceless," "Purge," and "Hunt." Highly probable correlation with Rameses's recent Daemon trapping operations. Upgrading Warp containment alert status to Level Orange is recommended.
Unverified third-party faction signal fluctuations detected simultaneously across all four operational zones. The cryptographic signatures perfectly match the First Company operation codes utilized by the Alpha Legion ten millennia ago.
Next Phase Priorities:
Consolidate resources to decipher and integrate Aeldari technologies. Prioritize the eradication of the remaining "Firstborn Son" stragglers and initiate rapid troop replenishment. The Hexagrammaton and all affiliated conclaves must streamline their operational doctrines and submit finalized stratagems within forty-eight hours.
Once the exhaustive debriefing concluded, the heavy blast doors of the Angels of Redemption Sanctum slowly hissed open.
Arthur parted ways with his warriors and strode into the decontamination chamber.
"Excellent work. Thank you."
Arthur offered a warm smile right before he departed.
That smile instantly breathed life into his otherwise stern visage, much like a sudden ripple cascading across the surface of a frozen lake.
"It is my honor."
Zabriel replied with a deep, respectful bow.