{oOo}

Combat is second nature to him. As a primarch he has been born to fight and despite all that has happened, he is most at home on a battlefield. Now that he is finally back, that he is finally sane enough to lead, he feels alive and whole again. That does not mean, he isn't feeling stressed, but his mind is working like it should be, weighing possibilities, providing strategies, instead of remembering how it was not to have a body or beg a daemonette not to leave.

He moves quickly, dancing a lethal dance none can match. His moves are lightning quick, his sword is a blur. At his side, his Marines fight. Ancient Tarvitz, encased in a Dreadnaught's body, ignites his flamer. At close quarters, the move is deadly and fire spreads like a deadly river.

Their enemies press on, eager to welcome the pain. They fight like madmen that they are; blind little toys that threw away all that made them human in the pursuit of fleeting joy. Life is wasted on them. All they deserve is scorn and hate.

Then everything falls apart.

The daemon, that one, the snake-like monstrosity that had once resided in his body raises uncoils behind the lines, but well within his sight. Its movements are sinuous and inhumanly graceful; its smile is a picture of smugness even when its minions die around it in droves. Merely looking at it makes Fulgrim feel like he's unclean and broken, not worth of leading.

He barely notices a young woman in nothing but a leather harness strike him with a sword. Only instinct saves him or maybe not? He's durable and her sword probably wouldn't do much harm. In the end it's inconsequential.

The daemon is here and Fulgrim will have to face it. There is nobody else who has the smallest chance of defeating it .

Tarvitz steps before him, forcing him to withdraw. He isn't sure if its chance or if the old warrior noticed his sudden weakness. It does not matter. He will have to fight again soon. His fears are all there, made manifest in one serpentine body and he has to defeat them. If he doesn't he will fail his Legion, his brothers, his sister and his Father again.

Then he notices a flash of red. His eyes follow it and his gaze falls upon a familiar sight. The daemonette. He freezes, his mind trying to explain what he sees. Why is that thing heading towards the daemon? Does she wish to join it?

He is not grateful for her presence and he will never let himself be again, but moving is easier again. With just the daemon before him, he could only fear his fate. With her in the picture, he can hate them both and take back his place alongside his men.

They fight. The tide of cultists and minor abominations seems to falter when the two daemons face each other. From the distance, the daemonette is not that easy to see, but Fulgrim thinks she appears to be in a bad shape. The thought brings him some satisfaction.

They move slowly towards the pair of daemons and now Fulgrim decides there is something puzzling about the whole situation. The daemonette appears to be hostile and though he does not pretend to know the habits of those foul creatures nor does he wish to, there is something off. He hears scraps of the conversation, but most of it drowns in the barking of bolters and the cries of the combatants.

"—surprised you bothered—"

He hates that voice. The words don't matter, he won't listen to them, they are always lies.

Suddenly, the daemonette attacks. For a moment, he is startled, but not too long. Is she not a daemon? A thing of Chaos? Her actions need not follow what he sees as a logical pattern. Nevertheless, the way she attacks is odd. The crystals are not typical; Slaaneshi daemons prefer more… direct means of combat.

It does not matter. There is no time to think about it.

He shouts orders and his Marines change formation, as they use the enemies' distraction. Let the daemons fight among themselves. They will show them it is an unwise choice.

Panic rises among the cultists as the daemonette turns against them. It is almost as if she wants to help them, but Fulgrim will not entertain such thoughts. Nothing that is touched by Chaos can be trusted and he knows it well, does he not? The traitors that were once under his command are the greatest testament to that truth.

Finally, the daemon catches her and as far as Fulgrim can tell gloats. Let him. The longer his attention is distracted—

"I have killed thousands of psykers for him before, to fuel the illusions to keep him as sane as I could. I would kill millions for his sake, without a thought, to earn a moment of his approval. I would obliterate everything that I saw as a threat to him, or my claim on him. And I would do it without regret. You knew this before you turned me. Why then, did you ask, if I give a damn about these daemons that I've killed? They were not him. They do not matter. They were nothing. And now, so are you."

He does not have the time to analyze her words. Somehow the daemonette manages one final strike with those crystals. They shred the daemon apart, ripping out from inside his body. With his fall the cultist lose coherency and the minor daemons wink out of existence. The daemonette is no more too.

{oOo}

Fulgrim watches one of the crystals. It is odd, but it is not what he is considering. The last words the daemonette said are on his mind. They anger him—he had never wished for her love.

It is odd, but yet he finds he has pity for her. Not for the daemonette, but for the person he thinks she used to be. He does not remember ever meeting her, but he thinks he can guess what kind of a person she used to be.

He pities her, because she had chased the sun and got burned. He pities her, because she chose poorly. He pities her, because she damned herself and never had the chance to find peace.

{oOo}

AN: Collab by Djibriel and Bloody Mary.