Both were stripped of armor, Freya in a loose woolen tunic and short pants, which left little to the imagination. Her blonde hair hung in a frayed braid, strands covering her round face. Ataless wore nothing but combat fatigues, his scarred and freckled muscles illuminated by the ship's fluorescent lights. His black curls fell loosely over his forehead.
"You fight well for a Dark Angel, I'm impressed!" Freya boasted, flicking her head back to swing hair out of her face, fangs bared in a sneer.
"As am I, Lady Russ! I did not take the Wolves for swordsmen, but your talent and skill seem to speak otherwise! Your play is far more refined than I had expected. I really did not expect you to best me with a blow like that! I think I will learn a lot from this duel, at the very least, not to judge my opponents based on their appearances." He paused, sucking in a deep breath. "Say, have you ever studied the First's swordplay codexes before?" He asked, an honest smile on his face.
Freya laughed. "Always so polite. C'mon, you wouldn't say that if I was a xenos whore!" She scoffed, rolling her eyes and inching closer to him. A very poor attempt at intimidation, Ataless thought.
Ataless didn't respond, instead charging at her with his blade. She clashed Ragnarok with his deactivated power-sword, ice bubbling against the room temperature metal. The intensity of the block made him stagger back, to which Freya battered his sword aside and went for a chest blow. But Ataless was quick to recover, clashing his blade with hers and thrusting it to the ground and bringing it up to hold the blade at her neck.
"Best of three!" Ataless cheered his smile as bright and as ivory as the glare of the fluorescents.
Freya bared her teeth and gave a low growl. "Not fair." She said through gritted teeth. There was a glint of genuine anger in those narrowed canine eyes, something that struck Ataless in his hearts.
Ataless did not lower his blade, his smile fleeting the more she glared at him. "I think it was perfectly fair. We agreed best of three before the match, and I briefed you on the rules of my Legion's sparring cages as well. I-" Ataless started.
Freya cut him off with a small roar, "oh, do you ever shut up? I should have won!" Freya growled, pacing around him again, to which he followed.
"You should have gone for a swifter strike or not have gone for such a lucid blow. You won the last round, and with a fairly sophisticated shot, I'm surprised you didn't repeat it." Ataless was trying his best to keep polite in the face of such a childish thing to pick a fight over. "But, Freya, that was not meant to be taken in ignominy! I think you are a talented swordswoman, and your skill is on an equal level to mine. Even the best of us still have things to learn, and I want to help you improve. I cannot do that without pointing out the foibles in your play, that is all."
"That 'simple blow' lands me most of my kills. I'll have you know, angel." She scoffed and rolled her eyes. Before lowering Ragnarok and making an exaggerated movement with her arms.
"Well, it is lucky you do not fight Astartes. As anyone with reflexes above that of an ork could parry that shot. Like I said, maybe you should have tried the blow you did last time! That one was very effective, and there is nothing wrong with repeating your blows. Especially if they nearly always work. It's one reason my Legion is so cogent in dueling. We nearly always use one of three highly practical and powerful strikes." He responded, lowering his own sword in a gesture of trust. He smiled at her softly and tilted his head, his expression soft.
Freya growled and dropped Ragnarok with a resounding clang. She charged at Ataless, knocking the man to the ground and pinning - but not squeezing - a hand on his throat.
"Fine! You may best me in swordplay, but no one beats the wolves in hand to hand!" She said with resounding laughter.
Ataless struggled underneath the woman, despite her smaller appearance she was of heavy weight. He gripped her shoulders and swung, rolling on top of her, which earned him a knee to the gut. He pushed down on her shoulders, bracing his arms to keep himself from buckling. His strength kept her from raising her arms, so again she kicked him in the gut, now with two bare feet. It was enough of a shock for him to release his grip ever so slightly. Which Freya used as an opening to push his hands off and go for a blow to his neck, breaking the rules by striking him for the final blow. It wasn't hard enough to cause him actual harm, but enough for him to reel backward and gasp for his next breath.
"Victory!" she roared, jumping to her feet and standing over him, her hands on her hips and body tilted so her snarling face was right above his. She stayed her laughter when she saw him gripping at his throat, coughing and heaving in gulps of air. She scoffed at him, rolling her eyes, "oh come on. I know you Dark Angels are a bunch of pansies, but really? I barely hit you."
Ataless gasped and scrambled up. "You… you punched me directly…. Right in the.. in the fucking throat." He stammered, regaining a steady pattern of breathing.
"I use that blow on Gunnar all the time. It's nothing. Besides, you talk too much. It's good to shut you up," she scoffed, turning from him to retrieve Ragnarok, never removing those ireful eyes from him.
Ataless glared at her and stood. "I think this match is called." He stammered, trying to keep any further hurt or strain from his voice. But he couldn't hide it from his eyes, no matter how much he blinked or moved their focus to the floor.
"Whatever, you dark angels fight like dogshit, anyway." She said, turning away from him and stomping out of the practice cage.
Gloria sat across from the other woman. A neatly arranged tea set of white and blue porcelain sat on a low table was the only thing between them. They locked their brown eyes on one another, unable to focus on anything else in the room.
There was an odd sort of tension, Houtu Khanum, had not spoken a word to her sister since she had entered the room. Gloria had heard how reserved, secretive and quiet the White Scars were, but to not speak at all - that was surprising. The Phoenix Queen had tried to speak with her, only earning nods of agreement and movements of her brown eyes as she drank the minty green tea. It was not the pleasant silence of two long friends, that was for certain.
"So. Do you think that this compliance will be over soon now that my husband has joined the fight on the ground?" Gloria had asked after a long, pronounced sip.
Houtu took in a deep sigh and set her cup back on the low table, the silk of her deel rustling with the movement. "Always about your husband." She muttered. Her hands were restless on her lap, bunching the fabric of her skirt.
Gloria blinked her white lashes. "O-oh. So you can speak." She said, genuine surprise in her tone. "Why haven't you, previously? If I may ask?" she extended a hand, twirling it in the air as a sort of prompt for the other woman to speak.
Houtu gave her a stony look. Those brown eyes devoid of absolutely any emotion or tone. "There has been nothing for me to say." Her tone was flat, and that coupled with her expression made her absolutely impossible for Gloria to read.
"I don't think so. I think there has been quite a lot you could have said." Gloria scoffed, rolling her eyes and pressing a hand to her breast. "You are lucky I admire your Legion's commitment to the Crusade. Otherwise, I might believe you to be slighting me!" She lied. She did not admire the White Scars in any capacity. They were barbarians, little better than the Wolves, and in all honesty, the Emperor was taking a gamble by allowing them to continue to serve as they had absolutely no regard to Him or His causes.
"You have only spoken of your husband's deeds." Houtu elaborated, taking another long sip of her tea, tapping fingers on the cup as she lowered it to her lap.
"So? They are utterly remarkable! My husband deserves every song of praise this galaxy could ever offer him! He is beyond words, perfection incarnate if you would. I don't see why you would have no words about him. Other than if, perhaps, you do not see him as the paradisiacal treasure he truly is." she spat, shooting an accusing glare at Houtu.
"Yes. They are remarkable, but nothing more than that. If I wanted to hear of his life, I would speak to Lord Fulgrim myself. But I am in the presence of Lady Gloria, and I have heard nothing of her. Your insistence on your husband makes me feel as if there is no Lady Gloria." She said, carefully placing the cup onto the table and folding her hands in her lap, once again fidgeting with her skirt.
Gloria blinked a few times and tensed her gloved hands. "Well, sister, I will not sit idly by and allow you to throw such ridicule at me." She said, before standing, a long process of gathering her many-layered skirts into her hands. "I'm going to speak with my husband. You may sit in silence with these barbaric terminators of yours." She spat before storming out of the chamber.
Houtu said nothing as she left, merely sipping at her tea.
Hestia sat awkwardly, hands fidgeting with her chiton and eyes darting around the room. It was odd, being in the company of only Victoria and her hornet-esque Huscarls. Hestia had heard nothing but angered grumbling from Perturabo, leading up to this brief engagement about how much of a pompous, hestikan, karyolis Rogal Dorn was. She had spoken little with the Primarch, but Victoria, from the few conversations they had held, seemed well enough. She certainly didn't present herself as someone Hestia would want to be friends with, though.
This was the first time they had sat together, alone and away from their husbands. They met in an elegantly decorated lounge nestled somewhere in the Dorn's personal quarters aboard the Eternal Crusader. Victoria had invited her sister to speak with her here, instead of, quote, 'staying holed up with all those Iron Warriors in the guest wing'. That wasn't necessarily odd. Many of her sisters wanted to speak with her when they met. But what was odd was how Victoria specifically asked Hestia not to come with any Tyranthikos or Legionary Escort of any kind. This made a once dismissible offer into one the woman could not refuse.
"Well, Lady Victoria, what… What did you wish to speak with me about?" Hestia asked, trying her best to keep her brown eyes at the very least on Victoria's form. She balled her fists around her grey skirt, and her whole body trembled ever so slightly, making maintaining her small smile a strenuous task.
"Your husband, sister," Victoria said plainly, sympathy painting her face like it was high-end cosmetics.
Hestia froze, hands clenching and eyes dropping to the floor. Of course, this is what she wanted to talk about. Hestia cursed herself for being so foolish, so naïve to think that a humble interaction away from the eyes of her legion would be anything but a trial against her husband. She brought her hand to her mouth and bit at one of her nails, turning from her sister.
"Hestia…" Victoria whispered.
Hestia didn't respond, tensing her body. She didn't want to respond. She had heard everything Victoria was going to say a million times before from Styx or from Wenona, in the whisperings of cousin legions and her husband's brothers. Hestia knew what Victoria would say, and she did not want to hear it.
"I know it's toilsome to confront these emotions. I know you are timorous to speak of what Perturabo does to you. But there is nothing to fear. I want to give you the help you need, and I promise you, you will get it unscathed. I am fearful when I think of you, sister, and I do not wish to be." Victoria said, leaning in and taking Hestia's free hand in her own. Victoria's hands were pale, soft, and delicate, framed with sapphire bracelets and ended in neatly manicured nails. They were like Hestia's, but the delicacy came from a curated place. One of elegance and beauty, rather than natural frailty, that came from a place of fear.
"You… You shouldn't be worried." Hestia stuttered, pulling her hand away and holding it to her chest, curling the extremity into a tightly clenched fist.
"That gesture tells me everything I need to know, sister. Please." Victoria said, her voice soft and eyes full of hurt.
Hestia wrenched her eyes shut. "No. N-no. There is nothing for me to say." She stammered, voice small and taut with hidden pain.
"Sister, please let me-'
Hestia stood and took a deep breath, able to meet her gaze with her sister. "I… I will not l-let you do this. I… I can't let you do. Do this. You, you just want to a-add me to the list of things y-your husband helped. Helped fix and, and I won't let you." She said, voice shaking in tune with her balled fists. Tears were pricking at her brown eyes, but she blinked them back. Now was not the time. She needed to be strong in the face of this. Any obvious sign of weakness would ruin the entire facade.
Victoria paused, a flash of hurt in her eyes. She took a deep breath before speaking. "Hestia. I am doing this because I care about you. Not for any sense of honor, especially not for my husband's sake." She stood, their faces equal. Hestia's curled in a manner of hurt pride and hidden pain, Victoria's painted in soft empathy.
"N-no." was all Hestia could say, gulping back the start of tears.
Victoria placed two hands on her shoulders, which Hestia tore away from with a flinch. She took a step back and looked away from her sister.
"Hestia. You need to admit it, Perturabo is not treating you well." Victoria said with a sigh, finally cutting to the heart of this meeting.
"He d-does! H-he treats me… Me very well! Y-you… You j-just. You…" she trailed off as tears fell down her cheeks. She wiped them away with jerky movements, but couldn't find any other words to say. Yet she knew Victoria was right, Perturabo did not treat her well, and she ached for him to change. But she could never say that, especially not to the Seventh. What do they care about her, anyway?
"Hestia." Victoria cooed, making to touch her again.
Hestia stepped back and sniffled down her tears. "I. I d-don't want to keep talking." was all she said before turning and shuffling out from the room.
Victoria opened her mouth and reached out her arm, but stopped herself before she could speak. There was nothing she could have said.
Houtu and Farah stood together, staring out at the dunes of Rigneonia. The compliance of this world was drawing to a close, with only one of the continental strongholds remaining to conquer. The desert world would likely offer nothing to the wider Imperium. It was a desolate place of swarms of insects and scrubby bushes, with the feudal population of peasants spread across three enormous city-states. But it was her husband's duty to find such worlds, to bring them into the fold and to expand the Emperor's map of the galaxy at the very least.
The heat was oppressive, helped little by the acrid breeze, gritty with orange sand. Houtu had her headscarf pulled over her face to keep the silt from her mouth, the fluttering of the silk matching that of the short skirt of her deel. Her hands danced restlessly on the stone of the balcony, drumming tunes to forgotten songs. Farah was sweating buckets, her white cotton dress sticking to her sunburnt frame. She was fanning herself to little avail, her hands moving almost as fast as the up-down of her chest. Struggling to take in calming breaths despite the heat.
"I just don't understand why. Why we waste our time on worlds like this…" she said after gulping salvia down a dry throat.
Houtu turned to her and cocked her head in an inquisitive gesture. She was interested in that thought. She had heard nothing like it expressed before.
"I mean, well. Just what could this torrid, barren wasteland of a world bring to the Imperium? It produces nothing except. Except for cannon fodder! And, I mean in all honesty… It'll likely be poor cannon fodder anyway, it's nothing but destitute peasants." She said, cursing under her breath at the heat.
"You have a point. I will not lie to you and say I see humble Rigneonia becoming a shining star of the Crusade. But, you must remember that the war will one day end. That the Emperor is among the stars not for conquest, but for peace." Houtu countered, locking eyes with her sister, her full lips hidden by her scarf.
Farah gulped down more salvia again, unable to meet Houtu's icy glare. "Oh, I know that, but. But there just, just isn't a point to it. Even outta wartime, it won't contribute anything." She grumbled.
"Why must a planet contribute something?" Houtu asked, eyebrows furrowed.
"Because, well, well, you still need workers and grain and forge-products…" She thought a moment, forming her opinions through heat-haze was proving to be strenuous even for a Death Guard. "Planets like this are just a strain on our economy, just taking in. And, and not contributing. It's not like this place could be a pleasure world, too damn hot and full of bugs." She spat, moving a hand to brush damp brown hair off of her shoulder.
"I suppose you have a point there. But this world has sustained itself throughout the dark age. I doubt they will need little from us. The people from this world are also no longer chained to this place, they might leave to become army commanders, tech-priests, naval captains, astropaths or remembrancers. We will gain more of those important folk by assimilating this world." Houtu explained, gesturing to the dunes in front of them.
Farah scoffed and fanned herself a little faster. "I don't know why you think the unwashed masses of these wastes could ever make it off-world. It's just… It's dirt poor, sister, and it's not gonna get better."
"Poverty does not mean one is unintelligent. I am not saying everyone on this world is a prodigy or necessarily will leave their homes. But it is possible." She said, keeping any ire from her deep voice. It was dawning on her that there would be nothing to gain from this conversation and it would be for the best for both of them if it ended sooner rather than later.
Farah sighed, "I mean. I-I suppose, but still. Do you really think that-"
"I think that I have heard what I need to on the matter. I understand your points." Houtu interrupted, turning back to stare out at the dunes. The sun was setting. She would be called for the evening meal by the Keshig soon.
Farah blinked a few times in confusion and open her mouth to speak, but stayed herself as she remembered her manners. She turned as well, staring back out at the glimmering sands, unable to appreciate them through the glaring heat.
Wenona breathed in a deep sigh and pressed her fingers to her temple, trying her best not to focus too much on her sister's words. She hadn't been going on for long, certainly not long enough for it to be polite to get up and leave for other business. But the long-winded, never-ending, patronizing nature of her sentences made it feel like they had been speaking for years.
It wasn't like she was saying much of import, all she was doing was explaining the intricacies of the Lectitico Divinatus, all of its verses, what they meant, why they were true, and above all else why Wenona should turn to the Emperor's light. She could care less. Honestly, she knew it was against the Emperor's edicts and that Aisha was committing a crime by telling her these things. But Wenona had always thought those edicts and laws were insignificant at their very best, impractical and vacuous at their very worst. Not that she thought the Emperor was a God, or even that such forces existed. It was more than that, why did it matter so much that people do not believe in them? What was so wrong with it? She always wanted to ask Him that, perhaps the next time He worked with Corvus, she would try to get past Valdor and get some words in.
That being said, she certainly didn't care about what Aisha had to say. She had read through enough of the Lectiticio Divinatus, Lorgar himself having given her a copy a few years prior, to have gotten a fair gist of the holy book. It was a confusing, disorganized mess of a text in her opinion, and while Lorgar certainly knew how to tell a tale, most of the things he said about himself, the Emperor, and the Legions ranged from highly embellished truths to outright lies. And the rules and guidelines he imposed on mankind, while sound, mostly, crept into highly questionable territory far too often for Wenona's tastes. She had a general distaste for all forms of organized religion, it's authoritarion values and demands for submission never sat well with her. And this text was no different, weather it worshipped the Emperor or not.
"So, Wenona, would…. Will you consider it?" Aisha asked. Her face was bright and calm, utterly oblivious to the fact that Wenona was not listening to, nor had registered, a single word she had said.
Wenona straightened her posture and tilted her head, blinking a few times. "Wh. What?" Wenona asked.
Aisha sighed and her smile fleeted for a moment. She shifted in her seat and clasp her hands in front of herself, resting them on the table. "Will you consider joining our faith?" She asked, trying to hide the hurt in her quiet voice.
"Oh," Wenona muttered, pausing and looking away from her, fingerings fiddling with the fringes cascading over her breasts. She bit her lip and thought for a moment. "Y-yes… yes, I think I will. I'll… I'll speak with my husband… My husband about it."
Aisha took a deep breath, muttered something in Colchisian under her breath, making a hand movement forgien to Wenona. She looked down at her lap before raising her head. "Very well, then. I am glad you are seeing His light. I am sorry if I bored you, it is… It is hard to contain myself when speaking sometimes, my passion for this is, it is unlike anything else in my life." She said, her words soft and delicate.
Wenona simply nodded before standing to take her leave.
As the teeth of Eris' chain axe clashed with the handle of Salvatore's thunder hammer, Celestia cringed and pressed her fingers to her lips. She was used to watching her sons spar. It imparted an odd sense of maternal pride to watch as they ripped apart combat servitors or bested fellow captains, sergeants, and battle brothers. She was used to seeing them come within close calls but never had she seen her son fight as ferocious a foe as Eris Thral'kyr.
She didn't fight like she was sparring, no the ferocity of her strikes and blows spoke more to the bloodlust of an open battlefield. Celestia knew that the world eaters were brutal because of the cybernetics that replaced their brains, but Eris had no such "enhancements". Which made her shiver at the thought of what her sister might be like in true combat.
Salvatore thought the same. Even from high on the bleachers, she could see the shock in his eyes, the way he fought to block each savage blow, the barest trembles of his muscles at the worry of being injured. Her heart tightened at that. She wanted to stand and call the match, to run down and pull her baby away from the fight, but she couldn't. It was against legion etiquette for a spectator to interfere in the match.
But in the end, Celestia did not need to interfere for the match to be called early. Within the smallest possible opening, the deactivated teeth on Eris' chain axe dug into Salvatore's side, not enough to significantly wound him but enough to draw a pained cry and a gush of blood. He threw his hammer to the ground and slammed his hand onto the foul pulser wrapped around his wrist. A loud buzz sounded, followed by a command for all participants to drop their weapons.
Eris roared in anger and ripped her axe out of Salvatore's side before throwing it to the ground and stomping out of the practice cage. He grabbed his side and cringed. Already his powerful Larraman cells were closing the wound, but the shock of it brought most of the pain. He looked at his mother and gave her a weak smile, signaling that he was alright. But Eris had already stoked the fires. Celestia wouldn't let this one go. She had endured enough of the woman's cruel remarks, and her sons, including those within the legion, had endured enough "accidental" injuries from her careless swings on the battlefield.
She found Eris cleaning her chain axe in the arming chambers, grumbling to herself in Negrakal.
"Eris, my sister." Celestia greeted, extending her hand in a show of attempted politeness.
Eris grunted, not looking up from her axe or acknowledging her sister in any other way.
"I wanted to speak with you." She said with a soft smile, folding her hands over each other and pressing them to her waist.
Eris looked up, giving her an icy glare that took Celestia aback. She said nothing, just sustaining that cold, wrathful scowl.
Celestia took a deep breath. "Eris. When I first met with you for this engagement, I thought you would be different. I expected you to be a noble, powerful fighter. Someone who exudes honor, courage, and battlefield glory despite your Legion. I expected you to be so far above them because of your lack of nails." She said, punctuating her words with expressive, yet mostly meaningless, gestures. She took another sigh and narrowed her eyes, letting Eris speak.
Eris scoffed, "what are you, my mother?" she said, leaning back against the wall.
Celestia ignored the sting, as she had with every other remark Eris had flung at her. "It disappoints me you are not, you know. I do not want to dislike you, just as I do not want to dislike your Legion. But, Eris, you really are not giving me much to like you. I want to treat you like a sister. I have done my best to welcome you into my Legion. I have put up with your unkindness, your threats, and the way you treat my men. I know you believe your actions to be shielded on the battlefield, but I have heard nearly everything you have done from my sons." She said calmly.
Eris growled and sprung to her feet, her face mere inches away from Celestia's. It was curled in a snarl, with bared teeth and narrow eyes framed with messy brown curls. "Then I think you should know better than to say these things to my face, skropha." She growled, each word grinding through her gritted teeth slowly.
"I understand the risk which I take," Celestia responded cooly. "I wanted to give you one last chance to prove to me you are better than your Legion. But it appears you are stepping on that chance the way your husband steps on the Emperor's ambition." Celestia spat.
Eris' expression tightened, and she balled her fists. "You are lucky I do not have the nails. Otherwise, I would have killed you by now." She growled.
"I suppose I am. But really, Eris, do you act so different from the men who have them?" Celestia asked as she turned from her sister.
Eris made to strike at her, but found her hands stayed by some unknowable force. All she could do was watch as Celestia left the arming chambers.
Tatha did not know what Ferrus saw in Fulgrim. She never did. Sure, they shared some bonding moment in the forge early in Ferrus' involvement in the crusade, but they had (at least in her mind) absolutely nothing in common. Ferrus had tried to explain their shared love of art, appreciation of battle, and that Fulgrim had a fierce warrior's hearts hidden underneath that flashy purple armor, but she never once saw it in the times she had spoken with him. And she saw even little of the similarities in his wife, a wife who mirrored him in every physical quality and would never shut up about him.
Gloria did not like Tatha either, that much was obvious. Which Tatha did not mind, she would rather be in the presence of cold, snarky Gloria than a Primarch who pretending to be her best friend. As always, when their husbands got together, the two women tried their hardest to avoid each other. Keeping within the company of their Phoenix Guard and Morlocks respectively, allowing only their husbands to mingle.
But now, at this evening meal, Fulgrim had demanded that Ferrus and Tatha attend. They had no choice but to sit across from each other. Exchanging icy glares and as few words as possible. Tatha tried to only converse with her husband or with the few Iron Hands present, only giving Fulgrim and his lot simple, often one-worded replies to the few questions they might have had for her.
Every time Gloria spoke, or rather boasted about her husband, Tatha felt her bile rise. How badly she wanted to slam her hands on the table and tell the woman right to her face exactly what she thought of her. The only thing that stayed her hand was the knowledge that doing so would bring more grief to Ferrus than anything else she had ever done. She had learned to hold her tongue on opinions about the third, while Ferrus had never outright gotten mad at her or scolded her for her thoughts. There was always an expression of hurt in those silver eyes whenever she used to voice her ire, specifically ire against Fulgrim. And while she hated Fulgrim, Gloria, and all the Emperor's Children, her care for Ferrus outstripped that hatred, and she would refuse to do anything that would hurt him.
So Tatha held her tongue. She held her tongue through every conversation and every flaunt. Through each lie, exaggeration and gasconade. As Gloria underpinned her words with thinly veiled insults and jabs at herself and at her Legion. As she did nothing but metaphorically suck Fulgrim's dick throughout the entire meal.
She held her tongue, and she held her tongue for Ferrus' sake.
"So, do you know what the gender is? I'm having a girl. And I think we're gonna name her…. I don't know, like, I want a name with a really deep meaning or something because it's something we really regret with Canaan… like his name is beautiful and all but it just means "from the holy land" like we don't even have a holy land so it's such a silly thing to name him… but, at the same time, I do not know what the meaning should be you know?" Maisara asked, suddenly remembering that she had opened with a question that was since unanswered. She paused and leaned on her hand, prompting Wenona to speak.
Wenona did not want to speak. It didn't matter what she said, Maisara had responded to nothing she had said beyond a simple 'oh lovely!' and another question that, just like this, became an excuse for her to ramble about herself. But she knew better than the lay down and say nothing. It would just make Maisara switch from good-natured boasting to veiled insults.
"I'm having a girl," was all she said. Keeping her voice flat, and tried not to make eye contact with her. She sunk into herself a little more and gripped one sleeve. Her dark eyes flicked around the room. Where the hell was Corvus? He said he wouldn't be long.
"Oh, lovely! That's so wonderful that we're not just both pregnant, but we also are both having girls." She paused with an exaggerated gasp, pressing her hand to her chest, "Oh, Wen, maybe they'll be best friends! Wouldn't that be lovely?"
The rest of her words were lost to Wenona. This was what, the third unending ramble she had gone on? She wanted to get up and leave, to go find her husband herself, to get away from this endless, one-sided conversation. But alas, the blight that was her timid nature kept her from it. Wenona spent the rest of the conversation cursing herself within her own head, yelling at herself to stand up and leave. To politely tell her sister she needed to speak with Corvus. To do anything that would free her from the torment that was someone who did not know when to shut up.
But she never did. She sat there bored, uncomfortable, and wishing for it to be over until the very second Corvus poked his head through the door. Wherein she got up, said her goodbyes and left as quickly as she could.
Blade clashed against axe in a whirling cacophony of hissing armor servos and whirring of chain teeth. The two women fought mere meters away from their husbands, a battle of demi-goddesses on the streets of this dying world. They were in stark contrast to each other. Freya was tall and clad in storm-grey, pale skin and hair in stark contrast to the crimson blood that painted her. Eris was shorter, her golden armor still shining despite being dripping with gore. Her dark hair and tanned skin spoke of a life in gladiator pits, kissed by sun and scars. They clashed, the echoes of their weapons ringing across the battlefield.
Both were savage fighters, but Freya's style was far more refined. Eris opted for savage, blunt throws that battered her defenses and forced her into openings. While Freya chose tactfully chosen openings to exploit with brutal force in executioner's blows. In one such blow, Freya bashed the hilt of Ragnarok up into Eris' jaw, sending the other woman reeling back as she plunged the frost blade into Eris' side. Eris hissed in agony, but did not fall. Her bloodthirsty eyes pierced Freya's soul, wild and unbothered by such petty notions as pain.
She swung her axe, a blow meant to cleave the arm grasping Ragnarok at its shoulder. Freya avoided by pulling the blade from her sister's side and dodging from the arc entirely, she came back up at Eris' side, crashing into her with her full body weight led by her pauldron before digging the sword in again, earring a loud yell. She could push her sister to the rubble below and stamped a boot down onto her neck. Just harsh enough to make her gasp for breath.
"I am doing what the Emperor should have done to your husband when He found him" Freya spat, pressing down on Eris' neck a little harder.
Eris roared in defiance, "you could not kill me if you tried! You are weak! Weak like your husband! Weak like your Emperor!" she roared, blood spilling from her mouth.
"Then why is my boot on your neck and sword in your side!" Freya boasted. "Admit it kamphundr, you have lost! You are at my mercy, and I have no genuine desire to let you live!"
"I will never admit loss to you, skropha!" Eris roared from underneath her.
"Then you leave me no choice!" Freya roared, pushing her sword further into Eris' side, making the other woman roar in pain. Blood spurted from the wound as her ribs cracked, Freya pushing it as slowly as possible. This would not be a quick execution, she would make sure of it. She lifted her boot off of her neck, and Eris made to crawl away, but it was nearly impossible with the sword buried so deep inside her.
Freya laughed as she watched her squirm underneath her. Once her struggle subsided, she pulled the sword from her side with surprising speed and kicked Eris down the pile of rubble they fought upon. Laughing as she fell.
Eris rolled down the rubble, body crashing and twisting on each rotation. By the time she fell to the ground, she had already fallen unconscious. Completely unable to register the hands that caught her as she fell.
"Aisha!" Calpurnia called, almost instinctively as her shorter sister and her Gal Vorbak stomped past her. Calpurnia's long fingers just barely brushed Aisha's shoulder, making the other woman stop and turn.
"What," she growled, craning her neck to look up at her sister. Her brown eyes were cold, the venom in them making Calpurnia suddenly regret stopping her.
She took in a deep, trembling sigh. "I… I just wanted to say that, since it's been… Been a year since Monarchia now, I hope our Legions might mend their relationships." She paused and gave Aisha a small smile.
Aisha scoffed and turned from Calpurnia, folding her hands over her breasts, fingers trembling in the air. She said nothing, nothing except the silent words spoken by her glare.
"I mean that Aisha, I have always admired your Legion's loyalty. Your dedication to the Emperor and His will above all else is exhilarating… If not extreme. That you still prove to be loyal to Him despite the wounds your pride must have taken at Monarchia is just. It is an inspiration to us all, you know. I truly believe you are one of the better of us, and I do not want our relationship to be soured by the past." She said with a soft sigh.
Aisha's brow furrowed. Was she mocking her? She had to be. There was no other way. This had to be some high-brow Macraggean form of mockery. How could she say such things and mean them? How in the Emperor's name could she possibly admire her, think this way of her after Monarchia? She cursed under her breath, still not saying anything.
"I understand it might be hard to, and I really understand if you don't wish to speak with me any longer but. I just wanted to tell you I do not harbor any ill will from you and neither does my husband." She folded her hands and gave a gentle smile.
Aisha simply glared and turned her back, muttering something to herself in Colchisan as she walked away. The Gal Vorbak lingered, their scowls piercing her even from behind their eyeless. Calpurnia's heart skipped a beat, her mind rushing to the worst before they slowly turned. Keeping their eyes on her until they could stare no longer.
Calpurnia sighed and turned herself. She had tried, she thought, and that was all she could have done.
Victoria pulled on Hestia's wrist a little tighter, now nearly dragging her sister down the hallway. The two were within the endless golden halls and chambers of the Sanctum Imperialis. It was creeping into the evening on Terra. Their husbands had retreated to their underground chambers to discuss further aspects of the palaces rebuilding with their men, or at least that's what they said - likely they would boast about how obvious it was which Legion the Emperor would choose over the other.
But Victoria could care less about the outcome of these interviews. What she truly cared about in this moment was helping her sister. Helping a sister who silently begged for it each time they spoke. A sister who needed help despite her claims to the contrary. A sister who, until this point, would not allow Victoria to take any of her issues to the Emperor, not even to her husband, in fear of retaliation from the Lord of Iron. But now, now that the only thing that stood between Hestia and help were the gilded doors to the Emperor's office, Victoria would lay silent no longer.
"Victoria, please." Hestia stammered, not knowing what to do in protest of her sister. "Th-this really isn't. I don't need to-
"You absolutely need to! I will not let your husband continue to treat you like this!" she said through gritted teeth, her usually calm and polite demeanor absolutely absent.
"N-no!" was all she had to say. Hestia planted her sandals form on the marble, making Victoria nearly trip over her skirt in response to the sudden resistance. They now stood directly outside the doors, the two custodians standing by, seeming utterly indifferent to the corral, more like statues than men.
Victoria turned and glared at her with an expression of hurt and anger. "Sister, I know you believe there to be nothing wrong. But there is, there so objectively is and I am tired of pretending it isn't. I have held my tongue and only spoken my vexations to you for so long. Not even Rogal knows of the things I tell you. I am getting you help, sister, you need it." She said, tears threatening to prick at her eyes, her lips trembling and the grip on Hestia's wrist loosened ever so slightly.
Hestia balled her free hand and looked away from her sister's pained face. It made her sick. She didn't care; she knew that. How could she care? All she cared about was her hestikan husband's glory. She took a deep breath, and turned back to Victoria, gulping down salvia and keeping her face strong.
"I-I mean what. What I say when I tell you I am fine, sister. I do not need saving, especially not from the likes of you." She spat, an uncharacteristic venom in her usually soft voice.
Victoria was taken aback. She dropped Hestia's wrist, but stood firm, wiping away her tears and regaining herself. "I know you do not think that. You are dismayed. You are dismayed by Perturabo and of your legion. Hestia, my sister, you are a terrible liar."
"I am not! Do not say such horrible things about him! I know your husband hates him, all of your children do! But what has he done to you? What has he even done to Rogal? Y-you Fists think you're so much better than us. Th-that's why you want to 'save' me when I-I do not need it!" She yelled, but it spun into a stammer as her own tears fell.
"If that is so true, sister, then why does it hurt you to say it?" Victoria asked, reaching for Hestia's hands before the other woman pulled them away, pressing them against her breasts.
"It does not! I-it hurts me to. To be lied to by you! For you to use me like this! All you care about is glory, all your damn legion cares about is glory! Even, even if my husband was abusing me i-in the way you, you say he is i-it's not like you would care!" She yelled, balling her fists tighter and squeezing her eyes shut.
"I do not just care for glory! If I did, I would not have waited so long to do this!" Gloria snapped, raising her voice to the woman for the first time.
Hestia flinched and looked away as she opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, the figure of two Tyranthikos stepped out from the shadows behind her. She flinched again and spun on her heels to greet the two men, which, despite being taller than they, she felt so tiny within the gaze of their crimson eye lenses.
"What is the matter, Lady Hestia?" One spoke in a deep voice, deep like tank treads on loose rock.
"J-just. W-well. It's…" She paused, turning to look over her shoulder at Victoria, shooting her a glare before turning back to the terminators. "J-just that, Lord D-Dorn's wife seems. Seems it fit to boast about her husband's potential s-success to me."
Victoria gasped and narrowed her eyes. She knew Hestia was hurt; she knew she was stubborn, but for her to outright lie in such a terrible way turned her heart to ice. Victoria made to speak, but the glare of a Tyranthiko cut her off.
"Really now?" He asked with a low chuckle. "So typical of the seventh, cannot even wait for victory to jack themselves off. Don't you have better things to do, skropha?"
Victoria stammered, pain wrought in her expression. "I-I suppose… I suppose I do." She muttered, voice so low they barely heard it.
"That's what I thought. Now follow us, Lady Hestia. Lord Perturabo requests your presence." He said. Hestia squeezed between the men and hurried after them, but not before turning and giving Victoria a look of pain and apology.
She did not return the expression.
"You know…" Calpurnia said after a long gulp of her wine. "I really think that... That Roboute would have been a better Warmaster." She mumbled, swirling the glass in her hands and leaning back in her chair.
Maisara glared at her sister and took a swig of her own drink. "What?" she asked half a question and half an opportunity for Calpurnia to say something else.
But Calpurnia did not take that opportunity. "My husband would have made a better choice for Warmaster! It's as simple as that!" She said, making wide gestures with her hands.
Maisara scoffed, "you're just saying that cause he's your damn husband!" She said, rolling her eyes.
"No." She stifled a hiccup, "I'm saying that because he is objectively the better option!" She punctuated her point with another drink of wine. Emptying her glass and pouring herself another right after.
"What the hell would Guiliman do as Warmaster? He'd just make all the legions into fucking Ultramarines!" She yelled, slamming her glass down onto the table.
"And you're saying Horus won't do the same?" Calpurnia countered.
Maisara rolled her eyes and leaned back. "No! Horus is the best commander in the Imperium! He understands other Legions aren't like him and that. That…" She trialed off to pour herself another glass and took a sip. "That their strengths need to be harnessed!"
"No, the hell he won't! Enough of the legion that Roboute works with have - have worked with him to know that he always makes them follow his style of warfare! Roboute has done nothing even remotely similar!" She said, emptying her wine in one swift sip.
Maisara rolled her eyes. "well it doesn't matter because mein neshama fights wars better than anyone else in the Imperium! This crusade would be over by now if you all fought the way he did!"
"The crusade would be over because every world be. Be burnt, you stultus!" Calpurnia exclaimed, making an angry hand gesture and glaring at the other woman.
"You have my noble sons confused with the World Eaters. We don't burn worlds, we just. We, we just attack swiftly and forcefully and it always works out! The Sons of Horus have never lost a war to date and we certainly won't now that mein neshama is the Warmaster!" She boasted.
"Now you're just lying for the sake of it. I know damned well that you have suffered as much loss as any other of the Legions. Just because you choose not to read the histories of other legions does not mean all of us do!" Calpurnia slammed her hands on the table and made to stand. Her movements were wobbly, and she nearly tripped over her own skirt.
Maisara stood and narrowed her eyes, her movements just as shaken by intoxication as her sisters. She leaned in close; her flushed face twisted and bunched in her anger. Before she could say anything, the two Justaerin terminators, who had been patiently awaiting either this or for Maisara to pass out, stood and grabbed her by the arms.
"I think it is time you return to your chambers, my lady." One said, his voice overflowing with tired annoyance.
Maisara let slip a slew of angry words in an unintelligible mix of Gothic and Cthonic. Calpurnia stood with her arms over her chest, her Invictarus Suzerain not touching her but standing tall behind her.
"My lady, please. It is late. I do not wish to have to carry you. I don't need to deal with Horus' wrath in addition to your hangover tomorrow…" He grumbled.
"Don't worry, I'll… I'll take my leave. I have better things to do than fight with this excetra," Calpurnia said after a heavy sigh, turning and stumbling to her Suzerain, who hurriedly lead her out of the chamber.
Freya stomped down the hallway after the Sekhmet terminators, knowing the woman she sought crept in front of them. Styx had foolishly thought she could slink through the underground tunnels of Nikea without speaking to her. A preposterously stupid thought for a woman who was supposedly possessed otherworldly intelligence.
"Styx!" she bellowed, causing the terminators to freeze and turn, pointing the blades of their khopesh swords in a manner that was not outwardly threatening, but certainly sent a message.
"The Grand Sorceress does not wish to speak with you." One of the Sekhmet said, his voice low and distorted by his helmet's vox.
Freya laughed. She towered over them. Even in their Tartaros Pattern terminator armor, she stood two heads taller than the Astartes. "I think she most certainly does! There is so much for us to speak of!" She planted her hands firmly on her hips, holding herself in a boastful gesture.
"I suggest you leave." The other replied, raising his blade to her neck.
Freya scoffed and pushed the terminators aside. Her size alone meant she was stronger, and the action took only a small bit of effort on her part.
Behind the Sekhmet stood her treacherous sister. Styx stood just a little smaller than Freya, not her true height, but the form that Freya couldn't see from behind the Sekhmet likely wasn't either. She couldn't even keep her witch powers from her appearance, she thought, baring her teeth in disgust.
"What could you possibly want?" Styx asked. She balled her fists, smudged eyeliner and red swollen eyelids hid her green eyes. Her cheeks were still wet and her lips trembled with the echoes of tears. It made Freya sick.
"Oh, I just wanted to check in on my dear sister after such an important event! How does it feel to be married to a failed witch-king, huh, that your husband is such an Oskilgetinn! Cannot even properly defend his honor! Just going to recite some shitty poetry instead of making an actual point! What a daufi tik you are Styx! Your husband too!" She taunted, keeping her eyes locked on Styx's pained face. She was inches away from Styx, staring at her with bared fangs and tense posture. Styx cringed underneath her sister's hot and fetid breath, flicking her eyes away from her face.
The other woman blinked back tears. She didn't want to appear weak in front of Freya. She certainly didn't want to cry in front of her. But her words cut to the hearts. It would be impossible for her not to show emotion unless she wanted to exert loads of effort into her Pavoni artistries, which seemed like the worst possible idea right now.
"What's that? Are you gonna cry? Cry because you can't use your disgusting witch powers anymore? Cry, cause you can't blight the Imperium with your heretical taint? Go on, cry, cry about your disgraced legion and treacherous cyclops of a husband! Cry-
As a tear trickled down Styx's cheek, she pushed Freya to the other edge of the hallway with a thought. The blonde woman crashed against the wall, blood trickling from her nose. She growled a low, animal growl and slowly stood. She charged back towards her sister, but khopesh blades of the Shekmet cut her off.
"We warned you. Leave this hall." One said voice laced with physic authority that would have made a mortal fall to their knees in obedience.
"Oh, I'm not leaving! If this bitch wants a fight, I'll give her a fight!" Freya roared, reaching for a dagger she always kept at her belt, hidden under her fur cloak.
The blades were now a hairsbreadth from her chest. With the threat of an open fight, the air grew icy and the bright light faded. "The Grand Sorceress does not wish to fight, neither do we. Now be gone."
Freya snarled, but paused. It was not worth it. She could almost hear Baldur telling her she had made her point and there wasn't much more she could say. It would not be worth grievously wounding these terminators, not worth spilling blood over. She took a deep breath and spat on the floor.
"Aye." she growled through gritted teeth, before turning and storming back down the hall, where her sons awaited her return.
Farah grumbled under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest. The group hadn't noticed her yet, due in part to the fact that Farah had not decided whether to engage with them. Across the chamber was the crouching figure of Styx, quietly crying into her hands. Next to her huddled Aisha, Houtu, and Celestia. The four absolutely foul women speaking in favor of the Librarius order and presence of Pyskers in the Imperium.
She fiddled with her hands and only looked at them in short, passing glares, never keeping her eyes on them for more than a few moments. Trying to pretend she was focusing on something else in the room. She wasn't even sure why she wanted to speak with them so badly. There was nothing she could say that Mortarion, Typhus, and Russ had not said during the hearing. And she certainly did not think of herself as the type to be rude for the sake of it. But something about seeing Styx cry over an outcome that hadn't even been confirmed yet made venom brew in her heart. Venom she wasn't sure if she wanted to drink.
In the end, she did not need to decide. As Celestia raised her head from looking down at Styx, and those round hazel eyes caught Farah's emerald glare. She narrowed her eyes and stood, cocking her head.
"What are you doing here, Farah?" She asked, her voice containing a starkly out-of-character coldness.
Farah blushed and found it hard to keep her sister's gaze. "I… I am just enjoying this break the same as you." She stammered.
"Then where is the rest of your Legion?" Celestia asked.
"They… I… I was just passing through and noticed that. That something seems to be wrong, so I paused a moment." She said this was not a lie, but she knew it sounded like one.
Celestia said nothing, holding Farah's gaze for what felt like hours. Her eyes were cold, and despite being from across the room, Farah felt the ice of the glare in her chest. She turned away, hands dancing in the air.
"I see." She finally said, taking in a deep breath, "Well. We are handling it. Styx is simply emotional about this hearing. I am sure you can understand why." Her voice was calm, utterly devoid of tone or emotion, making her intent impossible to read.
Farah nodded, "o-of course. I will… I will go back to my men, then." She muttered, still unable to move beyond the twitches of her fingers.
"I think that would be for the best," Celestia said, keeping her brown eyes fixated upon Farah.
She took a deep breath and turned, rushing out of the chamber and out into the hall. Flush on her face and tremble in her legs. The coldness of the glare still lingered in her heart.
Styx sat cross-legged, her arms folded over her breasts and green eyes locked on the woman across from her. She could have easily avoided this confrontation. Magnus was just across the room, as were her Magisters. She could simply stand up, walk away, and fall into whatever conversation he was engaging in. But she didn't. Her gut feelings and deep instincts kept her from it. Despite knowing it would do nothing but make her upset, she couldn't bring herself to leave.
Underneath Styx's unnatural gaze, Wenona felt small. Smaller than she had ever felt before. She couldn't hold her gaze for longer than a few minutes at a time. The power within those endless, swirling pools of green was too much for even her to handle. She wasn't sure why Styx had even approached her. She had been sitting in this corner, watching from afar as her husband and sons mingled with the 15th, her only company being a silent and watchful Shadow Warden. Styx had said nothing after she sat, only going straight to staring directly into Wenona's soul.
"Why do you come to us if you will not speak?" The Shadow Warden grumbled after far too long of the cold, hostile silence.
Styx took a deep breath, leaning in closer to them. "Why do you hold my legion in such low regards?" Was all she said, the words as cold and as venomous as her eyes.
Wenona looked at her, brows furrowed and mouth open. She blinked a few times and looked around the room. Sure, the Raven Guard did not sing boastful war stories and drink communally the way they did with the Wolves, but to think that there was any hostility between the two would mean one was completely blinded one to all common senses of conversation and emotions.
"Wh-what?" she stammered, looking at Styx like she had sprouted wings from her back. A blush was blossoming on her face, and she found she couldn't stop blinking.
"Do not play dumb," Styx growled. "You know of what I speak."
"I really… I'm sorry, sister I am really… Really not sure what you mean." She mumbled, fidgeting with her skirt and gluing her eyes to her lap.
She narrowed her eyes. While she could detect no deceit in Wenona's aura, she simply could not believe Wenona didn't understand her. How could she not? It had only happened a few years ago!
Styx took in an angry sigh. "How do you not remember Nikea, sister?" She said through gritted teeth.
"O-oh. Well. I don't hold you or any of your legion in contempt afterward… neither do my son's, I would hope… does… does this really seem like we do, I. I mean look at… look…" Wenona's words trailed away as the intensity of Styxs gaze grew. Something she didn't even think possible. She was trembling now, the air becoming harder to breathe in, and she could tell her Shadow Warden was reading Styx as a threat.
"Then why did you speak against us?" She near-growled
Wenona stumbled for a moment, swishing words in her mind and debating whether she should continue to engage with her sister. "I… You must have not been listening to us…" she muttered, the words slipping out against her will. So quiet she didn't except Styx to hear.
But hear she did, and the response was an angry scoff. To Wenona's delight, however, she said nothing else. Standing and storming off back to her husband, who now stood only in the company of his magisters. She gave a small sigh, and relaxed, eyes darting back to the window she had been staring out of.
Sevetar leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath and a deep swig of the glass of tarasun he held. It was late at night according to the clocks on the Nightfall, not that he or Constance cared.
It was a rarity that they got to spend time together. With the Thramas crusade in full swing, Sevetar was near constantly in deployment. Moments like this, where they could drink and talk and simply be together, they treasured these more than any piece of dark age archeo-technology.
"You know, the one good thing about this damn war is that I never have to worry about Konrad kicking down my door and killing me for talking to you." Sevetar mused as he poured himself another glass.
Constance chuckled, taking a swig of her own drink. "it's wonderful. I never, never fucking understood that you know? Why he kept - or I guess, keeps me locked in his throne damned chambers." She said.
"Control and paranoia. Somewhat justified, though, this Legion is full of podonoks," Sevetar replied.
"Aye, I understand when it's like, like the wider Legion, y'know. But, Sev, I shit you not the Atramentar that guards his fucking chambers doesn't even know who I am. They thought I was a plaything that was escaping the first time I left." She said, leaning back in her chair and punctuating the ridiculousness of her words with sweeping hand movements.
Sevetar gave a grim chuckle, and the pair sat in silence for a little while. Drinking the colorless, reeking lacto-distilled liquor and enjoying the slow dimming of the Nightfall's ship-lumens.
"I've never even met others of my kind… Or of his…" Constance mused, continuing the conversation like no time had passed.
Sevetar moved his gaze from the ceiling back to her. "Really?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed and forearms rested on his knees.
"Yeah, I think I maybe… Maybe saw another Primarch on Terra? But, but we didn't speak. Don't even know who it was." She said, her tone becoming lower as the blood left her humors.
"Well. You're not missing out on much." Sevetar said with a sigh, leaning back and taking a sip.
Constance chuckled, "Really now? Not that I should be surprised…"
Sevetar grunted in affirmation, "Lord Mortarion and his lot are the only ones I ever got along with, no idea what Konrad ever saw in Lord Fulgrim, but I am not you. Maybe you would love hearing Lady Gloria go on and on and on about her husband and nothing else." He said, spilling bits of his drink as he rotated his wrist in an expressive gesture.
Constance laughed, this time, "what of the Lion? Was he favorable before this war?" She asked.
Sevetar nearly choked on his drink. "Throne no. We've always hated that svolotsch', the bastard would never let up on us. Constantly fucking following us around, showing up on our worlds uninvited, meddling with our shit. He thinks he's so fucking high and mighty that HE'S the end all be all of Imperial morality." He scoffed again, mumbling a curse. "'Oh, Lord Konrad you cannot just burn this city they did nothing wrong!' 'oh Lord Konrad you should treat your serfs and astropaths better they are loyal subjects to the Emperor'" He said in a high-pitched, mocking tone. "Can't stand him or his brat of a husband."
"Husband?" Constance asked
Sevetar nodded. "Because, of course, the most annoying man in the Imperium is a homosexual." He said with a low chuckle.
Constance laughed back, leaning forward onto her knees. "Tell me more about Konrad's brothers…" she mumbled
Sevetar took a deep sigh and poured himself another glass. The bottle was nearly empty. He leaned back and adjusted himself in his seat. "Alright… But we're gonna need more tarasun first…" He said with a smile on his lips.
Mebeli sighed as she watched over the medicae bay. She hadn't wanted to. She didn't like being reminded of the war her husband and sons fought. And nothing reminded her more of that than seeing wounded men. But something had pulled her to stop and gaze down at it, the curiosity, perhaps, at what a space marine could do to another. Curiosity at what exactly Curze and his Lords of Night were capable of.
She couldn't bear to look at it for more than a few moments, even though most of the blood was cleaned, the wounds bandaged, and the most mangled of the men were hidden within closed-off surgical wards, it was still too much for her to handle.
She and her Legion did not hold the Night Lords in a high opinion, and it shocked her that the Emperor would even allow such a Legion to exist. She truly did not know what purpose such butchers could bring to the Imperium, especially once the war was over. But she supposed it didn't matter now, now that men like Curze had shattered the Emperor's vision.
She found her thoughts drifting away from anger at Curze, to the thoughts of his wife. She didn't even know the woman's name, let alone what she looked like or how he treated her. None of her sisters did, not even Farah or Gloria - back when she used to talk to the two. She wondered why that was. Even dogmatic Lorgar and paranoid Perturabo did not keep their wives hidden from the wider imperium to such degrees. She knew it was not for any pure intentions, and she hoped it was merely some odd sense of over-protection. But in her heart, deep within her heart, she knew it was something far, far worse.
She shuddered at the thought, made worse by being reminded of what was happening to her men just a few meters below her. The woman was likely dead, having suffered a horrible and slow death at the hands of a man who was supposed to love her. If she was not dead, then she was likely suffering in unimaginable ways. And what made it worse was that, to Mebeli's knowledge, no one had thought to speak up. She cursed herself for that, for never asking why no one had heard of the Night Haunter's wife, why no one had ever seen her. Why Konrad never spoke of her and neither did his men. She cursed herself for never speaking with the Emperor - or at least with Vulkan's brothers. Perhaps she the hatred for the Legion had blinded her, a pure and absolute hate that made her want to never even sully her thoughts with them. Hatred was blinding like that, and she wanted to weep for her sake. For all of those that could not be saved.
