Solomon Demeter, Captain of the Emperor's Children Second Company, ran through a city's alleys. He did not know its name; in another time, he would have bothered to learn it.
Gaius Caphen was there with him, as were Anapene, Pirvan, and the others. Demeter absentmindedly noted that they were kicking up clouds of dust behind them. Serpentile VII was, for whatever reason, a dusty world.
Ahead, the Governor's Palace loomed. It was hardly a palace - barely decorated at all. Plain, grey walls contrasted with plain, green columns. Still, this was where the Governor of Serpentile VII made his residence.
"Captain?" Caphen asked. "Will you always be fighting without a helmet now?"
A brief glance back was enough to answer the second's question in the affirmative.
The Second Company leadership ran, and then Julius Jaenispius was there. The Thirteenth Company Captain was accompanied by a squad of Dream Guard, oddly effeminate Astartes that - well, even though Demeter was devoted to Slaanesh, he preferred not to guess at it.
Sometimes even true gods led men down the wrong path.
"The governor is about to surrender!" Jaenispius screamed. "Resistance remains, but that's not the point!"
"Yes!" Demeter yelled, pumping his fist; the Second Company erupted in a similar cheer.
Victory. Victory over a world of Ultramar; the rebellious Guilliman would be brought to heel yet. Demeter was elated, and his Company likewise; triumph was coming.
And then Jaenispius' head exploded in a shower of fire.
Immediately, Demeter ducked. "Sniper!" Gaius Caphen yelled, as if that wasn't obvious.
A hail of fire immediately hurtled into the barricade. Bolters and flamers cleansed the roof, leaving only bare plascrete. A broken corpse let out its last defiant yell before it realized it was gone. The rush of excitement faded from Demeter's body, both the pleasure of the brief conflict and the pain at Jaenispius' fall - he had been a brother, to the end. There was pain, too, at the fact that the sniper's death had been brief and pointless. There should have been something more.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Demeter asked with a smile. "Let's win this!"
They charged into the columns of the governor's residence, a wedge driven into the building's core. Chunks of material showered the ground around the Astartes; white flakes fell like snow. In now-lilac armor, Solomon Demeter continued to charge.
Thunder greeted the wall's collapse, as the Emperor's Children rushed into the great hall, weapons drawn, screaming in vengeance.
A giant greeted them.
"Stop," Fulgrim said, and Demeter screeched to a halt.
"I'm sorry, my lord," the Second Captain immediately said. The cause of Slaanesh was no reason to disobey his Primarch - Demeter did not see even almost as far as Fulgrim. "I was… there was a sniper. Jaenispius is dead."
Fulgrim's white face turned - blue, Demeter could swear, though how that was possible was unclear. His face swiveled back at the governor, who was cowering in his chair. "Jaenispius is dead!" the Phoenician screamed, and there seemed to be azure wings - wings of fire - hovering above his back. "How do you explain this?"
"I - I had no control over whoever - over the sniper," the governor mumbled half-heartedly. He did not look like he even cared whether he would survive. "Whoever he or she was, they acted on their own initiative. I was here all along, remember?"
"I remember," Fulgrim said. "And so you will live." Shocked relief was clearly visible on the governor's face. "You will live, but you will remember this!"
The Primarch drove his fist into the governor's side, and held it there. There were a few brief movements that Demeter couldn't see, and then the man wept in pain so horrid he couldn't even scream. Fulgrim chuckled, albeit after a brief delay.
"You will remember this," he said, and ushered Demeter to leave.
Demeter felt a twinge of regret as they walked to the shuttle. The governor was not really a worthy object of Fulgrim's wrath, as he saw it - only a pathetic little man. He should never have been there.
Nevertheless, Demeter was nothing next to his Primarch, and this was no time to debate.
"Jaenispius is dead," Fulgrim said. "Yet another Captain lost. Carelessness, Solomon; carelessness dooms us all. Arrogance… we are not all-powerful. We are not perfect."
"But we are on the right path."
"That we are," Fulgrim stated with a small smirk, "that we are. And Lucius will do a fine job of returning to the Captaincy."
"So his sentence is over?" Drastasius, one of the 13th Company's Sergeants that had accompanied Demeter, asked the Primarch.
"Of course," Fulgrim said. "I should never have been so harsh in the first place. I broke the Brotherhood of the Phoenix for his mistake in worship."
"Well, brothers did die."
"They shouldn't have." Fulgrim straightened, lifting his head; Demeter hadn't even noticed it had been slightly bowed. "It doesn't matter. The battle is won; my Legion is growing once more. As soon as we return, I will call the Brotherhood of the Phoenix once more, and welcome Lucius back into its ranks. I have listened to Kaesoron's worst side too much; Lucius deserves to be welcomed back. His swordplay…."
There was no dissent. How could there be, in these grey streets under a brilliant sky? Serpentile had been conquered, and Lucius' offense was long past.
The procession came into the shuttle, and then Serpentile was a green plain under endless space. The edges of the surface curled, and as the shuttle carried the Emperor's Children to their flagship, they fell away, tracing clouds behind themselves. The planet was a circle, an ever-shrinking circle below the Astartes and their father.
It was not as if the landscape was uniquely fascinating, but the colors of Serpentile were especially vibrant, and that was enough. Demeter felt at peace.
"Boring," Anapene claimed, "isn't it?"
"Subtle beauty is often more perfect than radical… than Laeran."
Anapene shrugged. "The battle's over. Do you realize how boring all of Ultramar is, really? It's a realm of moderation."
Demeter shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with moderation. In most things."
With a grunt, Anapene sat down. Demeter did likewise. Serpentile was by now a tiny dot twinkling in the void; but turning his gaze upward, the Second Captain saw an expanding blotch on the stars. The shuttle was approaching the Pride of the Emperor.
A flash of sunlight illuminated the belly of the flagship, a rim of violet zooming through the Battle-Barge's armor. Light ricocheted off the microscopic indentations, charging through space and returning to Demeter's eyes as a reflected rainbow, or a monochromatic blot. Massive paintings lit up on the surface of the Pride of the Emperor, some created by the Phoenician himself, others by the founding brothers of the Legion.
Then the shuttle veered, and a rectangular-sectioned tunnel opened up. The Pride received its citizens happily, as the shuttle glided into its predetermined spot on the deck.
The Phoenician had, of course, already called the Brotherhood. Therefore Demeter simply marched out of the shuttle, for once slightly behind his father. Fulgrim's eternal cloak floated behind him, tinted the palest blue today. Or perhaps Demeter's transition period was not yet over, and his eyes were just playing tricks on him?
The doors into the Heliopolis swung open- Fulgrim had not opted to enter by the Triumphal Way, but rather by a more direct route. Demeter had been honored by the opportunity to follow his Primarch. Lucius, walking some steps behind, seemed to take it for granted.
The doors into the Heliopolis swung open, and the Phoenician waved his sons to their seats. Only after Demeter and Lucius were in place, and mild muttering had covered the amphitheater, did the Third Primarch come in.
"Welcome," Fulgrim simply said, and sat down.
"Why is Lucius back among us?" Kaesoron immediately responded.
There was a shower of whispering at the outburst; Fulgrim said nothing. Only when that whispering died down did the Primarch deign to answer. "Why," he asked, "must he be punished forever for an error he made in the service of Slaanesh?" There was an outburst of cheering, but the Phoenician stopped it with a thrust of his arm. "But there is a more sober reason, Julius. Jaenispius is dead."
No whispering followed that news. Kaesoron simply nodded, still upset; but he did not attempt another retort.
"The campaign of Serpentile was a victory, I take it?" Vespasian asked.
"It was, naturally," Demeter said. "Lucius was wondrous on the battlefield - though not nearly as perfect as the Phoenician, of course."
The newly restored 13th Captain answered with a simple "humph".
"And why," Abranxe asked, "should we care? Why are we wasting our time on Agri-Worlds that two Companies could take without difficulty?"
"Stop," Vairosean said, but for an indeterminate reason Abranxe didn't listen.
"We must split up," Abranxe said. "Where are we going next, in any case? A research station inhabited by-"
At this point, Abranxe realized his stupidity and shut up, but it was too late. The Phoenician had already gotten up from his seat, walking - perhaps stomping - over to the Captain's seat.
"Pardon his stupidity," Demeter said. A moment later, Heliton finished the same sentence.
"This meeting is over!" Fulgrim roared. "Leave to your appointments! There's a limit to everything! Don't worry, I will not kill one of my sons for this - but this is… maddening. How do you not understand, Abranxe? How do you not understand?"
The mention of execution stilled the room, even as the first Astartes started getting up to exit. Fulgrim would never do that - never even consider this - but he had just…. Dissenting voices were vital for a leader to hear.
"And just in case you had not been enlightened to it," the Phoenician said, "we're going to Carenn next!"
Fulgrim stopped, and Solomon Demeter stood up. Ranks of benches glided by as the Second Captain focused his eyes on the entrance to the Triumphal Way. The Brotherhood of the Phoenix was weak; there was only the Primarch now.
Step followed tired step, and then Demeter was surrounded by dripping metal. The gilded skulls grinned, and the Second Captain couldn't help but grin too as he realized it was time to visit Ostian Delafour. The sculptor had been increasingly shut within his chambers recently, so Demeter had little idea what his new creation was; but it was sure to be fascinating.
He vaguely remembered requesting a tragic sculpture, which he somewhat regretted now. Still, there was certainly a place for tragedy in the world.
Mostly for other people, but not exclusively.
Demeter wandered through the remembrancer decks. With a frown, he put his helmet on; the smell was, surprisingly, still as disgusting as he remembered, though it was weaker now.
Then again, many of the remembrancers had been leaving the fleet in recent times. Even the post-Laeran artists had become less popular. That was for the best; but it was clear that the leakage would need to stop soon.
He walked by decorated walls, none with the geological impression of the Triumphal Way but each plastered in its own way. The overall impression was of a rainbow, a never-ending cascade that cartwheeled through the hallway. It was utterly disorganized on the medium scale; but there was a certain large-scale order from the room arrangements, and on the small scale the artists could create their own patterns.
The walls whited out once more, and then - in the distant reaches of the remembrancers' section, where he could take off his helmet once more - Solomon Demeter saw Ostian Delafour's studio.
He kicked open the door.
Delafour was sitting in a simple chair, gazing at a nearly rectangular block of Schrekd rock. Hearing Demeter slam the door open, the remembrancer grinned.
"It's good to see you," he said.
"You too."
Delafour's eyes drilled into Demeter's forehead, where the most prominent symbol of Slaanesh was tattooed. "Welcome, welcome… so. I have the sculpture you asked for- the tragic one. Give me a moment…."
The remembrancer shuffled over to a corner, where a nearly blank canvas - Demeter recognized it as Serena d'Angelus' last work from an inscription in the lower left corner - blocked the view of what was clearly a statue.
When Delafour rotated the upright canvas, the full scope of the statue it hid was revealed. It was an Astarte, one of the Emperor's Children, life-size, kneeling; his boots ground human skulls into the ground beneath his boots, but a toothy grin was etched into his face.
"Wonderful," Demeter said. "Delightful!"
"You find it thus?"
The Space Marine shrugged. "Not all that tragic, but that's okay. I'll have it installed soon - I mean, unless - "
"No, no," Delafour said with a sigh as he sat back down, head in arms, "it's fine. No, listen- there's something else I wanted to ask you now. I - I'm leaving."
"Leaving the fleet?" That was shocking.
Delafour nodded. "I feel quite… unsafe. I do not feel like a remembrancer, Demeter; not anymore. My inspiration is gone. But my request was denied. Demeter, could you… it's a big favor, I know, but could you ask to have me let go?"
That was insane. "Delafour, why do you want to run away so soon?! We're only getting started!"
"But - "
"No, no. The greatest war in human history is beginning! Don't you want to sculpt it?"
Delafour did not choose to respond; he had, Demeter assumed, recognized his error. So the Second Captain gave a final bow, struggling not to laugh, performed a quick spin on one leg, and galloped out.
No. My transition period is over. Right? Demeter felt a pang of - not fear, Astartes knew no fear, but something all too similar. The mood swings should have stopped! Or was this merely a sign of Slaanesh? Was there a difference?
Was this the end?
Hearts beating in a crescendo of doom, Solomon Demeter took out his chainsword. He could end all of this right now, indeed. But why would he? Why was he even considering suicide?
Demeter shrugged and turned on to blade. He inspected the craftsmanship, zigging and zagging it in front of his face. Was he mad?
No, those terms possessed no profundity in the context of Chaos. He was Slaaneshi; that was enough. With a triumphant grunt, the Second Captain tossed the whirring blade into a wall.
The sword sparked. The corridor collapsed.
The artificial gravity was pulling the plasteel down. Rubble pelted the Space Marine, even as he sprinted out of the damage zone. It appeared that he had hit some sort of important support.
It didn't matter. The collapse was local; after getting out of the blast zone, head ringing from one of the pieces' impact, Demeter looked back and caught no glimpse of violet. His brothers were safe. There was no siren, either, meaning the hull hadn't been breached - there hadn't even been an explosion.
There was only one remembrancer, which Demeter didn't recognize, hilariously trapped in the rubble - hanging upside down in a pose reminiscent of an overdramatic artwork. Demeter observed him closely, hand on chin. Still, within seconds, the human had worked himself out of it, dropping onto the floor below.
Relaxed, Solomon Demeter walked out of the remembrancer wing.
He walked back to his room, still confused. Should he have done something differently? And how could a single sword have such an effect, anyway? There was a spark - it didn't seem to be electrical in nature.
Turning around to admire his completed painting on the Luna Wolves-Emperor's Children clash, Demeter shoved the painful thoughts out of his mind, though he knew well they would return, transition period or no. He knew he would need to confront his emotions' depths once again, because he understood that his judgment was becoming inconstant; but the painting, not any sort of internal collapse, represented the real essence of his life. War, only war.
"Children of the Emperor," he whispered. "Death to his foes."
All of the clashing Astartes were entangled in death, but only the Emperor's Children truly knew it. Death, much like life, was a form of perfection.
Death and life. Pleasure and pain. All was one.
It was awesome, in both senses of the word.
This war was awesome.
