The thing was wrong. It looked human-like, but the similarities only made it appear more alien. Its body reminded Sergeant Mal of a clay sculpture that had been pulled up before being baked. It turned its face towards him, thin lips spread in a mockery of a smile.

It couldn't see him. It had no eyes.

"Join us," it said, reaching out towards Mal. Its hand was thin with fingers like spider-legs.

Mal shot at it almost without thinking and it fell, crumpling like a puppet with cut strings. Mal took a step back, not falling into the trap of relaxing when the obvious threat was down. He kept looking around, until he felt thin dry fingers wrap around his throat and blunt nails digging into his flesh.

The plea for help had come suddenly, perhaps too early. Barbarus was still in the process of transforming into an Imperial world, but the need for help had been urgent and Mortarion needed to start gaining experience soon. It was simply too good an opportunity to miss and so the XIV Primarch had to decide on a proxy much sooner than expected.

"You're not going to accept a governor for civilian matters?" Fulgrim asked, looking curiously with his brother. "Wouldn't it make matters much easier than leaving many small councils that have to reach a consensus about any larger decisions?"

"No need to change that," Mortarion said. "It works."

Fulgrim shook his head. "It worked, but you cannot be certain it will now. They will be forced to make decisions they did not have to face before, decisions that will influence the entire planet and not just a small society. There is also the fact that you were there. If something went wrong, you could step in. Now that you will be gone, are you certain it still is viable?"

Mortarion seemed to turn it over in his mind, eyes turned downwards to the floor. "We should wait," he finally said. "If we need to change, we will, but not because it might work. It might not, for all I know."

Fulgrim was not entirely satisfied with the answer. While he was starting to understand Mortarion's motives, he did not like this conservative approach at all. True, change for the sake of change was not something to be strived for, but that was not what he had been advocating. He was merely acting upon his experience.

Perhaps, if one wanted to keep the population of a planet feral, not instating a proper government was a better idea, but he had found such practices quite distasteful, be it in the Khan or the Wolf King. Their worlds produced warriors with a specific skill set and vicious killers, respectively, but was this really all one had to expect from Marines? He could not believe Father wanted his creations to be so limited by their environment.

Were they not supposed to bring enlightenment? Were they not the heralds of a golden age of humanity? They had to make things change for the better. And yet, some of his brothers refused.

"It worked on many other worlds," he replied, but suddenly, he realized he was approaching it from the wrong angle. It was not logic that had dictated Mortarion's decision. As unexpected as it was, it had been attachment. Emotions. "You like your world the way it is, don't you?"

"Of course," Mortarion replied, his brow creasing in a frown. "You sound surprised."

Did he? Most of his brothers did like their homeplanets, so obviously this was nothing to be surprised about at all. And yet… Barbarus had a poisonous atmosphere and had not long ago been infested by those "warlords", whatever they were. He somehow couldn't imagine not wanting to make it better.

"Chemos had been very different from what it is now," he said. "Barbarus could change. Your people could have easier, more comfortable lives."

Mortarion shook his head. "Easier and more comfortable isn't better. They need to be strong."

Fulgrim was not satisfied with the answer. It rubbed him the wrong way. The hidden implication that trying to make life more comfortable, less of a struggle was somehow bad, seemed like mocking all that he had strived for. He calmed himself with effort, reminding himself that Mortarion did not know.

Perhaps his brother was making the wrong assumptions because his mentor failed. It was his weakness that stopped him from explaining to Mortarion how Chemos had been, when it could help his brother better his own planet.

"Let me tell you of Chemos, brother," he said, turning to look out through the window.

Hands in the dark. No eyes. No eyes, but they see. They find us everywhere.

It was not the whole recording, but it was the part that was most coherent. The rest was punctuated by static and sobbing, painting an unpleasant picture of what awaited them.

Vespasian frowned, as he reconsidered his last thought. That was not true: they knew that the threat had no eyes and hands, and moved well in the dark. It had some way of locating the Imperial forces. It was not much to base their strategy on, but it was a start.

He regarded his Dusk Raider counterpart thoughtfully. He noted the paleness which bordered on unhealthy parlor and the stubborn set of mouth. They would have to cooperate in the future. Perhaps, this future was starting now.

"Tell me, brother, what do you think?" he asked.

"We should get somebody to make a holo out of it once we're done," Captain Barett Ashdon said dryly.

Vespasian stared at the other Marine, noting that his counterpart was smirking wryly. It seemed he was being subtly made fun of?

"I expected a less flippant answer," he said, quirking his eyebrow.

"I'm sure you were, brother," Captain Ashdon responded. "I shall bow to your expectations and behave in suitably dull and humorless fashion, so that you can feel properly superior."

Vespasian did not rise to the bait. He did not get to his position by indulging his emotions and… A beatific smile spread over his features.

"I must introduce you to Lord Commander Eidolon," he said a germ of an idea taking root in his mind. "I'm sure you will get along splendidly."

"We know practically nothing," Mortarion observed, as he watched the holographic display of the Yogso system. Seven planets moved on roughly elliptical orbits in their celestial dance, framing the golden star. The fourth and third planets were habitable, with atmospheres that were breathable to men. Both had been colonized by humanity in the Age of Dark Technology.

The plea for help came from the fourth.

"That is not true," Fulgrim disagreed, putting away a dataslate and letting it wobble precariously over the edge of the display. "However, we do not know nearly enough."

He paused, rubbing his chin. "We will need to move carefully. Comb through every cranny and make sure no enemy survives."

"Constant vigilance?" Mortarion added.

"That has been puzzling me," Fulgrim said. "Those creature must have somehow bypassed not just the sentries, but the automated security systems. If we knew how they do it, this would be much easier."

"He didn't say that," the Primarch of the Dusk Raiders replied. It seemed to him that Fulgrim was guessing too much there. After all, there was no mention—No, he was being to literal. They find us everywhere. The implication was that those beings appeared where they shouldn't be. "How would you bypass them, if you relied either on hearing or the sense of smell?"

Fulgrim gave him a wry smile. "If it were that easy… They could rely on the Warp as well."

Mortarion's frown deepened. "We will have to kill them anyway," he said coldly. "If they're warpspawn we will have to be more thorough."