"You want some?" Sukuna asked, chewing and then swallowing. The meat was... odd, but in a good way. Its texture was tough, but that may have been due to the method of preparation, as opposed to the natural texture of the meat itself. It was probably better served as some kind of sashimi, since – as it was now – it greatly reminded him of overcooked tuna, specifically one that was boiled for extensive periods, causing the already-lean meat to harden and tighten, making it wholly unpalatable. Still, its texture aside, Agurasi meat had a wonderfully sweet and meaty flavor, almost similar to beef, but not quite. It was wonderfully odd, in that sense. His Legionnaires, the Devourers, certainly enjoyed it as much as he did. Sukuna had the Agurasi Queen and her Royal Guards stewed with vegetables and spices, both of which he'd readily stocked his Flagship with.

Sukuna held a large bowl of the stuff, which he held out to his apparent siblings, Vulkan, who'd arrived just moments ago to survey their utter and total victory. For a moment, the tall, jet-black-skinned giant of a Primarch loomed and stared at the bowl, before shrugging and accepting it with both hands. Vulkan smiled. And, Sukuna noted, it was a real smile – not practiced or forced. He seemed genuinely happy for the food. Huh. That was a first. Vulkan took the bowl and downed the whole thing in what seemed like a single gulp. All the while, his smile never disappeared. "Ah, delicious. Thank you for the food, brother mine."

"Cool." Sukuna nodded. There really wasn't much to do at this point. With the death of their queen, the Agurasi were no longer capable of reproduction. Or, specifically, they were now incapable of recognizing each other as Agurasi without their queen and, thus, incapable of reproducing. All that was left of their once-mighty empire were scattered remnants of uncoordinated beasts. That said, Sukuna had to begrudgingly acknowledge their power, having lost fifteen Devourers over the course of the war. And that wasn't a small amount, which meant his next campaign against the Orks would have to be stalled. He needed to return to Shibuya and recruit more sorcerers. "There's more if you want more. Your... sons can have some too."

Vulkan smiled and nodded. And, soon enough, the Salamanders dined on Agurasi Stew alongside the Devourers.

Sukuna sat on a large mound that used to be head of the Agurasi Queen. There was enough space there; so, Vulkan sat beside him, laying his massive power-hammer down on the ground at their feet. After a moment, Sukuna grinned, closing his eyes and savoring the... oddness of everything that happened, everything that was happening, and everything else that was about to happen. "All things considered, that war was pretty fun!"

Vulkan huffed. "I won't argue with you on that, brother mine. But I've never found much enjoyment in war – not as you do or as our other siblings. I'm a builder, a maker; I prefer creation over destruction."

Sukuna shrugged. "No shame in that. Everyone's got their own thing."

Vulkan settled beside Sukuna on the makeshift seat, his armored frame creaking slightly under the weight of his massive form. The two Primarchs sat in a rare moment of peace, the aftermath of battle a distant hum on the edges of their senses. The sounds of their respective legions mingling and feasting filled the air, a strange but somehow fitting accompaniment to their silence. Some of the Devourers were now singing and dancing, having brought out musical instruments, prompting more than a few of his sons, the Salamanders, to join in on the fun. It was an odd, but otherwise heartwarming sight, Vulkan thought.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The sky above them, tinged with the burnt orange of a dying sun, cast long shadows across the battlefield. It was a scene of stark contrasts—victory and desolation, camaraderie and unease. Not that he'd ever mourn the Agurasi. He just didn't enjoy seeing destruction and ruin. Though, the mingling of Sukuna's sons and his own was a rather beautiful thing to witness. He had no idea that more than a few of his sons were, in fact, rather talented singers.

"So," Vulkan finally broke the silence, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "You often eat what you kill?"

Sukuna glanced at him, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his lips, before he shrugged. "Depends on what I kill. Not everything's worth the effort."

Vulkan chuckled, a sound that was more a rumble in his chest than anything else. "I suppose not. Still, you have a... unique palate."

"It's all about curiosity," Sukuna shrugged, leaning back with an air of indifference. Horus was right; Sukuna wasn't like any of their siblings. It was no secret that, aside, perhaps, from Guilliman, himself, and the Khan, his brothers had their own little problems, insecurities that gnawed at the back of their heads. Once, Vulkan brought this issue before Malcador, who simply told him that these problems no longer had a solution; it was simply too late. Sukuna had no problems. His behavior was odd, but there was no uncertainty about him, no hesitation, nothing beneath the surface. He wore the whole of his person on his metaphorical sleeves and that was it. Refreshing. "How else would you know what you're missing out on?"

"Fair enough." Vulkan took a moment, his gaze wandering over the landscape littered with the remnants of the Agurasi. "Though, I'd never once thought about eating alien flesh before. That had to be a first."

Sukuna huffed. "Huh. You should try it more."

"Perhaps," Vulkan said, smiling. "Though, I've absolutely no interest in trying Ork Flesh."

"Eh," Sukuna shrugged. "They don't taste good at all. Well, no; they don't taste bad, but definitely far from anything I'd call good."

"I can imagine." Vulkan said, shaking his head. The thought of willingly devouring Ork Meat for food and not just information was... not something that'd ever once crossed his mind before. But now, he couldn't deny the growing curiosity, planted by Sukuna's off-handed comment.

"You're different from the others," Vulkan remarked, his tone casual, but there was an underlying curiosity. "You don't seem to care much for the grand ideals of the Imperium, of our father."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Grand ideals? Please. I'm here because it's fun. Power, destruction, all that—sure, it's interesting. But grand ideals?" He laughed, a short, sharp sound. "That's for people who need something to believe in. That's for weaklings."

Vulkan nodded slowly, processing the words. Weaklings. Briefly, he wondered if Sukuna was, in fact, the deadliest Primarch. He couldn't, of course, imagine anyone being more powerful than Magnus, but the two were to ever fight in a duel to the death, something Vulkan would hate to ever see, then the more likely to win was Sukuna, simply because of the efficiency with which he killed and slaughtered. "And what do you believe in, Sukuna?"

"Belief?" Sukuna smirked, leaning forward slightly. For a moment, there was almost something that looked close to doubt in Sukuna's eyes, though it disappeared almost instantly. "I believe in strength. I believe in taking what you want because you can. The rest is just noise."

Vulkan studied him for a moment, the weight of Sukuna's words settling between them. It was a mindset that could have easily made him an enemy, but here they were, sharing a meal and a moment of quiet after a battle fought side by side. Well, no, it definitely wasn't quiet with all the singing, laughter, and revelry, but it was as quiet as battlefields usually went and that was good.

"You're dangerous," Vulkan said, not as an accusation, but as an observation. "But you're also reliable. I can see why Horus respects you and your legion."

"Good to know," Sukuna replied, unconcerned. He stretched, letting out a contented sigh as he gazed up at the darkening sky. Soon enough, they'd go on their separate ways. Vulkan's next target was a human government that'd survived through the Age of Strife, which wouldn't be much of a problem if it weren't for the fact that they coexisted with an alien race, which meant it was absolutely going to be very problematic. "But don't think too much about it. Makes things complicated."

Vulkan's lips twitched into a small smile. He very much agreed with that particular sentiment, his mind looking back towards Alpharius and Omegon, who were overly fond of making simple things far too complicated. Vulkan could respect the art if it was actually more effective than the alternatives, but – as he saw it – their methods were often slower and far less efficient. "You're right about that. Simplicity has its merits."

"Exactly," Sukuna said, as if that was all there was to it. "Keep it simple, and things work out... most of the time."

They fell into silence again, but this time it was more comfortable, an understanding passing between them. Vulkan couldn't deny the effectiveness of Sukuna's methods, even if they clashed with his own principles. There was something to be said for a straightforward approach, even if it was wrapped in a dangerous package. A few of the Salamanders and Devourers were getting into friendly brawls and spars, a common method of bonding among the Legionnes Astartes, including among the Ultramarines. It was fun.

"You wanna fight?" Sukuna asked. Horus warned him of that, too. "No armor. No weapons. Just our fists. Should be fun."

Vulkan raised a brow for a moment, before shrugging and grinning. "Thought you'd never ask, brother mine."

Vulkan stood and began the laborious process of removing his Power Armor. The suit, a masterpiece of craftsmanship and technology, was a part of him in many ways, a second skin that had seen him through countless battles. Each piece of armor was removed with care, the intricate mechanisms disengaging with a series of soft hisses and clicks. The weight of the armor, once lifted from his body, left him feeling lighter, more free. He placed each piece carefully on the ground, until he was left standing in only his black bodysuit, his towering form still radiating power and strength.

Sukuna watched with a casual interest, his grin never faltering. Around them, the Salamanders and Devourers quickly took notice, gathering around and forming a wide circle around them. Vulkan smiled as Sukuna spoke, "You look strong. Good. That means I can hit you as hard as I want to."

Vulkan smiled, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders to loosen up. "It's been a while since I've had the pleasure of sparring against a fellow Primarch. This should be fun."

Sukuna nodded, understanding. "We can definitely agree on that."

Vulkan chuckled, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. "I must warn you, brother mine; I have no intention of holding back."

"Good," Sukuna said, already bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, his body loose and ready. Vulkan's eyes narrowed. Even now, it was clear to see that his brother was no stranger to duels. The last time he sparred against a fellow Primarch, it was against Sanguinius and that... did not end nearly as well as he would've liked. Sanguinius was a powerhouse of raw power and technique, balancing both in a deadly hurricane that was only ever matched by other, martially-inclined Primarchs like the Lion, Rus, or Dorne. "Wouldn't want to be disappointed."

Vulkan took a deep breath, centering himself. He knew he had the raw strength to overpower almost anyone, but Sukuna was an unknown factor. He'd seen his brother in battle, a blur of speed and lethal precision, his movements more akin to a dance than the brutal combat Vulkan was used to. This fight would require more than just strength; it would require adaptability and focus. He was a better fighter now than when he sparred against Sanguinius, stronger too. Sukuna wasn't an impossible enemy. Vulkan settled into his own stance, one that made full use of his immense bulk and musculature. Malcador called it the Breathing Mountain Style, invented in the most ancient days of Terra. "Shall we?"

"Ready when you are," Sukuna said, his grin widening as he raised his fists, his stance relaxed but deceptively poised.

AN: Chapter 36 is out on (Pat)reon!