The Primarch walked uneasily in his chamber, the Orb of Magnus at the center of his table, but Konrad did not look at it. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he bothered to make himself presentable, not for anything important, just for the sake of it. Fulgrim had always insisted it was good for one self, and while once he would have scoffed at that idea, today he went with it, after all perhaps Fulgrim would somehow be right. His long jet black hair normally disheveled and filled with grime and soot brought down by Nostramo´s rain, fumes, and the many pathways he took whenever he wandered in Nostramo, was now smooth.
As he gazed into the mirror, he saw someone he loathed. The sight was painful, though his feelings had softened after reading Melkor's notes on him, notes he'd never bothered with for any of his brothers until now. Complex emotions had finally forced his hand.
In fact, he looked so much like him, the same hair, the same skin, the face, same bone structure, that the only differentiating factor was as always their eyes. His brother´s dark as the void, his own barely so. He looked terribly like Corvus Corax, and in his heart he did not know how to take that.
He blinked twice looking at the mirror and the face he saw then was neither Corax´s nor his own… No… It was his own, disheveled and dirty but it was his unmistakably, and it was staring at him.
"You cannot hide from us," it then spoke snarling, hissing. The voice, the hiss, the snarl, all things he was intimately familiar with. All things he did.
Konrad did not speak. He was looking at something unreal, a hallucination.
"You are the Judge now… But you know what you are as well…" It continued, the voice far more even than Konrad had ever produced in that state. Far more even and devoid of self hate.
"You are the Terror."
The image shifted, something similar to him, how he was now, undirtied, but his eyes blindfolded. The uneven tone in this reminding him of a time long ago.
"You are the Seer."
In his head the voices spoke at the same time, hissing, snarling, even and unevenly. The voice was his, the image was his.
"The Seer. The Terror, The Judge." They repeated over and over, the incongruency of their voices coalescing into the maddening snarl, the maddening hiss, that he was far too familiar, but they did not laugh. In the end, they never laughed.
And yet the mirror was cracked, cracked partitioned in three, in jagged cuts that somehow split into equal parts. And if he focused too much, the image shifted, like fluid water. Each part clearly showing a different thing, a different image. The blind, the mad, the even.
And then, then Konrad. He blinked for the first time since the first image. He blinked and as if they were never there, when he opened his black irises, he saw himself again, as he was now. He saw Corax again… Corax and Curze. Konrad and Corvus. Twins made in the same mold. He saw that, and nothing more in that mirror of his own.
He then glanced at the Orb his brother had given him. He took a few steps towards it, slowly, carefully, his eyes ignoring all else. He extended his arm, opened his palm, touched the blackstone Orb. He breathed deeply.
"The Terror," he whispered to himself. The Nighthaunter. His legend, his monstrosity. His inner darkness, that which made him unworthy of love, of redemption.
"The Judge…"
Himself as he was now, he questioned, he was judging Nostramo now... He was penning a new code of laws as well. Thinking on their implications. Was that the Judge in him?
"The Seer."
Foresight, that curse that haunted him since his first memory. Something he had gained more control over, something that had become less painful but harder to willingly do.
The Judge, himself. The Terror, his monster. The Seer, that which binds both. Something he had yet to master fully.
He picked it up, his dark eyes piercing through its shadowed depths. And within, he glimpsed the ruin of entire worlds... and the silent, suffocating end of hope.
Vain, ostentatious, absurd, incomprehensible, marvelous, you could describe Ullanor´s triumph with all these words and more. And I had just come for the great gathering after the parade, something that had no right to have happened. Five hundred kilometres of mountains, hills , rivers and valleys flattened and paved by the engines of Mars so that the greatest triumph in the history of the human race could happen. So that army, Astartes, Knights, and Titans could parade for a crowd all hailing from offworld.
It was a massive incomprehensible effort for something that could not be described by the words of vanity. It was a show. A grand show crafted to the appeal of an even grander true audience.
That was far too obvious when you walked the soil of would-be Armageddon with all that I know. It was just far too grand to make sense. It was mind boggling the amount of effort taken to build this.
How people could justify this was just impossible. So much so that I had started to chug wine down just so I could stop thinking about it.
Fulgrim had even questioned it before we took our seats in the great hall. He, somehow, had seemed worried. I had refused wine aboard the Pride and now I had always had a cup ready to be emptied. Not that it was emptied often, but still.
To be honest with myself, I think if I had been seated with the Primarch it would have been more comfortable, sure Magnus was there, but he wouldn't do anything overt with his brothers there, and Fulgrim would be a far more comfortable companion strangely enough. I, after all, already knew him and he did know I could talk with him fine enough.
The first frozen moment, all those years ago when I first saw it, was my first reaction. A reaction I somehow avoided when I witnessed the angel for the first time. Sure it was glorious, as the fabulous hawkboy was and should be, in all his resplendent tranquility. His golden hair, his perfect face, his angelic wings in that resplendent regalia that he bore in his brother´s crowning. And my mind froze for a few seconds, but I did not need a punch in the back to return to reality.
It was strange honestly. Strange how Sanguinius and Konrad looked in their eyes. They both seemed to have their eyes shining with something, one dark and one bright. Sure I knew what I could attribute that. To the angel his rage, his thirst behind the glorious face, and the Prince of Darkness his monstrosity, his other side… Wait? Why did I call Konrad the Prince of Darkness? He doesn't have that epithet, he doesn't possess that title. I never heard it being called so why?
For a moment I must have looked confused, for Julius, the captain I met all those years ago, when I first met the Phoenician, turned to me and asked if something was wrong.
The first captain of the third legion had done me the favour of seating himself
not too far away from me. His simple pristine royal purple cloak was a welcome sight in the sea of high ranking Astartes I sat beside.
I was a Primarch´s representative, I was a mortal, but they still put me alongside my counterparts, other people who came in their lord's name, or high enough ranking personnel from the present legions. To say that I was a fish out of water was an understatement. I was surrounded by warriors, all veterans of a hundred battles, talking about their experiences, commenting to each other about the wars in this great crusade. And here I was. A man in their midst was strange. It was weird. It was…
I turned to him, "I was lost in thought, nothing more." I smiled weakly before I cut a piece of meat.
I chewed a mouthful of its flesh. It tasted like nothing I had ever tasted. It was far too fine, far too tasteful. The spices, the salt and the taste was so expansive it was a masterpiece, yet once again it was vain.
Everything here was vain. It was even worse than the Pride of the Emperor in some ways though thankfully with less purple, instead there was more gold and red, the emperor´s colors.
Still it was far too much… Far too much for my liking. Still I had a duty and I silently endured the presence of these Astartes with all the dignity I could muster. At least it wasn't boring.
The Space Wolves helped with that. I never gave much importance to Russ´s pack, but man they are indeed great storytellers.
However midway through the tale someone approached me from behind. I sipped more wine, before I turned to him. A servant… Not bad enough at least it wasn't a malfunction cherub. If you never you sat down and taken a moment to think, they are fucking scary. Not because of what they can do but because of what they represent. Cherub´s little angels turned into ugly machines. It makes my spine shiver, and I only noticed their existence here. Somehow they weren't in Fulgrim´s ship or Konrad´s sanctum. I can guess for Konrad, symbolism is not at all lost in him, no matter how much he denies it. For Fulgrim I have absolutely no idea.
He spoke to me a few words in my ear and I got up… I had been summoned. Thankfully it hadn't been by the Emperor. I would have been dead otherwise. Honestly, how the hell am I still alive? Did Fulgrim pull some strings without me knowing?
"Excuse me, sir, the Lord Sigilite has summoned me." I said for decorum´s sake, something that wouldn't really be cared by the Astartes in this circumstance and then I followed behind the servant as he guided me through the halls and hallways.
.
Melkor had been an interesting subject when Alpharius delivered his legion´s report on him. Especially because the eighth son used his personal security code to override certain elements.
His birthworld was a blatant lie, something that was amusing. The eighth son lying in an official report so blatant that it was insulting, even more due to the fact he had never done it before. He was unstable but he had never done this. He lied on the birthworld, he lied on the recruitment process there was nothing regular about his presence. From the other reports he seemed to have just been. He was found and then was recruited. No screening, no indoctrination, no training, he just was. He was taken as he had been found. No one serving the Imperium in such a position started like that. None… Konrad was drifting further and further from expectations since this "Melkor" seemingly joined his legion.
And that wasn't all curious about him. Operatives within the eighth reported him speaking a language they did not recognize in his sleep, not one actually multiple. I received a short recording of sounds he was making, and surprisingly it was the ancient tongue of Albia. Something I and the Emperor noticed very quickly. It was then that we decided we had to clear this anomaly. Konrad changed immensely, and all pointed to him, and Melkor also seemingly knew of things long forgotten.
If the operative hadn't suddenly ceased all communications, we would have neutralized this anomaly, we needed him alive, true enough. His genecode was as purer than any human in existence, any mortal human. Undamaged by the disaster of Old Night and the Age of Strife. His existence was an anomaly, he had to be captured and studied, however to blatantly move against Konrad´s representative was a move both of us knew was useless.
It would alienate every single one of the Primarchs, and even Magnus who sought the origin of that name. Something that, in hindsight, indicated that he had knowledge of his existence. For him to not speak of it then indicated that Konrad must have forced him to swear and Magnus' sense of honor won out, or perhaps Magnus knew we would find out.
Even in a triumph the wheels of governance never stop turning. I sighed. The door opened, the servant closing the door behind what must surely be Melkor.
Green-hazel eyes, a cloak of the finest chemosian silk in eighth legion colors, embroidered with silvery accents, not ostentatious by any measure. It was something just fine for the occasion, something that didn't stand out for the better or the worse. He must have wished to avoid garnering too much attention. Unfortunately, talking to Primarchs, especially Fulgrim, with the barest awe did stand out.
On his shoulder was a black cat, his fur thick and seemingly far too proper… No, it was similar to a cat, a terran cat specifically but it wasn't one. It was a Gyrinx… Strange, Melkor didn't seem to have the barest psychic ability. Gyrinx bonded with psychers, Xenos or human and they took aspects of their companion. They were not psyker themselves but the bond they had with their counterpart was often described as true friendship… The fact that there was a Gyrinx did not make much sense, but perhaps it was simply the beast had chosen him while Melkor himself had no idea.
"Lord Sigillite." He said, evenly bowing his head slightly for a second, standard procedure meeting the Regent of Terra in the quality the meeting held.
I extended my hand, he gripped it and met my eyes, there was strength in his palm, certainly from his apparent youth. He didn't seem older than 25, and most likely he was younger than that. There was apprehension in his eyes, understandable for the meeting normally, however he didn't show it in the presence of Primarchs. Did he fear me? That could be.
We then both sat, this was not exactly a meeting between equals, however I couldn't deny there wasn't some sort of ironic tone to meet a mirror. Excluding all the anomalies Melkor had hovering upon him. He was the Sigitile to the Primarch as he himself was to the Emperor.
Even then he couldn't grow attached to this mortal for symbolism alone. He had to assess if this man, who held the name of a god of a human tale. It wasn't a bad tale, an old classic but still. Names are dangerous after all, and the old four would grasp any advantage they could to damn mankind.
"I called you to ask for clarification on several matters concerning your lord." I said, picking a data slate, feigning for a few moments to read him. I, after all, had a persona to keep.
"Of course, Lord Regent," he said, his emotions hidden well enough, however the cat on his shoulder gazed with curiosity that could hardly be ignored. That bond really was useful.
"There have been multiple requests that caught my eye. The Shipyards of Ghulgorah and Olympia were asked to provide ships, both transport and combat. The trio of forge worlds in the Triplex-Phall asked for extraordinarily large amounts of ammunition, battleplate, combat vehicles of the land and aerial variety. There was also a request from the Primarch himself about authorizing the building of a star fort complex equivalent to a Segmantae Fortress alongside multiple shipyards in the world of Memlock." To call these things requests was politeness. The sheer quantities of equipment, material, wealth and influence being bought, used and traded was astronomical for the eighth Primarch and his legion. You would see these quantities used for a massive and prolonged campaign something more akin to the wars with the Rangda. Not the manner of war Konrad waged.
These were, clearly, not the requisitions of a legion preparing for routine deployment. They were the tools of a warlord preparing for something far greater, and far more concerning.
"My Lord has not briefed me of his intentions and I was unaware of such requests until now." Melkor said after a moment , trying to keep his face calm, though in his eyes, his face was concerned. Concern, not confusion. That was interesting
"However, Konrad has long held interest in the Ghoul Stars. If I had to take a guess, he is merely planning a large campaign into that region. Nostramo is at the edge of that region and the eighth is used to navigate amidst its dangers, with or without the Astronomicon."
Not a bad justification, however all large scale campaigns are directed through the council of war to their expeditionary fleets, or are directly given by the Emperor himself. Things of this scale had to be chosen carefully after all.
"That still does not explain the infrastructure for Memlock."
A project of such magnitude does not align with routine operations, turning the world, already nine times the size of Terra with three moons orbiting into a veritable fortress world and a massive logistical hub for the eastern fringe. Its location, while not directly guarding a major stable warp route, was close enough to the centers of the Eastern Fringe. Located in the Aegis sector Memlock was terribly close to the breadbasket of that region, Heroldar, in the neighbouring sectors the triple empire of Triplex Phall, the jewel of the eastern fringe, Thramas, and the protectorate of Gulghorahd were close by galactic scale, and beyond Thramas and Gulghorahd was Nostramo… The eighth legion´s homeworld.
It was undeniable that, if war greeted the eastern fringe. Memlock would be a crucial strongpoint, fortified or not, and still this world would provide a good logistical hub.
"Lord Sigilite, I am not privy to all of Konrad´s thoughts, and speaking of guesses and trying to ascertain a Primarch´s mind is not something I believe wise." I smiled sadly. I knew that wisdom myself.
"Still, why is there an issue concerning these requests from the Primarch? Surely you don't fear any intention of…" the unsaid word hung in the air, the preoccupation in his tone evident.
Well played… Neither accusatory nor confrontational and still indicating that Imperial governance and therefore the Emperor may not trust his sons. Well played… Still you need a few more years before you catch me like that.
"Issue? No!" I said dismissively. "However the sheer quantities and the unusual nature forced me to ask."
He nodded in understanding. Melkor didn't seem bad, however the gyrinx indicated something interesting. Just like his soul, it was dark, a beautiful dark, a shadow far too human. Strong, untainted but dark, shadowy, abyss. Things that humanity has long associated with evil, but not necessarily so.
After all, there is always a darker side in the shadows of the bright light.
I leaned back on the sofa, the relaxing gesture meant to ease my counterpart. Something that seemed to work.
"I expected to meet a Nostraman, Melkor. Where are you from?" That caught him off guard, so much that in the beast's eyes there was apprehension. That was curious.
"I was born on Terra," he said, his green eyes looking beyond me avoiding contact where before he had met me.
"A terran serving the eighth legion… Interestingly, the Primarch came to Terra very few times. Last time was- "
"Could you help me with something, Lord Sigilite."
A cut off, rude, but that confirmed my suspicions. The report lied, something he apparently was unaware otherwise he would stick to it, and speaking of his home was not a subject he wished. Still Terra… That was odd. Konrad had not come to Terra in almost 4 decades and his name is not terran… It's not even human. It is a name of a time long forgotten in a work of art, one I enjoyed reading a long time ago.
"Sure," I said, smiling. Earning a debt this easily wouldn't be a bad idea. Tying him to the Imperial bureaucracy would be a way to prevent any move he may do. Besides, he would be watched very thoroughly.
"My Primarch requested me to give some objects to Lord Sanguinius and Lord Perturabo. I would ask Lord Sigilite if you could intercede with me so that these Lord Primarchs have a meeting with me alone. Approaching them out of nowhere during the party would be indelicate."
"Indelicate yes…" I stroked my chin, a pensive gesture to appeal to the old thoughtful persona. Though I confess it would be far too easy to do what he asked. Sanguinius already wished to meet him, and Perturabo would do it if he was asked to. A favor easily obtained. "But I could arrange it, Melkor. If you do something for me."
"What would that be?" he asked, the glow in his eyes showing the barest hint of hope. Fool, he was showing too much.
"The Emperor is aware of the Primarchs emotional instability, however unfortunately due to his responsibilities he hasn't found time to intervene."
Melkor´s eyes darkened for a second, the hazel green pupil turning pitch black for a moment. Interesting, volatile pupil pigment was something psykers normally possessed, perhaps he is a latent one even if his genecode does not seem permissible to that, his soul seemed the opposite. Perhaps that was the cause of the gyrinx´s bond and now, this.
"I wish you to report on his state of mind." I veered away, grabbing a glass of wine from the servant that had silently arrived a few seconds before. His vivid green eyes met mine. He was here.
"Of course I will ensure the projects in the eastern fringe," I continued turning back to him, " and in the best interest of the Imperium you will send reports on his emotional state."
There was a cold moment of indecision in Melkor´s face before he slowly nodded in agreement. To report on his lord in such a way could, and probably would be a breach of confidence. The eighth son would neutralize him most likely once he noticed. A fortunate course of events.
He extended his hand to me… Breaking protocol, I guess he isn't as learned in imperial etiquette as I thought, still not a bad show for someone so seemingly young. I shook it.
"We have a deal," he said.
"We do, my lord." I replied back escorting him to the door. The servant closed it after Melkor left. I turned to him.
"What do you think of him?"
"Doesn't seem to be plotting anything. Fulgrim certainly thinks so, and his demeanour is not of a schemer by nature." the head of the Hydra said evenly. There was no better legion to keep an eye on him. Melkor was not sent by the Old Four, me and my friend would have noticed it immediately, and even if there was a touch of the warp in him it was like that in us all who can peer beyond the veil. However dim that connection was, however dark, there was no touch of the old four there. There was something, something else, something that I felt was like a shadow to my old friend in his hate for the Old Four..
"Keep your eyes on him." I said to Alpharius "Anything strange you report immediately."
"Do you trust him?" He asked in return.
"No." I answered. "I trust his motivations."
Something that was more than clearly tied to the Primarch he served, someone I knew that unless his degeneration reached a tipping point would never go against the will of his father.
.
By the time Melkor´s conversation with the Lord Sigilite finished an entire hour had passed, an hour that meant the festivities had shifted. Deserts and refreshing drinks were on the table surrounding the massive dancing stage. Many belonging to the Imperial nobility danced upon it to the tune of a soft classical song and amongst them was a giant. A silver haired giant.
Fulgrim.
To say he stole the gaze of everyone in the audience was mesmerizing, a mastery of the dance of such degree that every movement was done with such grace, such precision and such delicate care with its partner that you would be surprised.
How beautiful Fulgrim seemed then. In his element, still he was not the only giant there. Sanguinius and The Lupercal were talking at the edge of the stage. The Khan with his rough appearance glanced at his brothers from a corner while sipping silently from a cup that was not of the fine glass available to everyone. It looked more personal.
Rogal, Magnus, and Mortarion were nowhere to be seen. Something good Melkor thought, each for their own different reasons, though by the uniform of some present here there were some mortals of those legions still here.
Even then there was one Melkor didn't think had been here, Perturabo, silently watching near a table with drink. He looked strangely familiar with this setting and from the distance he and Melkor had between them, his eyes seemed somewhat calm. Strange.
Melkor slowly approached a table, his hand slowly passing over its beautiful wooden skin and picked up a glass, and asked a servant to pour him a transparent silver liquid.
He took a sip, the refreshing sensation seeping into his body. He really had a need of this after meeting the Sigillite. The mere fact that he had met him was like a cold bucket of water. The excitement of any false idea he might have had about the possibility of their talk frozen in the reality of the moment.
The Sigillite… Malcador, the would be, Hero. The one man who will sit upon the Golden Throne. The most dangerous man in the Imperium, the most dangerous being to Melkor, except for Magnus and the Emperor himself. If the truth came out, if he found it that would be dangerous. Still then again the truth, or at least part of it, was the best option. Why then had he been expecting a Nostraman?
That was something Melkor did not know. Something Melkor would not know for now.
As he dropped the glass of cold water and turned back to the stage he was met by the voice of another.
"Melkor," the honeyed voice said, a voice he knew well enough. "Where did you go? I thought you had retired for the night."
"Fulgrim," Melkor said to himself before turning to the Primarch of the Third Legion. "I was in a meeting with Lord Malcador, nothing more. I hope I haven't missed anything."
"Father's speech before retiring, the opening dance, my glorious performance."
"So nothing important, thank you." The mortal answered and Fulgrim´s face cracked there. Melkor could see that he had been long enough with a Primarch to see the micro movements in their faces, Fulgrim´s was just another.
"You wound me," he said jokingly.
Melkor sipped from the glass again. "Fulgrim, what do you need?" He said to the Primarch, gazing into the Phoenician´s deep dark purple pupils without trepidation. Staring at him or the Nighthaunter did indeed feel vastly different. One was like staring into beauty itself another staring into a nightmare, however neither was ugly in their ways.
"How is my brother?" He asked with genuine curiosity in his voice.
"He is better. More calm and collected." Melkor said, there was no point in hiding the truth well, at least not hiding it in its entirety.
Fulgrim nodded calmly, picking up a glass of wine and taking a sip. "He was supposed to be at Cheraut… Rogal was quite surprised by his absence, I must confess."
"He was…" Melkor said, looking at the liquid in his cup before answering Fulgrim. "Nostramo is in a delicate situation."
That made Fulgrim raise an eyebrow in surprise.
"I cannot go into details, but let's say the hammer of destruction hung over the planet and your brother was unsure if he should swing it."
"Oh." Fulgrim said, genuinely surprised at the fact Curze was genuinely pondering destroying his own home. . "It must be bad if Konrad pondered that."
"It was bad and delicate, but your brother has taken another course. One that has kept him personally on world for now."
"I see…." he said. If the situation was bad enough to seriously ponder exterminatus then it would only be natural that to bring the situation to acceptable parameters he would need time to personally oversee it. Still what sort of situation would drive Konrad to such options? Perhaps he should check on his brother at a later date, if he found time. The Crusade was almost over, the Emperor was going to step down and his place Horus would direct them. There was no better one for that position Fulgrim thought, even though he knew Ferrus had put himself forward as a candidate.
War however was not the only skill they needed for it, if it was every Primarch could have been put forward. No, there was something else as well, something that bled from Horus and that his dear Ferrus lacked to some degree.
Fulgrim smiled, this was Horus´ day, however Melkor was not here, for Horus. Melkor had almost stolen Horus from someone's mind in fact. Something that he should know.
So Fulgrim turned to him, put his hand on his shoulder and then with the voice perfectly decided to not scare the prospect but rather entice him the Phoenician spoke.
"Sanguinius wants to meet you, you know?"
Melkor nodded in slowly understanding what it meant, still confusion was evident in his face.
"He is curious as to you. Most likely relating to our brother, but I do not know anything else."
Well Malcador it seems wouldn't have been needed for this meeting, a favour asked needlessly, a debt incurred for no reason. Melkor thought.
"Thank you for the heads up, Fulgrim." he said to the Phoenician, who by that point had drunk the entire goblet and left for the stage once more.
It was deep into the night when Melkor finally retired. Like all high ranking imperial personnel he had been given a room more than adequate for his station. Quarters that while larger than his own back on the Nightfall were not leagues in difference, and if Melkor was honest that hardly mattered for him. Those Konrad had provided him were already large enough for his taste. In any case Melkor tucked himself beneath the sheets of the finest bed he ever slept in and closed his eyes. The weariness of the day finally disappeared from his mind.
Well this was suposed to go earlier this week but stuff happens. We finally got to Ullanor and as you see stuff is happening for later.
I hope you like it, and i hope your theories run wild starting now and i hope to hear of them.
See you next time. I hope you enjoy it.