The Whisper of the Maddened Son

Someone opened a book, curiosity driving to read the ink stained pages. Fleeting curiosity waxing and waning as the madness of his mind grew stronger or weaker as the days went on.

Mankind is not a kind race, but it can be. It is not the light of perfection, or the darkness of the abyss that makes humans what they are.Man is an imperfect creature by its own nature, driven by hope, love and selflessness as much as greed, depravity and selfishness. Yet it is this imperfection that makes it great in its own right, perfect some would even claim, though I do not take that stance. That struggle between heaven and the abyss, light or darkness is what makes it capable of great things, for good or ill.

Man, yet, is still reliant on the community. No man can live alone and prosper. To prosper it needs others than himself. That is the harsh truth of man, and how darkness spread in so many worlds during Old Night, when man was the prey to another man. Whether they are people who claim to be lords, whose power to guide is intertwined with the desire to tyranny, the gang nobilities or self proclaimed god kings. In any of these instances the common man is left at the mercy of their "betters". Absolute power corrupts absolutely as the ancient saying goes, and most often none of those in power in these absolute systems is strong enough to think beyond himself, beyond his delusions of grandeur and wants or needs.

There can be injustice in absolute order, there can be tyranny spread through the delusion of equality and there can be corruption spread in the enforcement of order.

Yet man has always held a desire for safety, for order and for justice, however deep down it is. What is order and justice often comes from their upbringing, if in their life they were nothing, they might see scraps as just, especially if they think highly of those who gave those scraps, but if they have something, they will demand more until they are satisfied.

And there has to be just punishment, for not all criminals are made equal. Stealing a loaf of bread to survive when you have nothing is not the same as someone who has all, murdering others.

Intent and circumstance is as important as the deed. Those who fail to see this are but carving the road to tyranny and injustice.

He snarled and left. He agreed with part and disagreed with the other. Yet the book was not yet finished, perhaps he would return later. Curiosity is a tricky thing to handle after all.

The only difference between a Medicae and the rest of a Night Lords vessel was that instead of the halls remaining lightless, there was light. The deeply dim bluish light, like the one Nostraman nobility in the times before the Dominus Nox called illumination. And even the halls dim lit as they were could be considered barely better than a night on old Terra where the full moon shone brightly in the sky. Yet thankfully the last months spent on the Nightfall helped him not be completely blind.

Melkor was half awake when he started to hear words, his sight fuzzy, like as if he was seeing behind a fog.

Athasavi Ithi? Nimilla, nalathilla. He heard people say. He could see the shapes of humans move around him. They were the ones speaking most likely.

Someone noticed him. "Athrillay. Uthullun, sorsollun?" It asked in Nostraman.

Was he cold? Could he see? That was what it´d ask. "Thehsa athasavis." Melkor answered in his badly accented Nostraman. He tried his best but an accent was not something one perfected in a few months. Being able to make yourself understood and speaking like a native were very different things, and even if Melkor got the first for free, the second would have to be paid. Same as High Gothic, though that tongue was strangely easy, for him.

It took a few more moments before his sight adjusted, the fog slowly dissipating and the lighting of the room becoming stronger.

"A baby can speak better than you. You know." Someone said to him. Melkor turned his head to see the same Astartes that he first saw a week ago. In that time Melkor had requested a bionic implant for his eyes, while he could live in the lightless halls of the Night Lords, it would improve his life considerably if he did not have to walk around with what are effectively large night vision goggles.

That request was surprisingly quickly acquiesced. He was already recovering in the Medicae from his broken chest, adding a surgery to the almost always empty schedule was not a difficult thing. And it would not impair his recovery in any way. Strange as it may seem.

For all the talk of degradation in knowledge and technologies in this age, whatever remains from mankind´s golden age, or dark age as they call it here, is still leagues more advanced than what Melkor was used to. It was said that mankind would find the cure to cancer before reaching into the stars to take them. Whatever truth is in that statement there is one thing that was indeed true.

The Astartes donned his battleplate, but unlike before where Melkor could only vaguely make up the clear images on it. The winged skull on the pauldron, the lightning bolts and the bat winged helm, he now could clearly read the inscriptions of the Astartes´s name on his right shoulder. "Naraka" were the words inscribed there.

"How does the implant work?" His hand covered his right eye, the one with the implant, as he closed and opened it, to get adjusted to it.

"Image intensification alongside thermal scanning to create a clear picture for you to see." The Space Marine answered, not allowing the medicare crew to intervene.

Melkor moved his hand from his face, and got up from the medicare bed. Whatever his injuries were before they all seemed healed by now. That was fortunate, for they were only a few hours away from the rendezvous-point with the Pride of the Emperor.

The Astartes almost dragged Melkor to his own chamber. Whatever respect the Nighthaunter´s sons held for Melkor it was clear this captain had none of it.

He stopped, grabbed a data slate and threw it at Melkor. "Read it. We have much to discuss." The whispers of his voice were barely audible, like a murderer caressing his next victim.

"I do not care what you think of me.If you are as knowing as you claim, you will have no problem speaking for me to my brothers and to my father. You will speak with my voice, you will wear my colors and will move with the same freedom I would have if I was there. As long you perform your duty none of my brothers will hold you in contempt (Fulgrim will make sure of that). If you know of them as much as you claim to know about me. You should have no difficulties. If something arises that you are incapable of dealing with, send word and I will reassign you. You are forbidden to send it before staying with Fulgrim for at least a month."

"A lie" was the very first thing that passed through Melkor´s mind. Curze cared about what he thought of him. If he did not, he would not have mentioned it. The Second, the second was more subtle, more raw, realization of the fullness of his position sinking in. He would be a Primarch in all the bits not concerning war. Well not quite, he would be the Primarch´s voice. Not quite the same, but close enough. Still his authority would be basically second only to Primarchs themselves as long as it is for his appointed duty. And his mind could only cry in horry and excitement at such prospects.

Melkor straightened his back, lifted his gaze, put the dataslate to a table on his side and stared at the Astartes. A Night Lords captain, the owner of the vessel he currently stood in. Naraka. Melkor did not know, but if there had only ever been a single Naraka in the whole legion, this would be "Bloodless" or would be "the Bloodless". His title may have yet to come to him.

"According to what is written, as of this moment you outrank us." Naraka said softly. This was clearly something he had had his time to make his peace with.

Melkor did not expect that to be the case. He expected it to be a purely political assignment, yet Naraka was correct, nothing in here stated that his duties did not involve the military expectations of a Primarch during the Great Crusade. Though he truly doubted Fulgrim and the others would expect something like that of him, of a mortal.

"And for that, I have to listen to you and obey your orders." whatever softness he spoke with before died there. The room, spacious, for a mortal yet already crowded by the Astarte´s presence in full battleplate, seemed to shrink even more. As if the Captain´s piercing gaze of Nostraman black ink and teeth gritted tone commanded the very walls they were housed in.

Melkor was not cowed. If that even had been the captain´s intent. He had spoken with Naraka´s genefather, he had seen both the sanity and madness within his Primarch. And space marines, as imposing and as mighty they could be, they were only shadows of their Lord. And Melkor had spoken with Naraka´s lord.

"I do not expect you to follow whatever I tell you. You are Nostramans, not soldiers after all."

That, unexpectedly, got a laugh from him. "You are right, I would not obey you even if you told me. But the Primarch gave his orders and I will not disobey those."

"And so a mortal is left in command of the Emperor's Angels of Death." The hilarity of the situation was clear in Melkor´s words, but Naraka did not laugh. He stared at him, with those inky black eyes that all cursed scions of the maddened possessed.

"I assure you, whatever thing Fulgrim and the others ask about the deployment of you and your brothers I will direct to you. I will remain in the void, and play the fool. After all, I have only cursory knowledge of the Legion´s methods. I grew up in an age of peace, not war, after all."

Naraka kept studying Melkor for any sign of deceit.

"I will expect, though, that an honor guard will be present in the meeting with Fulgrim. The 8th has a reputation of savagery and of bararity, as far as I know. Whatever the Dominus Nox wishes, we will present a point of civility amongst the legion that was made to be the Emperor´s weapon of Terror. After all, I represent a Primarch and his home, not a Terran techno-barbarian warlord and a wasteland."

The first thing I noticed when I took my first steps out of the Dark Blade, the Stormbird gunship of Naraka´s 13th company, was how wildly different the Pride of the Emperor and the Nightfall were.

The latter was always in perpetual darkness or shades of gloom in the hangar bay. It was austere practical, and with macabre decorations who blended the softness and poeticism of the Nostraman tongue. Though only at the end of my time aboard Naraka´s vessel did I learn that everyone in a Night Lord ship used prey sight. A shift to the red side of the spectrum that Nostramans developed on their homeworld as though lightless, it was neither cold nor icy. So light did in fact land there, light beyond the regular human visible spectrum even if it was now caught by the atmospheric pollution of this age.

Reds would become blues, deep in the infrared would be red, and dark blues would appear as the deepest black. In a sense for Nostramans, Night Lord´swore black armor, like the Raven Guard, not dark blue. "In Midnight Clad" seems more iconic in this.

Something my new bionic implant allows me to use. This did change the interior of the 13th company's flagship drastically. It was now more natural color wise, though still with the clear austere and stark decor and feeling of an 8th legion vessel. There were still awfully few warm colors.

The Pride of the Emperor… The Pride of the Emperor was like standing in the most beautiful palace ever made by the hands of man. Gold, marble and metallic silver blended seamlessly throughout the empty hangar deck, all the while the walls were covered by masterfully crafted tapestries of royal phoenician purple. It was opulent, masterfully employed and beautiful, an apt description of the 3rd Legion before… Before he fell, but there was still time before the fall. Ullanor was still far off in the distance and the crusade was still going on.

I walked out of the Dark Blade, flanked by two fully armed and armored Night Lords Astartes. To my right, the 13th company captain and to my left, someone he chose for the duty. Naraka, to give credibility to the mortal, the other to suffer as he is dragged around by the mortal. One must stay with the ambassador at all times. Otherwise Astartes may forget to whom they speak to.

The carpet which we walked on was of deep ruby red, and two rows of twenty 3rd Legion Astartes stood in an honor guard, one at each side of the carpet. Like a perfectly drilled machine all marines stood at attention when Naraka and I were about halfway through the carpet. In front of us was an Astartes with armor far more intricate than the others. The one in command most likely, but there was no sight of the Primarch.

"Welcome cousins," the space marine said. "I hope the warp gave you no trouble." Just like his father, this Astartes was beautiful and silver haired, both traits I expected most of the legion to share.

It was clear he was addressing Naraka. The only high ranking Astartes in that came with me to the Pride. A mortal being a Primarch´s ambassador is something that clearly escaped the mind of the 3rd legion astartes. Even if I did silk with legion colors and held the bat winged insignia above my heart to clearly mark my position. It was completely overlooked.

Naraka, even being addressed to, forced himself not to not reply. He could give a witty insult, or a nostraman curse for them to ponder about, but It was not his place to do so, and he knew it. He and I talked about it earlier before boarding the Stormbird. He simply stared at the chemosian marine as I went to answer.

"Thank you sir. It went as well as it could go." The Marine took a quick glance at me and then with a voice full of pride driven by their trans-human strength. "I was not speaking to you."

Naraka cut him there, with a tone that was more akin to a caressing whisper. "You better start speaking with more respect, first captain, he is the one speaking for my Primarch, not me."

"So this was the first captain of the Emperor's Children," I thought. He eyed me now. From top to bottom, but he spoke no further, most likely not wishing to embarrass himself further. Instead it was now my turn to speak.

"First Captain, thank you for welcoming us to your legion´s beautiful flagship," that should soften up his ego a bit. "But I was under the impression I was to be greeted by Fulgrim, your genefather."

"There was a new situation. Lord Fulgrim is currently dealing with it. He should be here shortly." he answered.

"Excellent. I am Melkor, First Captain" I extended my hand trying to smile softly. "Representative of Konrad Curze, Primarch of the 8th Legion in all things that may be required."

"Julius Kaesoron, First Captain of the 3rd legion." He shook my hand, taking care to not break my bones. A bit arrogant, but not a bad guy I think. Not that I ever heard of him in any case. Eidolon is much more famous in my sources of information.

As soon as we finished our introductions we were both hit by a shockwave. The room hangar seemed to have shrunken, as if everything had been swallowed by the simple presence of the figure who entered the deck.

I slowly turned my eyes. I had dealt with Konrad´s presence and aura, but this was absurdly different. If the aura of the 8th son was like being slapped (which it wasn't, it more like being punched in the gut) then this presence was a full on punch to the face.

I froze, I could not move, or speak or think when I locked eyes with the tall silver haired figure. It was accompanied by a presence as overpowering as its own, but the simple gaze of Fulgrim locked my body in its place.

He got closer, slowly the silver haired Primarch of the 3rd Legion, a figure carved like marble, like a statue from renaissance Italy, almost twice my height stopped a few meters from me.

"Welcome, Melkor. Welcome nephews." Fulgrim said, with a voice that was as sweet as honey and a wide sincere smile.

"There are some refreshments further ahead. I imagine we have much to discuss."

Fulgrim extended his hand, expecting me to shake it, but I could not. As I was now, I was unworthy of touching him, it was frighteningly powerful, his aura. Everything I had done seemed pale compared to what I should do. Every word I had spoken to Curze sounded hollow, as if it had not been the best, as if I could have done better, and just like those words this feeling expanded to everything in my life.

Someone punched me in the back. My body moved. I turned to complain, only to realize I could move now.I breathed deeply as I tried to normalize their presence, in my mind. I had left the Primarch waiting due to my negligence on account with this.

"Of course, Lord Fulgrim" I replied and then I shook Fulgrim´s hand. His hand dwarfed mine by an entire order of magnitude, he dwarfed me by an order of magnitude to be fair, yet still it was strange still.

He turned away from me, starting to walk into the vessel proper and it became more and more evident that this specific hangar deck was used not for military purposes, but for more practical diplomatic purposes. It was orderly, tidy, and extremely opulent.

The floor of the main walkway was of cold soft marble, the roof, decorated in a single extensive painting, the column holding it above of dark smooth onyx. The ship looked more like a palace and not a vessel crafted for war. Even with prey sight it was beautiful, the purples turning to black, the reds to shades of ocean blue, the verdant greens to shades of ruby red. Even then it somehow remains as beautiful as before and no less opulent.

Soon statues started to flank us as we walked, of Astartes of the 3rd legion who most likely perished in their duty and were honored as heroes by their genefather. I knew none of them, not that it mattered for me. The dead always outnumber the living, but it is the living who keep the dead alive.

As we went along we found more and more people, Astartes and servants alike. Who saluted and bowed respectively as the Primarchs passed through them. Leaving me, the sole mortal accompanying the Prefector of Chemos completely overlooked. I smirked. I was invisible with him near.

At some point, we reached the end of the main walkway, we reached the Phoenix Gate, the main entryway to the council chamber known as the Heliopolis. Guarded by more astartes it still was, like all things on this vessel, a work of art in itself. Upon its doors was engraved a mural showing the Emperor presenting Fulgrim with the symbol of the Imperial Aquila, a masterful depiction. I wonder if Fulgrim made it himself.

The doors opened and I entered the Heliopolis alongside the Primarch, the two of us alone, as the honor guards remained behind. It was a large circular chamber, lined with pale marble walls, black terrazzo flooring and supported by pillars and bronze statues, its mosaic ceiling dripping with golden and royal purple banners. Overall it was a massive hall, fit feasts, speeches and many other activities as its circular layout permitted all these things to happen without any extra expense. If the hall was too long those at the end would not hear, if it was too wide those at the edge would not see, but in a circle, like the inverse of the ancient Greek theater, all could see and hear Fulgrim speaking from his place of honor.

But we would not be talking in Heliopolis, Fulgrim would only speak in his chambers, whose access was fairly quick and straightforward from the Heliopolis.

Just like everything in this ship, Fulgrim´s personal chambres were opulent, with multiple rooms, and probably a workshop somewhere that he and Ferrus used when they were together. At its center, where all rooms converged was a large table, not unlike the one found aboard the Nightfall. It seemed that while each Primarch had its own eccentricities the base modeling of their chambres remained the same… Or it was simply the case of Konrad copying Fulgrim´s design. Honestly either could be true.

He offered me a seat, and I took it. Fulgrim sat in front of me… Atop the table there were a multitude of delicacies, from pastry sweets to fruits that seemed eerily similar to the terran apples, oranges and peaches, though far more appetizing. Most likely a product from mankind´s manipulation of genetics during the Golden Age.

Fulgrim grabbed a peach, and put it in the plates that were shortly provided after we arrived by some servant in the corner, probably his personal servant already briefed for this meeting. He cut it into eight thin slices and as if he was some arrogant king he ate the first.

I took and apple and without bothering to cut into slices, I know what etiquette was, don't get me wrong, but it was far better to just be myself that hide behind the mannerisms of etiquette, after all I am pretty sure that was how Konrad would operate, I lazily bit a chunk out of it.

"So Melkor, you must tell me how you got dear Konrad to send you. He is often very dismissive about mortals. You, however, seemed to have piqued his interest." Fulgrim asked, after gulping down the first slice of the peach.

I shrugged. "May I assume Konrad informed you about me already?" I questioned, taking another bit of the apple.

His smile grew larger. "Oh yes. He told me many things. That you defied him, that you know about what happened at Nostramo when we first met, and yet you are not Nostraman. He also told me I would betray father, which makes me color surprised on how you are still alive."

I stopped chewing, and slowly tried to stare into his eyes. It was far harder than staring at the Nighthaunter. His aura made me feel as if defying him would be disappointing not only him, but myself, the worst mistake I could possibly make in my entire existence.

"I suppose the only reason you are still talking to me is because your brother wishes me alive and well." I replied, trying to stare at him… Trying but never managing to quite stay looking at him for a prolonged period of time.

He, with frightening speed and fluid swiftness, picked a glass cup from the drawer behind him, filled it with what I assume is water and put it in front of me. He never stopped smiling, though I feel he was being genuine now.

"No," he said as he put the cup down. "I would never betray father, nothing in this galaxy would make me turn against the Emperor. Which makes me question. Why and how did you lie to my brother?"

I stared at the glass for a few seconds, before I felt my heart slowly quicken, my skin growing hotter by the minute. He must have noticed it before me. "Primarchs are scary." I thought to myself.

I grabbed the offered glass and downed it in a single fast motion. The refreshing liquid quickly cooling the pressure of my mind. I stared at him, now yes I stared at him.I stared into those damned perfect purple eyes. I was damned now, what matter was the truth, he would not kill me for it. Anger? Outrage? Yes. But death? No. He values his brothers too much, even Konrad. At least that is what i think

"I did not lie to Konrad. I would be dead if I did, lying is a crime in his mind, after all." I tried to keep my breathing steady, my nerves under control… It was not working. Damn those eyes. "I simply told him things I knew he saw."

Fulgrim tapped his finger on the table, he tapped it twice. ."I know my brother has the gift of foresight, he told me once. He told me that Patroclus, one of my Phoenix Guard, would perish, his head ripped apart by the brutal Xenos species I was sent to drive off when I was still my brother's tutor." His smile turned somber. "He died as my Konrad said, every detail he had told me had been accurate."

We both stayed silent for what seemed an eternity after that. Fulgrim, reliving the memory of losing one of his sons, I was too stunned to speak. I did not know Konrad had told of his gifts to anyone before the incident on Cheraut, at the end of the Crusade.

Fulgrim recomposed himself. Half of my mind wanted to think Fulgrim was manipulating me in this moment, the other thought that his expressions were true. It was impossible for me to truly know in either case. "We did not speak more about his foresight after that. I tried to figure out something to ease his pain… I did not wish to see him clawing his eyes out, like I saw him do when we found him on Nostramo. I found nothing." There was some clear sincere sadness in his face when he spoke these last words. Fulgrim truly did value Konrad, even if Konrad self isolates himself.

"Did your brother ever tell you what he saw when you met him on Nostramo?" I asked, slowly, calmly.

"No." He said with his head, without speaking any word. "I just saw his eyes go to each of us and when he looked at father he tried to claw his eyes out in pain. I have never seen Konrad more hurt than in that moment."

"From my understanding, Fulgrim, and I say this in your confidence." the lack of honorifics made the Phoenician raise his eyebrow, but he did not interrupt me. "Your brother does not trust some of you because of what he saw when meeting them. On Nostramo he first saw Rogal Dorn, he saw the Castellan of Inwit die, dragged down by a hundred murderers in a dark tunnel, their knives and swords wet with warrior's blood."

Fulgrim did not move, but I was almost certain the towering demigod, behind his eyes, in his mind was processing every single word is spoke. Digesting the death of Rogal Dorn.

"He saw Lorgar crowned in psychic fire, screaming at a burning sky." Demons were something the Imperial truth denied. Their existence a falsehood borne of humanity´s ancient superstition. But belief and superstition thrives in the warp, and the four big parasites love to call themselves gods, when they are nothing but a clump of emotions large enough to gain some sort of agency in the warp.

"When he turned to Ferrus, with his silver Necrodermis arms and stern face. He saw his head clutched by its empty eye sockets in another man's armored fingers." I could feel Fugrim´s eyes twitching, he was nervous or holding something back. He had just been told Ferrus would die… Fortunately he did not yet know he himself was his executioner. I do not know what he'd do if he did.

"For me…" the Illuminator said, his voice visibly emotional. How much was natural how much was made up I did not know, but it was a tear jerking tone.

"For you… He saw you in the faintest of images, I imagine a great blurr, always slithering and laughing, never entirely visible. I do believe the fact he did not see your full picture made him more receptive to you."

"But you know what the vision was." he said, reading between lines I did not know were readable. I nodded. "I do, but I cannot tell you. In time I will tell Curze and he perhaps will tell you, but it is not my job to tell everything."

He took those words far better than I would have imagined. Perhaps he did not truly trust my words, no. He almost certainly doubted they were true, especially as it came from me and not his brother. I may be acting in Konrad´s stead with his power and authority granted to me by him, but I was still not the Primarch.

"I do not know any specifics on what he saw when he turned to the Emperor that day, but I have my suspicions, if you would hear them."

Fulgrim thought for long, perhaps in doubt, in curiosity, but in the end he made his choice.

"Perhaps on another day." He said, visibly relaxing. The air visibly lightened, as if a massive pressure in the room was finally lifted. I knew he was using his Primarch aura, but how much it affected your perception of your surroundings had never been something I had not truly noticed until now.

"Now that I know why my brother did not dispose of you when he first met you. I would like to know the person that won his trust. It must be quite the tale. So where were you born, Melkor?" He relaxed now, taking another slice of his peach and eating it as he casually drank some wine alongside it. Mostly for show I expect, as unless you drink Mjod a Primarch cannot get drunk, as far as i know.

I bit the apple, and then I smiled.