Manflayer - Josh Reynolds

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Manflayer - Josh Reynolds Page 30

by Warhammer 40K


  ‘Your slaves live, Fabius. And it is not them that you should fear for.’

  Fabius whirled, Torment springing up as a great blade descended like a guillotine’s edge. He caught the blow, and felt something in his arm and chest twist and rupture from the force of it. The chirurgeon shrilled a warning and chem-pumps chugged frantically. A second blade swept out, and he leapt back, narrowly avoiding it. A third and a fourth followed, driving him back against a pillar.

  Adrenal implants fired, filling his flagging limbs with strength. Stimm-slugs pulsed, and the world around him seemed to slow to the speed of treacle. He snatched the needler from its holster as a holographic targeting array settled over his vision. His attacker was fast – massive. A daemon? He fired, filling the air between them with poisonous darts.

  A golden blade swept out, slicing the darts from the air. A second blade thrust forward, and Fabius lurched out of its path with desperate speed. The blade split the pillar. Fabius scrambled awkwardly behind a statue as his attacker slithered across the silvery grasses.

  ‘Who are you?’ he called out, as he reloaded the needler. ‘What is the meaning of this? I came in peace!’

  Silken laughter filled the glade. ‘Never has so bald-faced a lie ever been uttered here. For shame, Fabius. You know very well that there is no peace among the thirsting stars.’ Scales rasped as the looming shape slipped past a fallen pillar, tracing its blades against the stones. ‘There is no hope, no future, no past. Only the red now.’

  ‘I have heard those words before,’ Fabius said, tightening his grip on Torment. ‘On Harmony. In my labs in Canticle City.’ He licked his lips, listening.

  Silence.

  Then, stone scraped. Fabius slowly looked up. A smiling face, framed by a mane of silvery-white hair, peered down at him with childlike delight.

  ‘Hello, Fabius. It has been an eternity, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Father,’ Fabius growled. He shoved away from the statue and spun, firing as he moved. Fulgrim sprang from his perch, too swiftly to track. Torment connected with a golden blade, and the daemon-spirit bound within the cane screeched as Fabius was driven back. His armour’s servos whined as he struggled against his opponent.

  ‘You are quicker than I remember, Fabius,’ Fulgrim said. ‘Have you improved upon yourself, at last? Added a little something to the mix, perhaps?’

  ‘I did not come here to fight,’ Fabius said, through gritted teeth.

  ‘Clearly. Then, you were never a proper soldier, were you? Always too busy cutting open your brothers to bother with fighting beside them.’ Fulgrim flung him back with an almost gentle heave. Fabius slammed into a broken plinth and fell onto his hands and knees.

  He silenced the sudden flood of damage alerts and forced himself to his feet. Torment babbled warnings, filling his head with its whispers. He tightened his grip, trying to silence the weapon. It was frightened, and he couldn’t blame it. It was like a wild cat facing down a tiger.

  He turned, trying to track Fulgrim as the latter circled him. His gene-father had not changed much since they’d last encountered one another.

  ‘What I did, I did for the good of us all. You know that, in whatever passes for your mind these days.’

  Fulgrim laughed. ‘Always the storyteller, Fabius!’ He turned, looking at Melusine. She had not moved throughout their confrontation. Fabius wondered whether it was due to indecision – or amusement. ‘You see? I told you. Even now, he refuses to admit his part in things. He has always been so stubborn.’ He looked back at Fabius, an elegant smirk on his too-perfect features. ‘Do not think harshly of her, my son. My… granddaughter sought only to help you, though in your anger you could not see it. A family trait, I suspect.’

  Fabius glared at him. ‘We are not family. We share a genetic legacy, nothing more.’ He frowned. ‘And not even that, now. You are nothing but a dream, Father. One all the galaxy will soon awaken from.’ He looked at Melusine. ‘And you as well, daughter. You have twisted your truth into a lie – and for what?’

  ‘Is a lie told to preserve truth still a lie?’

  Fabius threw up his hands in consternation. ‘What else would it be, fool child? A falsehood is a falsehood, whatever its purpose!’ He pointed at Fulgrim. ‘He taught me that. And even if he’s forgotten it now, I still hold to it.’ He shook his head. ‘I made a mistake, coming here. I should have known better. This has been a trap from the beginning.’

  ‘Oh, Fabius, really. The arrogance of you!’ Fulgrim reached up and plucked a piece of fruit from a hanging vine. He took a bite, and dark juices ran down his chin and chest. ‘You never left the trap, boy. The moment you set foot in the Laer temple, you were caught fast the same as the rest of us. Granted, your desires took a more circuitous form than I might have predicted, but the end result is the same. You are no less a slave to your lusts than any of your brothers.’

  ‘And are you a slave as well, Father?’

  Fulgrim took another bite of fruit, giving every sign of relishing the taste. ‘I was born a slave, Fabius. And even after I took Chemos, I was still a slave. The Anathema came and made all my accomplishments as ashes.’ He gestured with a juice-stained claw. ‘That is the story of us. We were tools, made for a purpose. We were no more in control of our destinies than your scuttling vatborn. When I realised this, I knew that the only true freedom lay in choosing my own master.’

  Fabius turned away. ‘I always knew you were weak,’ he said. ‘We all did, I think. And we are as guilty of pampering you as Angron’s sons are of coddling him. We broke you as surely as the World Eaters broke the Red Angel. We gave in to your whims and petulancies, rather than standing firm and teaching you as the Emperor asked.’

  Fulgrim tossed the gnawed core of fruit at Fabius’ feet. ‘Pampering. Is that what you call it?’ He reared up, scales rasping. ‘You defied me at every turn, Fabius, even as I protected you from the sins of your past. It is only by the grace of the Dark Gods that you survived the Great Crusade – and the less said of the Heresy, the better. Were there a mote of justice in this universe, your bones would have been cast upon the midden already.’

  Fulgrim selected another piece of fruit. ‘Instead, you persist. You are one of the architects of all that has befallen us, and your reward is your continued survival. Be thankful, Fabius.’ He paused. ‘Then, perhaps I expect too much. Gratitude is beyond your capacities.’

  ‘Gratitude? Gratitude?’ Fabius snarled. ‘If I am indeed the architect of our damnation, then who provided me with the raw materials? Who commanded me to make plans – who set the wheels of my achievements into motion? From where I stand, that was your doing, Father. You demanded more of me than I could give. You set an impossible standard and grew petulant when I could not meet it.’

  Fulgrim chewed thoughtfully, as if considering Fabius’ words. ‘Or maybe you gave up too easily.’ He smiled, and took another bite of fruit. ‘I no longer require sustenance, you know. Not of the physical variety, at least.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ Fabius said flatly.

  ‘Yes, I rather thought so.’ Fulgrim looked at him. ‘It is one of many mortal frailties I have shed. Anger is another. I only grow angry when I desire to do so. Or when I am bored.’ He leaned forward. ‘Do you know why she brought you here, Fabius? To protect you.’

  ‘Protect–?’ Fabius glanced at Melusine. Her quicksilver eyes met his, and he looked away first. ‘Protect me from what?’

  ‘Yourself, mostly. You have always been your own greatest enemy. Your hubris, your obsession… your own body eats itself. You are entropy manifested.’ Fulgrim slithered towards him. ‘The enemies who hound you would have come for you sooner or later. And if not them, others. Abaddon, perhaps. Erebus, certainly. The gods would eventually have grown bored of you, Fabius, and sent their slaves to murder you in your lair. But now… ah, now.’ Fulgrim clasped all four hands before him. ‘Now, your worth is established. Yo
ur place in the game set. Now, my son, you have purpose.’

  ‘I always had purpose.’

  Fulgrim smirked. ‘The galaxy has no need of a new humanity when the old one is still so tasty. But it does need monsters. And those who can make monsters.’

  Fabius stiffened. ‘Monsters.’

  ‘Oh yes. You were always such a creative craftsman when it came to the monstrous. A shame that you have let other concerns distract you.’ Fulgrim gave a lazy gesture. ‘But no more. Now, you will do what you were made to do. As the gods demand, so shall you obey. Full circle, my son.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Fabius looked back at Melusine. ‘What does he mean?’

  ‘I mean,’ Fulgrim interjected, ‘that it is time to put away childish things. Your days of playing at godhood are over. You are only a little thing, after all, in a vast galaxy.’

  Fabius’ eyes widened in sudden comprehension. ‘You mean to enslave me.’

  Fulgrim chuckled. ‘You served the gods from the moment you cut open your first mouse, Fabius. The moment you started your search for knowledge, you offered yourself up to them on a silver platter.’

  ‘I did no such thing,’ Fabius said. But he heard the doubt in his own voice.

  ‘You offered up me as well. And your brothers. You were the poison in the Legion’s veins from the first, whether you admit it or not. And while I personally thank you for your efforts on my behalf, some do not feel as kindly towards you.’

  Fulgrim wrenched the helm from Fabius’ head and flicked a talon across his scalp, releasing streamers of blood. Fabius clutched at the wound. Fulgrim followed him as he staggered away.

  ‘They will hunt you, when they learn of your weakness. And not just them. Every petty warlord you’ve ever crossed, every brother you’ve betrayed, will come looking for their pound of flesh.’

  Fabius spun. He slashed Torment out with desperate ferocity, and Fulgrim took the weapon from him as easily as a parent might disarm a wayward child.

  ‘That is why you’ve come, of course. A naughty boy, looking to hide behind Father.’ He loomed over Fabius. ‘But I am not your father, am I, Fabius? You’ve said as much, hundreds of times. Are you a hypocrite, then?’

  ‘I am what you made me,’ Fabius snarled, as Fulgrim slammed him against a pillar.

  Fulgrim laughed. ‘Haven’t you been listening? I didn’t make you. They did. All that you are was written by them, at the beginning of time. Rejoice, Fabius – you are an important cog in an extraordinary machine.’

  ‘You’re mad.’

  ‘Yes. As you are mad. As the universe is mad.’ Fulgrim caught the back of his head in an iron grip. ‘But think of what you could accomplish, Fabius, if you but accepted the gifts of the Dark Prince… as I have become, so might you be.’

  ‘I have no wish to be as you are.’

  Fulgrim’s grip tightened. ‘You are lying, Fabius. I am perfection itself. I am Vitruvian Man, sculpted from the lifeblood of the universe. Isn’t that how you once described me?’

  ‘Once, maybe. You are something else, now.’ Fabius winced as Fulgrim’s claws dug into his scalp. He felt blood run down his neck.

  ‘And you are nothing, Fabius. You exist only at my sufferance. But even my patience has its limits.’ He pressed Torment against Fabius’ chest.

  ‘Will you kill me then, Father? Will you tear me asunder in a fit of childish pique? Or will you tell me why you have brought me here?’

  Fulgrim released him, and Fabius stumbled. ‘Direct as ever, my son.’ Fulgrim slithered past him, licking his bloody fingers. ‘You have a part to play, as do we all.’

  Fabius touched the back of his head. The wounds had already scabbed over. He started after Fulgrim. ‘And that is?’

  ‘Nothing too onerous, I assure you. You will forge weapons. You will make soldiers. You will provide them to your enemies and allies alike. You will seek out ways to improve them, and work to do so tirelessly.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the game of war cannot be waged without weapons and warri­ors to wield them.’ Fulgrim cast Torment into the dirt at Fabius’ feet.

  Fabius looked up. ‘Once, you did not think of war as entertainment.’

  Fulgrim hesitated. For a moment, his monstrousness receded, and Fabius saw a glimmer of the man he had been. ‘Once, I was but a child, and believed childish things. War is a game, and one must play to win.’

  ‘And am I part of this war now?’

  ‘You have always been a part of it. You just didn’t know it. Even now, I suspect your arrogance will not allow you to admit it.’ Fulgrim smiled. ‘In that, at least, you far outstrip me. Were it possible, I might be proud of you for that.’

  He leaned close, and Fabius could smell the celestial rot beneath his perfumes.

  ‘You come here to ask for my help. This is my price. This is Slaanesh’s price. Do as you are meant to do, and your creations will be spared the coming storm. We will take them under our wing, Fabius. We will teach them and guide them. I was the greatest of teachers in my day. I look forward to tutoring them in new ways to shout, revel and kill.’

  ‘You will do nothing of the sort.’

  Fulgrim reared, as if in shock. ‘But that is the bargain.’

  ‘The bargain is for their safety. From you, as well as my other foes. My creations – all of them – will be left unmolested, to find their fate as they see fit.’

  ‘And if they choose to serve us, as dear Melusine did?’

  Fabius was silent for long moments. ‘Then that is their choice.’ He looked up at Fulgrim. ‘Unlike you, Father, I have learned from my mistakes.’

  Fulgrim smiled. ‘And that is why you are my favourite, Fabius. Rather than making the same mistakes over and over again, you make brand new ones. It keeps things ever so interesting.’ He turned, head tilted as if listening to some voice that Fabius could not perceive. A moment later, he turned back. ‘Agreed. A good bargain.’

  ‘Very well.’ Fabius turned. ‘I will take my leave now.’

  ‘Oh no. Not yet.’ Fulgrim swiftly encircled him. ‘First, a sign of fealty is required.’

  ‘What sort of sign?’

  Fulgrim’s smile was wider than his face. A moment later, the garden ceased to be. It blew away like dust, taking with it Fulgrim and Melusine, leaving only the black and the stars between.

  ‘What must I do?’ he asked, in that moment of utter silence. ‘What must I do to keep my children safe?’

  In answer, something rose from nothing. A flat stone. As long as a man and wider by half, not carved by human hands. Shaped instead by time and tide, into a perfect altar. The first altar and the last. And on its flat surface – a knife. A crude thing, with a blade of chipped stone and a handle wrapped in animal hair.

  Fabius stared at it. He looked up, but no answer was forthcoming. There was only a pregnant silence, as the gods waited to see what he would do. He went to the altar and picked up the knife. It weighed nothing, and yet was heavier than any weapon known to man.

  He looked down. His armour, his coat – all gone. The chirurgeon and Torment as well. He was alone. For the first time in centuries, he was truly alone. He examined himself with an Apothecary’s eye – the thinness of his frame, the way his flesh wrinkled against his bones, the rawness of the contact nodes, the liver spots, the stink of weakness.

  ‘A… friend of mine has often told me that there are only two types of people – those who lie on the stone, and those who hold the knife. I think I have held this knife forever. For longer than I can recall.’ As he spoke, he brandished it. The stone became steel, and the knife became a scalpel, if only for an instant. He remembered his experiments – the faces of those sacrificed in order to buy him time, to buy him knowledge. Freedom.

  The faces of his brothers at Isstvan and beyond. Of a thousand innocents, on Terra.

 
Of his children, as their world burned.

  ‘But now, it is my turn to lie on the stone. To ensure that the sun rises and the crops grow and that my people are safe.’

  He climbed onto the altar and clasped the knife with two hands. It took a moment to steady it. To steel himself, though he had done worse things to himself many times before. He pressed the point of the blade to his chest.

  He barely felt it go in. But he felt what came after.

  Fabius screamed, and there was a sound, as of a great wind roaring through unseen trees. Then – silence.

  ‘There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’

  Fabius, bloody and panting, glared at his gene-father. He rolled off of the altar and looked down at himself. There was no sign of the wound in his chest, and he was once more clad in his armour. The chirurgeon chuntered into his ear. The garden spread out around him once more. Daemons watched from the fringes, tittering with glee. Some he thought he even recognised. Creatures he had faced before and banished – now come to gloat at his surrender.

  Sickened, he extended the knife. It was still wet with his blood.

  ‘Would that I had the strength to flense your scales from your bones, Father. I would teach you lessons of agony that you would never forget.’

  Fulgrim raised an eyebrow. ‘Fabius… I have never heard you speak so.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe you aren’t such a disappointment after all.’ He took the knife and licked the blood from it. ‘You can find your own way home, I trust. Dear Narvo and that urchin with the hooves are waiting for you.’

  ‘What about our bargain. What about the aid you promised me?’

  Fulgrim glanced over his shoulder as he continued to slither away. ‘The bargain will be kept, my son. Never fear. Though you may wish otherwise, before we are through with you.’ With that, he vanished into the greenery, leaving behind only the echoes of his taunting laughter. Fabius took a step after him, but stopped.

  Melusine was waiting for him when he turned.

  ‘Melusine,’ he began.

  ‘Not yet, Father.’ She stepped back, out of reach. ‘But soon. They will be coming for you. You must prepare.’

 

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