Fabius Bile: Clonelord

by Josh Reynolds

  She saw Grule, trying to pry open a dying renegade’s battleplate, and stormed towards him. She caught him in the side with a kick, and he turned, snarling. She hefted her pistol and he shrank back. ‘Soldiers, not hunters, remember?’ she growled. ‘Leave trophy-taking for afterwards, if we survive.’

  ‘But–’ he began.

  She pressed the barrel of her weapon to his brow. ‘Are you questioning me?’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly. He recovered his weapons and loped away, bellowing for his pack. She grunted in satisfaction, and turned, searching for Fulgrim. She caught sight of him striding through the press of battle, his blade reaping a red toll. Only the most debased of the Emperor’s Children tried to stand in his way, and these fell quickly enough.

  All of his uncertainty was gone now. He rampaged among them, killing with grace. But there was an anger there, as well. A burning resentment of those he fought, as if by their very existence, they insulted him. He had not truly seen them for what they were, before. But now he knew, and he roared in fury as he killed them.

  But not all of them. Only some. Only a few. The rest retreated. They fled, driven from his path by some ancient instinct. Not quite self-preservation, but something else. As she stalked in his wake, her kin following warily, she saw a purple-armoured Space Marine crumpled next to a control-cradle, his head in his hands. Multi-coloured tears streaked his scarred features and he looked up at her blankly, as she pressed her weapon to his scalp.

  ‘It is him, but it cannot be him. Why has he come back? Why is he angry with us? We have only ever served him.’ The words came out as a tortured moan, and the renegade groped at her, as if seeking comfort. ‘Why has he forsaken us?’

  ‘You were weak,’ she said flatly, and pulled the trigger. His body slid away, twitching. Not all of them were so affected. Some merely watched in stupefied awe, as if at an enrapturing performance. Others sought escape, falling back to internal bulkheads and hatchways. One or two bared their necks to the chopping blade, laughing as they died. She did not understand, and did not want to. Whatever sickness was in them that made them this way was better left a mystery.

  ‘Where is he?’ Fulgrim shouted, flinging a purple-armoured body from his path. ‘Where is the one who has caused this?’ He fought with unflagging energy, even after having carved them a path from the lower decks. It was as if the act of battle rejuvenated him, as if every death fed him. There was not a mark on him, save the blood of those he’d slain.

  Igori spotted Alkenex, on the observation deck. He was locked in battle with Arrian, and the World Eater didn’t seem to be winning. ‘Fulgrim – there,’ she cried, gesturing towards the prefect. ‘Kill him, and the ship is ours!’

  Fulgrim wheeled about at her cry, turned and surged towards the observation deck with great, leaping bounds. ‘Alkenex,’ he roared. ‘The Phoenix comes for you.’

  ‘What is that thing?’ Alkenex glanced back as the roar echoed over the battle. ‘Another of Fabius’ monsters? Some overgrown vatborn abomination?’ He felt something, some nagging familiarity, pressing against his awareness. It was distracting him.

  The World Eater didn’t answer. Impact craters marked his battleplate, and the carbonised slashes of power weapons decorated his chest and limbs. He slashed at Alkenex with his blades, moving with the disjointed rhythm of the injured. That he had held on this long was impressive. Long enough for Fabius’ mutants to launch a counter-attack. Long enough to make a mess of Alkenex’s carefully orchestrated strategy.

  All of the warriors who had accompanied Alkenex to the upper deck were dead. But in the dying, they had worn Arrian down. Alkenex moved with swift surety, parrying the slashing blades and replying in kind. It was only a matter of time. He exploited the holes in the World Eater’s form, and added new wounds to those already plaguing him.

  Merix wasn’t answering his vox. Most of his subordinates were similarly silent. Alkenex was canny enough to know what that meant. He had underestimated the enemy, and was paying the price. Taking the ship wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d assumed, especially with monsters like that one ranged against him.

  He caught a glimpse of it, as it loped towards the stairs, smashing aside any warrior foolish enough to stand in its path. Whatever it was, he suspected it was responsible for Merix’s silence. A few warriors were falling back before its advance, firing wildly. They seemed almost panicked. None of their shots connected. ‘What are those fools playing at?’ He shoved Arrian back, knocking the Apothecary to one knee.

  The thing turned with startling grace, and deftly beheaded a warrior who sought to attack it from behind. Alkenex’s hearts turned to lead in his chest. He knew that fighting style, as well as he knew his own. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, that’s impossible.’ A thick, phlegm-laced laugh from Arrian startled him. The World Eater lunged.

  ‘What’s the matter, duellist? Can’t trust your own eyes?’

  Alkenex glared at him, as their blades locked. ‘What is that thing? Tell me!’ He beat aside the Apothecary’s blades. ‘Some form of war-beast?’ he demanded desperately. Even as he said the words, he knew it wasn’t. It was something else. Something he refused to see.

  ‘War-god, more like. Don’t tell me you don’t recognise him. I do, and I’m not even one of you.’ Arrian staggered back, breathing harshly. ‘Look at him, fool. Look and see.’

  Alkenex turned back. The stairs shook, and the platform with them, as the being ascended, driving his warriors before it. Emperor’s Children spilled up onto the platform, scrambling backwards, their voices raised in a babble of incomprehension.

  Alkenex lifted his sword, ready to face whatever horror Fabius’ servants had unleashed, Arrian forgotten for the moment. When it reached the top, he finally understood what his senses had been trying to tell him. ‘No,’ he said, hoarsely.

  The creature stopped. It planted its sword into the deck, in that oh-so-familiar way. As good as a signature, that flourish. It reached up, as if to remove its helmet. ‘Don’t,’ Alkenex said, his tone almost pleading. ‘Don’t.’

  The helmet clattered to the deck. Lavender eyes met his own, and pierced him through to his soul. ‘I am Fulgrim,’ the primarch said, in a voice like thunder. ‘I am the Phoenix, risen from the flames of old failures. I am the Illuminator, come to cast aside the pall of ignorance that clouds your minds. I am the Phoenician, in royal purple clad. Now bow down, or die.’

  The words swept over them like storm-winds. The truth in them was impossible to ignore, though they knew that it could not be. Fulgrim could not be here. Fulgrim would not strike them down so callously. And yet, that face. That voice. Those eyes.

  Alkenex only remained standing through sheer will. All around him, his warriors sank down, heads bowed. Some wept, like children. ­Others clawed at their armour, as if to further deface it. One or two prayed to the Dark Prince.

  The Gland-hounds crept onto the deck, surrounding the primarch like an honour guard. That was enough to snap Alkenex from his stupor. This was a trick. It could be nothing else. ‘No, you are not him. I saw him transfigured into something greater. You are not him!’ His hand flew to his bolt pistol.

  Fulgrim turned towards him, eyes narrowing. ‘Stop,’ he rumbled.

  Alkenex fired.

  The crackle of displaced air and the shimmering tendrils of energy faded, revealing Fabius standing beside Trazyn. Combatants all across the command deck drew back as the two stepped forward, their ­sceptres clanking against the deck in unison. ‘Well. This is disappointing. Could you not wait even a few hours, Flavius?’

  Alkenex stood dumbfounded, his bolt pistol clattering from his hand, forgotten. ‘Fabius… what…?’ he croaked. Arrian stood, blades lowered. Mutants and Space Marines stared. But not at him. At something behind him.

  Fabius’ smile faded. He turned. He saw Fulgrim kneeling, cradling something. Someone. Trazyn gave a rasping chuckle. ‘We appear to
have come at an inopportune time.’

  Fabius ignored the Necron. ‘What is this? Fulgrim? What have you done?’ Then, more forcefully, ‘What have you done?’

  Fulgrim looked at him, his face twisted into an almost childlike expression of grief. ‘Teacher… Fabius… I…’ He bent, and Fabius saw what – who – he held.

  ‘Igori,’ Fabius hissed. He strode forward quickly. He knelt and checked her vitals, waving Fulgrim back. The wound would have killed a normal human, but Igori was not normal. She would survive. That much to be thankful for, then.

  ‘B-Benefactor, I have disobeyed you,’ she said weakly. She clutched at his hand.

  ‘What have you done, child?’

  ‘I – we – sought only to help you, teacher,’ Fulgrim said softly. Fabius glared at him, and Fulgrim recoiled. He looked about him, at the bodies. At Arrian, wounded, his blood staining the deck. The World Eater had sagged back against the hololith projector, his breathing laboured as his injuries caught up with him. At the wreckage.

  ‘She – she leapt in front of me.’ Fulgrim looked down at him, his perfect features writ into the ideal expression of sorrow. ‘Like a true child of the Legion.’ He made as if to reach for Igori, but Fabius slapped his hand aside. It felt like striking a stone, but Fulgrim flinched.

  ‘She was hurt, protecting you?’

  ‘As you made her to do,’ the clone said. ‘I have read your notes. They were made to be warriors. To serve us. And she has. As you intended.’ He spoke soothingly. ‘And I led them, as you wished.’

  ‘As I…’ Fabius shook his head. ‘You cannot conceive of what I made her to do. Or what I wished for either of you.’ He glanced around. Trazyn watched with bemused interest. Alkenex stared at him in open horror. Everyone else seemed frozen in the moment. Even the Vesalius seemed to be holding its breath.

  ‘Then explain it to me,’ Fulgrim said. ‘But tell me, and I shall weep for her. To me, she is a warrior. And she suffered a warrior’s wound.’ He reached for his sword.

  ‘A warrior’s wound,’ Fabius spat. He looked around. An army occupied the bridge, an army made from his creations. But an army loyal to Fulgrim. An army willing to die for Fulgrim. Or the thing that wore Fulgrim’s face. How had this happened? How had he been so blind? ‘Is that what they are to you? Warriors?’

  ‘Yes,’ Fulgrim said, as if confused. ‘Your warriors. I led them in your name.’

  ‘And who asked you to do that?’ Fabius resisted the urge to fire his needler into those too-perfect features. He wouldn’t get a single shot off before Fulgrim ripped his arm from the socket. Or, possibly, before his own creatures fell on him – he could see the light of newborn devotion burning in their eyes. Primarchs were made to be followed. Only a strong will could resist the emotional pull they exerted. So many dead. So much work wasted. And for what? So Fulgrim could play warrior. ‘I told you to stay hidden. To remain out of sight.’

  ‘Fabius,’ Alkenex said hesitantly, before Fulgrim could reply. Hoarsely. ‘I knew you were hiding something, but not this. I did not expect this.’ He gazed at the looming clone with an expression of beatific awe. ‘Where did you – when did you do this?’

  ‘What does it matter now?’

  ‘It changes everything, Fabius. He is the primarch – the Phoenician as he was, then.’

  ‘And as he should be now?’ Fabius said. He looked at Alkenex. ‘Careful, Flavius. The Phoenix would not care to hear you say that.’

  Alkenex shook his head. ‘It does not matter. It – he – exists. He is here, and I – forgive me.’ He crumpled with a dull clang, falling to his knees. He tore off his helmet, and held out his sword, balanced across his palms. Fulgrim smiled beatifically, and in that moment, Fabius saw the ghost of the true Phoenician in him. Not the hero of lost Chemos, but the arrogant creature who had been so easily seduced by false promises. The monster that valued his own perfection, over the lives of his sons.

  ‘I forgive you, my son,’ Fulgrim said softly. He looked around. ‘I forgive you all, my wayward sons.’ He laid a hand on Alkenex’s shoulder. ‘I know you… Flavius Alkenex. You were with me at Byzas. I remember.’

  Alkenex gripped Fulgrim’s hand. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes. I was with you. I followed you. I… I followed wherever you led.’

  Fulgrim nodded. ‘And will you follow me now, my son?’

  ‘My primarch,’ Alkenex said. ‘You are returned to us.’ Fabius saw he was weeping. ‘Yes, I will follow you. I will follow you.’ Around them, other Emperor’s Children were sinking to their knees, moaning in mingled sorrow and longing.

  Fulgrim looked at Fabius. ‘The gene-tithe, Fabius,’ he said. ‘Is it safe?’ His eyes blazed with new strength, new awareness. As if the truth of him had been restored in battle.

  Fabius felt the weight of that gaze. And he cursed the part of himself that responded. ‘It is,’ he said, his voice a hoarse rasp. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of some great chasm, and one more step would send him plunging into impossible gulfs.

  ‘Then we have succeeded,’ Fulgrim said. ‘We shall be reborn, my sons. We shall rise. And the galaxy shall rise with us, as it was always meant to do.’ His words echoed across the deck like soft thunder and Fabius stepped back from the edge.

  He looked at Trazyn, standing still and silent nearby. ‘I would like to amend our bargain. Instead of my clone, take this one.’ He spoke quickly, not trusting himself to say the words. Something in him shrieked in despair, but he forced it aside. It was necessary. It had to be done.

  Fulgrim looked at him in puzzlement. ‘What? Fabius?’ He took a step, and Fabius backed away. Fulgrim frowned. A child’s frown. Confused. Hurt. He did not understand. He could not understand. He simply…was.

  ‘No, Benefactor,’ Igori whispered, clutching at him. ‘Do not do this.’

  ‘I must. For you.’ For them all. He could see it now – the madness that had gripped them, him included. He had almost slipped back into the old ways, and let the future burn in the fires of the Phoenix’s resurrection. His great work, all for nothing. All that he had endured, all that he had striven for, undone by the being before him. Igori… his New Men… he saw them now, in his mind’s eye, bending knee before Fulgrim. Abasing themselves. He would not allow it. Could not.

  ‘An interesting proposal.’ Trazyn looked up at the primarch. ‘I came close to adding a similar being to my collection many centuries ago. Are you certain?’

  ‘He is yours.’ Fabius rose to his feet, cradling Igori to his chest. ‘I thought he might be of some use, but I see now that I was wrong.’ Fulgrim flinched, his eyes widening. He retrieved his sword.

  ‘Teacher? What are you talking about? I have done all of this for you. Are you displeased? What have I done wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Fabius said. The word felt like poison on his tongue. ‘You have done nothing wrong. But this was a mistake. I must rectify it.’

  Alkenex rose hastily to his feet as well. ‘Fabius – I do not know what daemon’s bargain you have made with this creature, but stop. Think. Do not do this. Whatever else has gone on between us, do not do this…’

  Fabius ignored him. ‘Go, Trazyn. Take him, and be damned.’

  ‘Do not take him from us again, Fabius,’ Alkenex said. ‘Please.’ He raised his sword. ‘Damn you, Spider, listen to me!’ Fulgrim turned, reaching out to stop him, but Alkenex was already moving, his face a mask of grief. Trazyn laughed hollowly and gestured as Alkenex rushed at Fabius, blade held high. He, Fulgrim, and the rest of the ­Emperor’s Children on the bridge froze, as if they were not flesh and blood, but statues. The primarch still had a puzzled expression on his face, like a child being reprimanded for something he did not understand.

  Trazyn looked up at him admiringly. ‘Exquisite.’

  Fabius looked at Trazyn. ‘Take these others as well, if you like, since they are so eager to join him. It will m
ake a fine collection – the primarch, and his loyal curs.’

  ‘My thanks, Clonelord. He is truly excellent, and will make a fine addition to my collection.’ Trazyn looked at him. ‘Your prize has already been transported to this ship’s cargo holds. Take it with my compliments.’

  ‘Good. Now get off my ship.’

  Trazyn laughed again, a mocking, metallic death-rattle, and vanished with a rush of displaced air. Fulgrim and the others vanished with him. Fabius stood alone on the deck with the surviving Gland-hounds. The New Men cowered back as he fixed them with a glare. ‘Return to your lairs, curs. Go. Now.’ They jerked into motion before the whip-crack echoes of his command had faded.

  ‘The Vesalius is unhappy,’ Wolver croaked. The overseer crouched near the rail, cradling its cracked skull. A moment later, it added, ‘Butcher-Bird requesting permission to dock.’

  Fabius’ expression didn’t change. Someone had survived then. That was something, at least. He looked down at Igori, and hoped that Mayshana was with them. ‘I am sorry,’ he murmured. Then, to Wolver, ‘Permission granted. Let them know I will be in the apothecarium.’

  The vatborn were already at work when he arrived, stripping Arrian of his armour and tending to his wounds. The World Eater was barely conscious; blood loss had caught up with him quickly. Fabius ignored his attempts to speak.

  He set to work on Igori, quickly ripping open her armour and clothes to expose the wound. She had fallen unconscious somewhere between the command deck and the apothecarium. That she had remained conscious for as long as she had was astounding. Despite the damage it had sustained on Solemnace, the chirurgeon knew what to do. When he was satisfied that she would live, he stepped back to allow the vatborn to tend to her. They would take better care of her than her own kin.

  He cleaned his hands aimlessly as they worked. ‘How could you have allowed yourselves to be led into foolishness? I had hoped to have bred such weakness out of you, but I see now that I was wrong.’ He turned away from her unconscious form, shaking his head. It wasn’t the first time he had overestimated one of his creations. ‘There is still much work to be done,’ he muttered. ‘So much work.’