He should have thrown this sword into a lava pit the mont it touched his hand.
Enkidu thought with bitter irritation. He placed the blade as far away from himself as the table allowed, only to reluctantly pull it back under Varex's thinly veiled, threatening gaze.
The blade lay flat on the table, its mirror-polished surface reflecting a face that was the epito of the Emperor's Children. Long, snow-white hair, eyes of vibrant violet, and features of unearthly beauty.
He blinked. The blade functioned as a perfect mirror, reflecting his countenance with eerie clarity. Yet, the figure in the reflection was not him. The man in the mirror wore a full suit of Power Armor, gold filigree flowing across the plate like spilled ink, turning the Royal Purple of the Legion into a re accent. A crimson-backed cloak fell elegantly from his shoulders, eting golden aiguillettes at the pauldrons. Beneath the braids, a double-headed eagle glead with a righteous light.
Behind the reflection, equally glorious battle-brothers were gathered in a celebratory hall. They sat in small groups, cradling chalices, engaging in refined, dignified conversation—the very picture of the Third Legion's lost nobility. The Phoenician himself sat at the head of the table, watching over them with a proud, generous gaze.
It was beautiful. It was harmonious. And it was a complete and utter lie.
Enkidu stared at the blade with visceral loathing. His mind drifted to another story—one of perfection and the inevitable fall.
In the far-off days of the Great Crusade, Fulgrim had been the paragon of nobility. He had once held a mortal girl aloft, commanding his sons never to despise the weak. But he had fallen. He had plunged deeper and deeper into the abyss of sensation.
And it had all started with a xenos weapon.
Enkidu looked around. The reality before him was the twisted, rotting inverse of the vision in the blade. The more disgusted he felt by the present, the more he found himself yearning for the illusory past reflected in the steel. He couldn't take it anymore. He activated his psychic power, letting it flow through his veins to shatter the sword's "charm." Ignoring the Warband Leader's glare, he slamd the blade into the deck plating with all his strength.
The crystalline blade let out a high-pitched, shriek-like wail. Varex clicked his tongue in annoyance, though he seed secretly delighted by Enkidu's overt defiance.
"Such an ungrateful little thing. Is my gift not to your liking?" Varex asked, his tone bored and predictable. He reached for a fresh chemical vat, flooding his system with a new surge of stimulants. "Fine, fine. You stubborn brat. Since you have no interest in my treasures, let us proceed to the next act."
Look at , how generous I am, Varex thought with pride. He will surely be grateful. He will finally acknowledge as his enlightened master.
Varex unleashed a summoning shriek.
Six Aeldari were dragged into the hall from behind a silk curtain. They were tattered, covered in scars, and their flesh had been tattooed with massive marks of Slaanesh that pulsed with a rhythmic, sickly pink light. A blind old woman, her eyes sewn shut with silver wire, followed behind them, barking orders like a drover.
The other marines in the hall finally looked up, watching with predatory interest as the old woman forced the slaves to construct a makeshift sacrificial altar. She began to bind the xenos to the cold tal.
A wave of nausea roiled in Enkidu's stomach. He stood up, unable to stomach any more.
On a personal level, he had no love for the Eldar—they were among the primary reasons the galaxy had beco a slaughterhouse. But on a cosmic level, he knew he had to stop this sacrifice. He couldn't let them complete a ritual to the Dark Prince here.
A chorus of voices began to sing from beyond the Veil, eagerly awaiting the "al." Enkidu marched toward the altar. In the cacophony of the music, he didn't even rember what he said to Varex, or how he drew his sabre, aiming it at both the Eldar and the old woman.
Just as the woman began to scream her Slaaneshi hymns, plunging her blade toward an Eldar soul-stone, blood erupted without warning from her eyes, her mouth, and her ears. The song from the Warp snapped into a discordant shriek, and a massive explosion centered on the altar tore through the hall.
Enkidu felt himself tossed into the air like a rag-doll, slamming into a distant wall.
After a split-second blackout, he grunted and hauled his arm out of the buckled ceramite bulkhead, looking upon the devastation.
The palace was a ruin. The "joy" had been ground into dust. Both the mortals and the xenos were dead, their remains buried under heaps of gold jewelry and shredded silks. A few Astartes crawled out from the debris, cursing as they looked at their spilled wine.
A cold, clean breeze blew from the Immaterium, carrying the scent of fresh earth and rain.
Varex stood trembling, his voice rising into a maddened roar.
"Damnation... my banquet! What has happened?!" The Warband Leader clawed at his own arms, his mind fracturing. "It's impossible... I can't feel it! I can't feel a damn thing! My Lord, my Love, He must hate for failing! Who did this?! Who?!"
"Was it you?"
"Or you?!"
Varex spun through the ruins like a blind animal, his eyes finally locking onto Enkidu.
"It was you! I saw it! You walked toward my advisor, and then she exploded!"
"That is enough!" A deafening roar shattered the tension as the main doors were blown inward. Telax stepped into the ruin, his voice booming through the vaulted ceiling. "Look at yourself. A pathetic wretch who can't even maintain a single hall! You hold a feast, I tolerate it. You take my initiates, I tolerate it. But now you've even botched a sacrifice to the Dark Prince. Is there anything you can do?"
"It was the recruit's fault!" Varex shrieked back.
"If an initiate could kill your senior psychic advisor under your very nose, then he wouldn't be an initiate anymore. In that case, he should be your master," Telax spat back. He reached out and hauled Enkidu behind his massive fra.
Enkidu pressed his lips together, staying silent. In a world of monsters, having soone "watching your back" felt surprisingly good.
But what caused that explosion? he wondered. I didn't use my power.
"Shut your mouth, Telax! My faith is absolute! The failure was an accident!"
Varex lunged toward Telax, his sonic blaster barking as it reduced the remaining pillars to dust. Telax dodged the disorganized assault, continuing his verbal flaying.
"Truly? 'Faithful' Varex? Then tell ... if you are as 'devout' as you claim, why did the ritual fail? If you are as 'successful' as you say, why do we have fewer than five thousand bolter shells in the vaults? Why is our prothium reserve so low we can't even sustain a six-month voyage?"
"Lies!" Varex's face twisted into a mask of pure, comical rage. "If it weren't for those xenos, we would have gained everything!"
"The xenos. Yes. You couldn't even finish them off, and now their survivors have called their kin."
As the duel intensified, both veterans began to take damage. Eventually, Telax's blade snapped, and the casing of Varex's sonic blaster cracked.
"Fine," Varex said, his voice suddenly shifting back to a forced calm as he buried his hatred deep in his soul. "Let us be a 'family' once more. The first step toward reconciliation... how about we finally grant your precious new blood their Power Armor?"
~~----------------------
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