Interlude 41: The First Daemon Ascendant

Van Cleef tilted his head back, gazing silently at the familiar Fer Zalost. 🎄🍓 ☮💢

The surroundings were dark and almost completely enclosed. Ashes were scattered everywhere, floating upside down, slowly but very real. Five iron chains, made by Fer himself, bound him firmly to a pale white stone pillar. The ground was black, unlike metal, with flickering flames.

"I didn't expect them to actually work," Van Cleef said, breaking the silence after a long pause.

Fer slowly raised his head, his empty eye sockets showing no light. He responded to Van Cleef's words after a long while, appearing very slow.

"They work only because I haven't actually crossed that line yet."

"But you don't look human anymore, Fer," Van Cleef said sternly.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Intellectually I know you are still Fer Zalost, but instinct tells me you have become something else. It's as if the one speaking to me is merely a shell called Fer Zalost, while the thing beneath that shell is..."

"It can't come out yet," Fer said.

He looked down at the five iron chains binding him, and exhaled a breath of cold air as if sighing.

"The Chains of Vengeance help me maintain my dignity to some extent, and most importantly, I can temporarily escape those whispers."

"You call it the Chains of Vengeance?"

"My naming skills have never been very good."

"No, I think it's a very fitting name," Van Cleef said. He stared at the chains, faint shouts echoing in his ears.

The endless hatred of those who died unjustly transcended the Veil's constraints at this moment, reaching his ears. Each cry was filled with blood and boundless resentment. He watched for a while, then looked away, and the sound disappeared again.

"Really?" Fer asked skeptically. "You really think so? I would be honored, Van Cleef. After all these years, you've finally given some recognition to a name I've proposed."

There's only one.

That's enough.

Silence fell once more in the dimly lit room; no one spoke. Fer lowered his head again, as if entering a deep sleep.

The cracks on his skin were multiplying, and his armor looked like steel that had been burned and cooled, and it was subtly deforming. Van Cleef knew this wasn't his imagination; he could see the subtle changes in the patterns.

This Mk II Power Armour, which has fought alongside Fer for so long, is nearing the end of its lifespan. After that, will it transform and be reborn, or will it simply become broken scrap metal?

Van Cleef knows the answer, but he won't say it now.

"So, where are we now?" Fer asked.

He raised his head again, and wisps of hair, like Embers from a fire, slid down his forehead, obscuring his empty eye sockets.

"No, let's answer another question first. How many of us are left?"

"Twenty-three thousand seven hundred and forty-nine people," Van Cleef uttered expressionlessly. "You should know better than I do, Fer. I don't believe you can't hear them."

I can hear it. But I dare not listen.

"Why?"

"I can't listen now," Fer repeated. "It's not the right time, Van Cleef. You have no idea what I've seen. My death can't come before that moment; I must die a more meaningful death."

"In a sense, that's not death," Van Cleef replied coldly.

"But it's not a promotion either." Fer replied with the same coldness, but with a wry smile. "I'm starting to understand why the instructor has been so pessimistic about this; he understands what it really is better than anyone else."

Van Cleef paused for a moment, then changed the subject, his tone curt. "How are you feeling now? Jairzinho, I'm asking you these things; we need to write them down. There will only be more and more people like you in the future."

"There are already signs, aren't there?" Fer asked casually. "I can sense some flickering lights through the walls and the ground. Okay, the first thing you need to remember is, don't leave me alone with them."

"Them?"

"Those who can already ignite fury," Fer said. "I have a certain instinct. In fact, a craving. If left unchecked, I fear I might hasten their deaths."

"Understood." Van Cleef nodded to him. "So, the second one?"

"Secondly, I crave killing," Fer said in a low voice. "Far beyond instinct or duty, more terrifying than a beast's thirst for sustenance."

How intense was it?

"It's a hundred times more terrifying than you can imagine. I have a feeling this desire will never end. It's a madness that shouldn't exist, its sole purpose being Vengeance for all those who died unjustly."

Van Cleef silently made a gesture to express his emotions. Fer smiled but did not respond. Over the next several tens of minutes, he described in detail how he felt at that moment.

Fer believed that he had lost the ability to feel pain because his body was slowly sinking into a chilling cold. This coldness was changing him, making him stronger, and repairing his wounds every single second.

But this is a completely opposite description of his cracked face.

He then mentioned his Power Armour, saying he could "sense" a vague consciousness whispering to him from within, unlike the terrifying howls of the unjustly killed. This voice was low and silent, as if it had not yet been born.

He understood that his Power Armour was undergoing changes, and the specifics would likely be similar to the Power Sword he had left on the bridge of the Macragge's Honour.

Finally, he brought something up.

"I have something to worry about, Van Cleef," Fer Zalost began slowly and calmly.

"What's up?"

"You." Fer lowered his head and looked at him. The Mourning Bird's eyes were empty, yet a clear gaze fell on Van Cleef's face, sharp as a blade.

The company commander squinted. "What are you referring to?"

"You're burning."

"Go on."

"I lost my eyes, but gained a different perspective, a completely new way of observing the world. I can see that you have been burning for a long time, at least decades. The flame within you is so intense that I can hardly look directly at you, yet you have not changed. What are you now?"

"That's a good question. I wish I could answer you, but unfortunately I can't. I don't even understand my current situation myself."

Aren't you worried about this?

"No."

Aren't you afraid that one day you might suddenly...?

"No, I'm not worried about those things." Van Cleef smiled more clearly than ever before; such a pure smile had never appeared on his usually gloomy face.

Fer was stunned, not quite understanding why he was smiling at that moment, until he heard Van Cleef's explanation. Or rather, saw it.

With the hissing sound of the flames, a long, blurry Shadow began to distort in the darkness.

--

Roboute Guilliman stared thoughtfully at the sword before him, maintaining a precious silence. Several Techmarine stood to the side, tools scattered around them, their expressions slightly helpless.

This was forty-seven hours after leaving Calth. Almost every damaged part of the Macragge's Honour had been repaired, and even the assault boat that had gotten stuck in the corner of the bridge had been removed in some way.

The sword was the only exception; it was deeply embedded in the damaged holographic projection platform and could not be pulled out no matter what method was used.

They also considered other methods, such as dismantling the holographic projection platform to let the sword emerge on its own—but the results were naturally not good. They tried three times in total, and all the tools they tried to destroy the holographic projection platform were completely destroyed by the flames burning on the sword.

However, those who tried to pull it out were unharmed; they weren't burned even when directly exposed to the flames without wearing gauntlets, but they were unable to pull it out.

"Alright, I think we should call it a day for now," Roboute Guilliman said to his Techmarine, finishing his thought.

"It seems the sword that saved us has a stubborn streak. If it doesn't want to leave, I guess it's fine. The Macragge's Honour isn't limited to just this one holographic projection platform."

"Don't you think this will lead to some consequences we can't foresee?" one of the Techmarine asked cautiously.

"I'll inform Midnight Blade and have them think of a solution," Roboute Guilliman said, smiling, though with a hint of helplessness in his expression.

The Techmarine quickly followed his orders and left the bridge, along with the maintenance Servitor. For a moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of the machinery.

Roboute Guilliman looked around and suddenly felt a little dazed.

Not long ago, this place was a nightmare, rife with Daemon, rampant slaughter, and bloodshed. And now?

Now, the walls are brand new, the floor is smooth and waxed, all the instruments have been repaired, and those that were completely damaged have been replaced. If you don't look at the sword and the huge repair marks on the wall, it really seems like the war never happened.

Roboute Guilliman sighed, not out of sentimentality, but because he was worried about Macragge.

The Word Bearers wouldn't let this go easily; Night Lords and the Ultramarines also emphasized this matter in their joint emergency report submitted after the war.

From a tactical standpoint, Roboute Guilliman didn't believe the Word Bearers would let this opportunity slip by. They were already within the Ultima Segmentum, and the other worlds were completely unaware of what had happened in Calth.

They can continue to launch despicable attacks, just as they did on Calth.

Roboute Guilliman frowned, forcing himself to stop thinking. He couldn't dwell on it any longer; the immediate priority was to secure supplies and get the message out.

He walked up to the sword with his hands behind his back, glanced down at it, and the pale hilt caught his attention.

It appeared to be nothing more than two sharp, thick bones twisted and intertwined, their ends pointed and gleaming coldly. The hilt was jet black, appearing straight and reliable, with a dull ruby set in its center. The blade itself was not observable; it was completely embedded in the holographic projection platform, encased in steel.

Lord Macragge gazed at it for a long time. Later that day, he returned to his office with a sword, personally sealed it away, and handed it over to the Night Lords' ships.

One more chapter.