Interlude: Burning Embers

"Miller Zavir, Third Company Sergeant. Guardian Acheritas, Seventh Company Sergeant. Talenos, Sixth Company Apothecary."

Akurduana held a Dataslate and read out names one after another, almost without pausing. By the time he finished, Fulgrim had even finished administering the nutrient injection.

He lay quietly on a medical bed provided by the War Hounds, surrounded by a pile of instruments with various readings floating on dark gray screens. It seemed well-prepared, but in reality, these things were practically useless.

No Apothecary or medical officer could understand this completely chaotic data that didn't conform to their understanding. If even the patient's specific situation couldn't be understood, "treatment" became an impossible task.

And Fulgrim doesn't seem very keen on receiving treatment.

Firstly, he was a Primarch with extremely strong regenerative abilities, and could completely recover from such injuries on his own. Secondly, he needed this pain to punish himself.

Akurduana understood his thoughts; he knew his Gene-Father all too well, and could even empathize with him to some extent.

Nothing is more devastating for a soldier than witnessing his comrades die while being powerless to stop them.

Holding the Dataslate, Akurduana walked up to Phoenix. Usually, after each battle, Fulgrim would personally read the battle report.

He would remember the name of every fallen soldier, find any tactical shortcomings in those details, and try to improve them. But now, forget about improving tactics, he even needs Akurduana to read out those names for him.

The chief swordsman wasn't opposed to it; he'd done it a few times before. In the past, he'd reported the names of his fallen brothers to the Primarch with pride. But not now. Like Fulgrim, Akurduana had also lost something.

He could no longer feel pride; only numbness remained—numbness towards the war. His thoughts were like a stagnant pool, its surface strewn with corpses.

Horus and his legions' betrayal nearly destroyed the entire Emperor's Children, but this was only the surface; other, unseen aspects were also destroyed by them.

Akurduana even had a premonition that this betrayal would one day escalate to some terrifying state, leaving a lingering poison for future generations. This conjecture was baseless and extremely horrifying, so Akurduana did not tell anyone and chose to remain silent.

He raised his hand and handed the Dataslate to Fulgrim. The latter did not immediately reach out to take it, but simply lay on the bed quietly watching him.

That look was completely unfamiliar to Akurduana; the Chemos people he knew never showed such an expression.

"The Primarch?" Akurduana blurted out involuntarily. "Is there anything else?"

"It's alright. Give me that battle report, then you can go do your own thing, Akurduana," Phoenix replied hoarsely. "I want to read it a few more times."

With no other choice, the chief swordsman did as he was told. Fulgrim held the Dataslate in one hand and slowly closed his eyes.

In a daze, he seemed to smell again a pungent stench, and a cloying, suffocating stench of blood. A monstrous creature with the face of Horus was laughing maniacally, wielding the Worldbreaker and slaughtering his legion.

Phoenix understood, of course, that this was just an illusion, an abstract painting created by his spirit under immense pressure, self-blame, and pain— Horus had not killed his offspring with his own hands, not a single one; the murderer was someone else.

No, perhaps it's not human.

After a while, he opened his eyes.

The Primarch's senses were still sharp; he heard heavy footsteps approaching outside the door. Normally, Astartes wouldn't make such a noise, and he immediately guessed who it was.

However, this did not bring him joy or comfort; Fulgrim even had an urge to bury his face in the pillow.

He forced himself to stop the thought.

The door was slowly pushed open, scraping against the ground and producing a whirring sound of gears turning. Most of the doors on the Firm Resolve were mechanical, lacking automatic design, and required manual operation to open and close. Simple, reliable, and timeless.

A giant walked in, his empty right arm particularly striking. He wore a uniform jacket, and his abdomen and neck were wrapped in bandages; his eyes were filled with exhaustion.

Fulgrim pursed his lips, unsure how to face Angron. But this wasn't the end; another person was following behind Angron. It was understandable that Phoenix hadn't heard his footsteps.

Kolaus Corax.

"Brother," Angron spoke first, "We're almost out of the Isstvan System."

"Aren't there any pursuers?" Fulgrim asked, with a longing he himself was unwilling to admit.

"They didn't catch up," Kolus Corax said. "That's strange."

Fulgrim could tell his brother was carefully choosing his words, so he smiled slightly and began to speak slowly.

"Yes, that is indeed strange. Horus is one of the most dangerous generals in the galaxy. He doesn't usually launch attacks and prefers to resolve conquest issues peacefully before war. But once he makes up his mind, even if the enemy surrenders, they will pay a heavy price."

"Once a wolf pack has its jaws on its prey, it won't let go. And I don't know what that thing is, but since it stole Horus's skin, it probably stole that resolve along with it."

"An obvious conspiracy," Angron said, his voice low and rumbling like thunder. "Unfortunately, we don't understand it as well as we understand Horus. This thing thinks it is Horus, but upon closer examination, its actions and words are riddled with inconsistencies. The Warmaster I know could never be..."

He paused, then fell silent. Fulgrim looked at him—or rather, at the Butcher's Nails behind his head—his fingers, hidden under the covers, began to tremble.

That feeling of helplessness returned, and a dark flame seemed to ignite in Fulgrim's eyes, though only for a moment, but Corax saw it clearly.

He frowned.

Although he had long anticipated this outcome, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The last time he witnessed such flames on such a large scale, Karyl Lohars had become a complete stranger.

And what about this time?

Konrad Curze

"In short," Angron spoke again after a moment of silence, "We currently have two paths to take. One is to head to Roboute's Five Hundred Worlds to obtain supplies and inform him of this. The other is to return directly to Terra and report the matter to the Emperor and the Sigillites."

Upon hearing his words, Fulgrim began to think seriously. The Isstvan System was located in the northeastern part of the Ultima Segmentum, a very remote system, which was probably one of the reasons why that thing chose this place as the starting point for its murder.

Getting to the Five Hundred Worlds from here is not difficult, it could even be described as simple. Roboute Guilliman is a very farsighted man; once the Five Hundred Worlds system enters war mode, it will become the most troublesome enemy in the galaxy.

However, if they choose to return to Terra, they will inevitably need to undertake Warp travel.

Phoenix frowned deeply and gave his answer without hesitation.

"Our best option is to split up. Roboute needs to be informed; he and his Five Hundred Worlds can act as a shield, keeping that thing outside the Imperium's borders and preventing it from causing further casualties. Terra also needs this information; the sooner this intelligence is delivered to Father, the better."

"Splitting into two groups? Are you sure?" Angron couldn't help but ask, understanding what Fulgrim meant.

"I'm sure," Phoenix said. "My staying would only be a burden. That thing could come at any time, and I'll need at least a week to fully recover from these injuries. Besides, my legion has the fewest members."

He paused for a moment, then gave a somewhat unnatural smile.

"If my staying would not help the current war situation in any way, what reason would I have to stay?"

The son of the mountain and the lord of the crows looked at him silently, unsure of what to say.

To get such a proud person to voluntarily admit that they are a burden...

"Don't look at me like that, brothers." Phoenix shook his head at them. "The only purpose of war is to win, and to win, we'll stop at nothing. I'm not good enough staying here; I'd be better off as a messenger."

"That's settled then. I'll send the message back to Terra and return with reinforcements. We'll put an end to that thing's ambitions here."

"But," Corax began softly, "Do you know what's in the Warp?"

The phoenix shook its head.

"There is something in the Warp, something alive," said the Lord of the Ravens, choosing his words carefully and speaking slowly.

"If you were to use a more superstitious term, you could call them Daemon or evil gods. I'm not exaggerating, brother, the horrors of the Warp are practically an open secret. Think of those lost ships, the crazed Astropath, the Navigator screaming during navigation—entering the Warp without Geller Field is tantamount to suicide. And do you understand your current situation?"

Once again, the phoenix shook its head.

"You're changing," Corax said, walking to Fulgrim's bedside and taking his right hand. It was cold to the touch, devoid of warmth, just as he had guessed.

"Change?"

The Lord of the Crows sighed softly, offering no further explanation, but merely issuing a warning.

"Be careful in the Warp, brother," he said. "You might encounter things you can't understand."

Besides