Interlude: The Phoenix and the Gorgon

Ferrus Manus had only vague impressions of the Legion's encampment. Unlike other Primarch, he did not have any special feelings for his homeworld; he had never even thought of unifying his homeworld Medusa.

Upon returning to the Imperium, he quickly threw himself into war and conquest. Throughout the Great Crusade, the Iron Hands remained at the forefront of the expedition, and their fleets, even when in need of supplies, would not remain permanently stationed on any one planet.

However, he still had some basic common sense about this, all of which came from Fulgrim.

He knew what standards a legion encampment met in accordance with protocol had, such as at least five training halls, more than ten armories, a large tactical conference room, and a huge living room reserved for the Primarch.

Undoubtedly, the last item was an unnecessary luxury, yet the Imperium valued it highly. Fulgrim used to have strict standards for his living quarters, and if those standards didn't meet his expectations, he wouldn't even move in.

The room in front of Ferrus Manus, however, was completely devoid of any standard furniture; it looked like a small, private training room.

Sword marks were everywhere on the ground and walls. About thirty dismantled Combat Servitor were scattered in a corner. The Chemos himself was wielding two dulled training swords, torturing a training doll made of Adamantium.

In Ferrus Manus's view, he wasn't training. Training requires combat, or at least 80 percent of real combat. Training requires bloodshed, because war requires death.

Fulgrim was simply swinging his sword, torturing the Adamantium doll and leaving its surface pockmarked. He was aware of Iron Hands's arrival, but he chose not to stop or greet him, so Ferrus Manus also chose to remain silent.

He began to examine every detail in the room, such as the dozen or so training shirts lying on the floor, completely soaked with sweat, or the Dataslate and the stack of documents that was about two meters high.

From these things, Ferrus knew that Fulgrim had probably been living in this room for a very long time.

He frowned and finally spoke, his tone one of utter intolerance.

"You need a real sparring partner. Let that Adamantium doll go. It should be forged into weapons or armor, not left here to suffer your torment."

"I didn't torture it, Ferrus," said Fulgrim.

He still had his back to Iron Hands, his long hair disheveled and soaked with sweat, hanging over his shoulders. He still looked strong and agile, but for some reason, he seemed somewhat inhuman. 😲♞ ✋♖

"It won't fight back," Iron Hands said, frowning. "If you continue swinging your sword so haphazardly, it can withstand many more attacks until it's completely reduced to a lump of steel that needs to be melted down and reforged."

"Interesting." Phoenix chuckled softly, but still didn't turn around; instead, she slowly raised her hands.

He raised the two blunt swords high, followed by two almost completely falling beams of cold light. The air vibrated, and a sickening metallic creak followed. The Adamantium doll split into three, flying backward and embedding itself tightly into the wall.

Debris fell in a rustling sound on the metal floor. Phoenix released its grip, letting the two blunt swords fall to the ground.

Ferrus Manus could clearly see that they were burning—the metal began to turn into ashes that drifted in the wind, and in the gradually dimming firelight, the two blunt swords became pure nothingness.

"It won't fight back. Listen to your own words, Gorgon."

Phoenix slowly raised his hand and used a piece of cloth that appeared out of nowhere to tie up his white hair. Ferrus recognized this gesture; he roughly knew what Fulgrim was about to do.

"What? You want to be my opponent?" As expected, Phoenix raised an eyebrow and asked a question with a slightly flippant tone, issuing a challenge.

Ferrus Manus's expression turned somewhat somber. The world-renowned Forgebreaker was not in his hands at the moment—he had chosen not to carry a weapon, even though he could, even though this was the Imperial Palace.

But he said nothing, only watched as Fulgrim gracefully turned around and bowed to him.

The Chemos, once surrounded by a pearly luster, are now completely covered in scars. The Primarch's body heals all wounds, and generally, no scars remain on their bodies unless they choose to leave them.

Just like the "proof of victory" that Angron of Nuceria kept for himself, Fulgrim now has his own scars.

But they are not proof of victory; they are names, countless names. Right hand, left hand, chest. And they are flashing in and out with the breath of their owners.

Ferrus Manus's expression grew increasingly serious—he recognized the names; the composition of the Emperor's Children had never been a secret to him.

"Well, Gorgon?" Fulgrim asked. "I've been looking for a suitable opponent to test my current strength. Do you accept the challenge?"

"You're not wearing armor," Ferrus said. "And you're not armed either."

"Oh, no, that's not it." Phoenix slowly grinned, a smile quite different from his usual reserved and handsome one. "I don't need weapons, dear Gorgon."

His hands, which had been hanging down, slowly rose and suddenly gripped as if holding a sword blade. A burning sound flashed through the air, followed by a dark Shadow. A giant, burning sword appeared in Phoenix's hands, defying reality.

It was entirely black, but its interior was a dark red, like dried blood. Fulgrim released his left hand, put it behind his back, and bowed gracefully. The flame on the blade suddenly went out.

Ferrus keenly perceived the difference between burning and extinguishing, a difference that caused him to frown slightly in annoyance.

"I am the weapon," Fulgrim said slowly.

He certainly noticed Ferrus's mood—but, how should I put it? He did it on purpose.

Ferrus Manus silently raised his hands, and a shadow then enveloped him. In this fleeting fragment of perception, which barely lasted a moment, Medusa's Gorgon, with his extraordinary observation, saw a greatsword slashing down on his head.

A loud crash followed, and Iron Hands clamped the greatsword between his fists. Fulgrim smiled at him from across the blade, his dark red eyes lifeless.

Your eyes.

"Their colors suit me well." Phoenix laughed as it withdrew its greatsword, twisted its wrist, and took a step forward, striking Ferrus's breastplate with the hilt of the sword.

Iron Hands calmly dodged, then swung his right elbow dangerously, striking the spine of the greatsword precisely, followed by his left fist. This series of movements was as swift as instinct, yet Fulgrim had anticipated it and dodged them all.

He retreated back into the greatsword's advantageous range, raised his hands, and began to gently mock his taciturn brother.

"Still the same old thing, Ferrus? You really should learn something new."

"Learn what?" Ferrus retorted, striding forward.

His speed and power were so great that it seemed as if he were a humanoid tank charging forward.

"Learn from you?"

"I have no objection," Phoenix said.

Although that's what he said, his expression didn't show any agreement.

He swung his greatsword horizontally, raising it from bottom to top. This seemingly ordinary strike perfectly halted Ferrus's advance. If Iron Hands had continued charging, he would have been struck in the face or breastplate by the greatsword.

They have an unspoken understanding; even without prior communication, they know when to end things and who the winner is. After all, similar situations have happened thousands of times, making it difficult for them to lack this understanding.

Ferrus had to change tactics. He frowned, slowed his pace, and began to maneuver cautiously around Fulgrim. Every step he took was extremely careful. He had to; there was no other way.

It is almost impossible for an unarmed person to defeat someone wielding a long, sharp blade unless a miracle occurs, but Ferrus did not point out the unfairness of the fight.

He simply waited calmly and patiently, while Fulgrim raised an eyebrow, looking somewhat surprised.

"Aren't you going to attack first?" he asked, brandishing his sword.

"I'm not Leman Russ Russ, insisting on wrestling with Vulkan," Ferrus replied sternly. "Playing to one's strengths and avoiding one's weaknesses is a quality any tactician must possess."

"Then—" Fulgrim lowered his sword and took a step forward in an unusual starting stance. "—I'm about to begin my attack."

"Come on," Ferrus said, his eyes gleaming coldly.

His conqueror's nature and competitive spirit kicked in again, and he knew that Fulgrim was the same.

Although those burning eyes could no longer reveal the subtle emotions he once knew, he understood his brother; there was no one else in the world who shared such a deep understanding with him.

Phoenix smiled silently yet with satisfaction as he charged towards him, unleashing a devastating slash with his greatsword. Almost simultaneously, Ferrus Manus also raised his hands.

His power was so pure that it almost made one wonder if his body contained not flesh and blood, but a powerful engine. The greatsword was blocked once again, and this time it could not be successfully withdrawn.

Ferrus began to swing his fists violently, his left hand gripping the hilt of the greatsword tightly while his right fist continued to strike. The howling wind was completely beyond common sense, even the phoenix was astonished.

"Are you going to break my nose, brother?" he shouted as he dodged.

"If possible," Ferrus replied coldly.

"That's incredibly rude," Fulgrim said, and abruptly released his grip.

He did not try to wrest control of the greatsword from Ferrus, and it did not remain in Ferrus's hands, but instead vanished into nothingness as quickly as a dying flame.

Iron Hands wasn't particularly surprised, but the escape of his wrestling partner caused his own strength to momentarily affect him, creating an opportunity for Fulgrim's subsequent attack.

He grabbed Ferrus's right fist, pulling it to the other side, while simultaneously using a shoulder ram to force Ferrus several steps away. As Iron Hands regained his footing and prepared to continue the fight, a greatsword suddenly appeared and was pressed against his throat.

Ferrus narrowed his eyes.

"You lost," Phoenix announced with a smile.

"You cheated," Gorgon replied seriously, though there was no hint of defiance in his tone, despite his argument for the result. On the contrary, he even appeared calm.

"Unfair battles are more fun." Fulgrim shrugged. "Evenly matched fights are just boring—what do you think of that? I learned that from our enemies."

"Who?" Ferrus asked. "Horus Lupercal?"

"No." Phoenix sighed and sheathed the greatsword. This time, he truly let go, allowing it to completely dissipate into the air.

"Horus is dead. He is not the enemy, brother. He will never be the enemy. The real enemy, or rather, the adversary, exists in the heavens."

"In the sky?"

"Yes, the heavens," the phoenix replied calmly. "The 'heavens' that people usually understand refer to are paradise, the abode of the gods. Or perhaps, the Warp."

After a long silence, Ferrus suddenly seemed annoyed. "If I had known this would happen, perhaps I should have come back sooner."

"It's no use, Gorgon." The phoenix strolled past him leisurely, lazily walked to a corner, and began searching through the pile of documents for the one he needed.

"Even if you were there, you couldn't have defeated that thing. Its power is different from ours. If you want to kill an enemy, you need to pull the trigger or have the Forgebreaker smash someone's head. It's different. It only needs a thought, or a word, and we'll die in droves."

Is this a metaphor, or reality?

"It's reality," Phoenix said. "The Vengeful Spirit is no longer the flagship we knew; it's a far more terrifying place now. There, it can do anything it wants. I saw it all, Ferrus."

Fulgrim paused, stopping his search through the documents. He placed his hands on top of the heavy files, his voice no longer light, but deep and somber.

"I see it distorting reality, turning the impossible into the possible, and transforming the universe we live in into a nightmare."

"I don't believe there's anything in this world that can't be killed," Ferrus Manus replied bluntly. "I'll find you a set of Power Armour, and then we'll discuss this further."

Fulgrim paused slightly, turned his head, and slowly nodded. A smile, seemingly familiar, appeared on his face—clear and serene.

"Yes, Ferrus," he replied softly.

This chapter is 4k words long, and there's one more chapter to go.