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Sometimes, the bitterest flavor is the most exquisite. [ His thumb moves, and as if Eridanus were just such a loyal dog, it teases against the swath of skin exposed along the underside of his chin. Even through the tip of enamel claws, he can feel the difference between flesh that gives and the intermittent stone that dots it; Lucius traces the seams where one becomes the other, gaze as keen as the silvered blade clasped within his hand as it greets the sight of the other's heated visage below. ] I wonder: have you ever had the chance to taste it for yourself? The excruciation of seeing something dear to you, rendered into ruination by your own hand — it's a delicacy unlike any other, and one of the rarest.

[ After all, there are only a few irreplaceable things Lucius might consider dear—so few he can count them on a single hand with fingers to spare. The mere thought of it is enough to pull a breathless edge to his voice, and the memory of Eridanus' corpse cooling in the cradle of his arms pierces him with a cut as sharp as those old thoughts of Fulgrim restrained and sullied by the tortures of he and his brothers. It draws his shoulders tight with the pleasure of it, and a breath hisses between his teeth as his tongue once more dances through the air beyond his lips. ]

And yet, here you are once more, as whole as ever! [ Lucius laughs, the noise a merry one, and as he does, the hand with the sabre lifts. He recalls the place where he had pressed its edge into his own skin; within his grasp, he tilts Eridanus' face, angling his right brow forward. Not the swath of skin where Lucius had scarred himself, but its perfect mirror—would that symbolism not be fitting for this moment? ] That is yet another occasion worth memorializing — wouldn't you say, dear beast?

[Another shiver crawls down Eridanus' opal-crusted spine, prickling the skin of his scarred back in gooseflesh. He has to fight to keep from closing his eyes, the fluttering of his eyelashes the only other tell as that tickling thumb coaxes a soft sigh from his throat. He wishes to be lost in the feeling—his chin resting in the palm of his Eternal's hand, his gaze upwards and indulging his magnificence.

But the pleasure of a devotee wanes from his expression, replaced instead by a pinched brow and a melancholy frown. The hands that rest upon Lucius' wrist slide down the length of his arm, feeling over the firm give of muscle and vein as they do. It's a stupid question—but Eridanus won't say as much. Rather, when his lips part it's with another sigh, though this one speaks to a loneliness centuries past rather than a longing.]

Ryeanna. [He speaks her name short and simple, and when his gaze returns upwards, there's an urgency in them that wishes to move beyond the topic of his own loss.] It is a bitter taste indeed, and my brush with it held no sweetness to follow thereafter. Alike as we are in some ways my beloved, that is not one of them.

[The peal of laughter is far too merry and by reflex, his overlong ears fold back with the sudden sound. Still, he keeps his chin carefully slotted in Lucius' hand, and closes his eyes as that silvered edge hovers over his brow. He fully expects the sharp kiss of that blade, but rather than pain and the warmth of blood, Lucius' words catch his attention. Eridanus' eyes flutter open once more, staring up at his consort with a gaze that is far more blissful than it was the moment before.]

Returning to your side is certainly worth celebrating, my Eternal. Emptiness consumes my soul whenever you are far, [and with that, his eyes close again with the nuzzling of his chin against fingers,] but my love for your magnanimity will bridge any chasm, and destroy any obstacle that keeps us apart.

Sweet words from my consort, [ Lucius purrs in answer. Of course, this moment of pause is in no way the seeking of permission; rather, there is a certain anticipation that always oozes from the gap between bare skin and the edge of a blade, and Lucius breathes it in to savor its flavor, the same as he would at the apex of a duel. ] One day, I hope to see for myself just how true they really are.

[ He has no doubt of Eridanus' sincerity—and that is precisely why the desire to see that pledge made manifest burns warmth through his flesh, heat fanning through his chest and filling his gut the way seawater invades a drowning man's lungs. This world is small, and so are the depravities that have whet his consort's palate. Given true freedom, how much atrocity might he commit, and all in devotion to Lucius himself?

As that sword's edge bears down, slicing deep to carve a vertical groove into Eridanus' brow, his tongue licks along the bottom edge of his lipless mouth with ravenous hunger. ]

[That keen blade slices through his skin with the precision of a hand that wields it as if it were merely an extension. His heart flutters, and Eridanus swears it's with every thundering pulse of his heart that he can feel the gush of blood as it paints the right side of his visage in brilliant red. His lashes gum together, sticking his eyelid closed; but with his other he watches the scarified visage above him with a newfound reverence. Among the latticed scars of Lucius' face, he finds the freshest as if seeking the tether of their hearts.

Once that blade lifts from his flesh, a throaty hum wells up from Eridanus,] with every mark by your hand, my flesh becomes a reflection of my soul. [His chin, slotted into the curve of his consort's palm, shifts to cradle more of his blood-smeared cheek within the possessive grasp, and a fond smile spreads across his face.]

Completely and wholly yours, my most beloved Lucius.

Indeed, [ Lucius replies, breathless with his inhale, ] you are.

[ The way Eridanus presses his face within the grasp of his palm is so much like the loyal beast Lucius names him—and when Eridanus so clearly aches for more of his touch, how can Lucius resist the urge to give it. For a second longer, Lucius looms large over the form of his consort bent in supplication, lipless maw drawn tight to bear his teeth. Then once more, he crouches before him, just as he had to strip him bear in ceremony; the ridged mask of his face swims closer, and with his hand still cupped around Eridanus' jaw, Lucius tilts his face for the meeting of their mouths.

It isn't much of a kiss—and, fitting for this mimicry of his true flesh, it resembles those that passed between them in Felfri far more. That overlong tongue invades Eridanus' mouth, filling it until it overflows and its forked tips slither down the entrance of his throat. All the while, his own eyes remain open, half-lidded above their burning pupils as he watches Eridanus' face pinned beneath his. When that slick, fleshy muscle withdraws again, it licks across the opal guarding the outer edges of Eridanus' mouth—and then it skirts higher, passing over the tear-track scar that decorates that cheek until it comes to lave at eyes gummed shut by the sweet ambrosia of Eridanus' blood.

It probably doesn't take nearly as long as it seems for Lucius to lick the blood from his lashes. With one last lap at the blood gummed in his eyebrow, Lucius' hand drops away from Eridanus' chin; a moment later, both of those oversized paws find their way to Eridanus' body, and as Lucius stands, he hefts his consort up with him. It's only a few short steps to their bed, and as they reach its edge, Lucius rolls them both downward, Eridanus ending pinned beneath the hefty weight of Lucius' shoulder as if he were a treasured possession to be guarded. A clawed hand pulls along his form, less with a lover's passion and more as though he were simply verifying all is as he remembers. ]

[Dizzied with his euphoria, when Lucius leans in to claim his lips, the way Eridanus responds is nothing short of a mindless reaction. Rather than an impassioned return, it's softer, fond. That tongue fills his mouth and he swallows it down like sweet nectar. His unstuck eye closes, and he shifts to press the unrelenting ridge of his maw against his consort's chin as if he wished to draw out the simple show of affection for an eternity.

But the touch is as short-lived as it ever is, and soon after Lucius withdraws his tongue, it instead glides upwards. Eridanus' voice catches in his throat, a whimper of a sound as the right half of his face is cleaned up the way an animal would rather than a man. Still, when he reopens his eyes, it's with a smile that creases them at the corners as his reverent gaze returns upwards. That gaze remains too, even as Lucius easily scoops him up into overlarge arms and carries them to the bed.

Content with the way their bodies slot together, Eridanus' own opaline claws trace over the scarified ridges of Lucius' face. A daggered forefinger picking out the freshest of the lot and tracing along the mirrored match to the fresh slice in his brow.]

My beloved, [his voice is soft, as he traces more of those scars, uncaring if those obsidian-sharp tips flense deadened tissue or not. His expression sours slightly, from fond to contemplative as his gaze rakes over his consort's latticed skin,] do you remember your deaths? Do you remember the source of every scar?

[ At first, the only answer that question prompts is the short sound of an indulgent laugh. ]

My sweet Archmage, [ Lucius says, the waver of teasing mirth at the edges of his voice, ] are you worried I'll forget which one is yours? [ Naturally, such an idea is ridiculous, and the humor of it settles into Lucius' fanged grin. His hand stills against the naked bone of Eridanus' hip, exploratory touch turning into something heavy and possessive as he replies, ] An Astartes has perfect recall. It's only natural that I do.

[ Statements that are true, but not wholly honest. He should recall every moment of his last eleven-thousand years with perfect precision, but his own memory has been worn away by the very blessing that Eridanus asks about now. It's a reality he has never quite admitted beyond the confines of his own skull—and, of course, he doesn't intend to start now. ]

[As laughter wafts between them, Eridanus shivers. His ears perk to the sound of it, overlong and seeking after that mellifluous sound. Lucius' claws bears down on his naked hip and rather than shying from the threat of sharpened tips, he shifts on the bedding to slot himself closer to his consort.]

I would not say that I am worried, per se... [Despite them, his words trail with a lack of confidence. Behind the jealous guard of his opal maw, his fangs bear down and worry his bottom lip as he continues to trace patterns in the textured surface of Lucius' skull.]

So many battles have been immortalized on your skin, [his fingers pause at the sunken pit of Lucius' ear, and his palm shifts to cup the man's cheek in a lover's hold,] how many of them have you died in? What was it like, to be revived by your God? Was it cold, like the Sea of Stars, or was the it the warm embrace of a parent with their child?

[ Those seeking ears are rewarded. Lucius huffs another low chuckle, amused by the naivety of such a question. ]

Are those the only possibilities you can imagine, dear Eridanus? [ His hand shifts in answer, the tip of his thumb's claw pricking at the dip of muscle and bone beneath it. ] I regret to inform you that it's neither. It is hot, like a bed of nails.

[ His smile grows across his face, but at its edges, it turns sharper than before. ]

In death, my fate is the same as any other pledged to the Prince of Pleasure: my soul is captured by His hands, where it exists as nothing more than His eternal plaything. The difference between myself and His less beloved devotees is that I am given a rope with which I may drag myself out.

[ His hand lifts, and in the space between them, he holds up a single finger. ]

A single flicker of the barest satisfaction is all I need. [ It's more than he usually gives away; after all, to reveal the true terms of the bargain is to expose its limitations. And yet, what does Lucius have to fear from his sweet, loyal Eridanus? ] Even an animal might feel it, should it come to that. It makes their soul burn like the furnace of a sun, and by that light, I am able drag myself from the muck of death.

[ A half-formed thought tickles at the back of his mind, not for the first time: What would happen if he instead allowed himself to sink? The same as ever, Lucius discards it as quickly as it comes. After all, there is little point to contemplating something which will never come to pass.

That great claw lowers, tracing again along the glittering tear-streak split through Eridanus' skin. ]

Each time, the prelude to rebirth stretches an unthinkable, torturous eternity. And yet, here I stand, risen and unbroken by a trial tasted by no other.

[Between clenched teeth, Eridanus sucks in a sharp breath as those claws shift across his skin. They trace the arch of bone and dip of muscle, and despite the fact that his skin has once more become the unforgiving density of stone, he swears he can almost feel them draw blood beneath their adulating weight. His gaze never leaves the visage of his Eternal despite them, though. Rather, he's content in watching how that lipless mouth delivers each syllable, carefully cradled by a serpentine tongue.

He imagines that pain—nails tearing through his flesh, flensing meat from bone until there is nothing left but a bare soul in all of its vulnerability before the eyes of oblivion. To claim such an experience as judgment would be silly, by the sound of it, as fate is decided for any who step into the realm of the Prince... unless that person is Lucius. Once more his lungs are breathless, crushed beneath the magnanimity of his consort's prowess—and in the space of that breathlessness, Eridanus finds his chest swell to bursting with adoration.

A smile splits his face behind the guard of his opal maw, and he turns his cheek into the hand that caresses it. A warmth just for him, he thinks, a pleasure meant only for the one who is Champion of a demi-god. In the cloistered space between them, Eridanus shifts so that he hooks his foot against the hock of Lucius' bull-leg.]

You are incredible, my love. [He whispers sweetly,] I am still virginal to the pleasures of damnation. I will not lie, it scares me. If only I could have a fraction of your courage...

[Eridanus pauses to lift one of his glittering, opal talons to trace incomplete patterns over the expanse of Lucius' chest.]

I wonder, then — if the day we join our souls together — will I, too, venture to see the Prince's realm? Will I enjoy that agony beside you, each and every time you are pulled down into the abyss? Just the thought of it is enough to shiver excitement down my spine...

And you are right to fear it. [ As the sweetness and awe in Eridanus' gaze enfolds him, his fingers press around the back of his consort's neck, clawed fingertips resting over the throbbing pulse in his jugular. Again, his thumb traces the opaline scar carved into the stony flesh of his cheek, as if it were a jewel to polish to gleaming. ] I don't envy the wretches that find it their permanent abode.

[ His return from death is a genuine perdition, to be sure—and his own chest swells with hot pride at the way Eridanus regards him with the wonder he deserves for it. If he were unable to bear it, he supposes he would no longer be worthy of shouldering Slaanesh's name; and yet, here he stands, unbent beneath a weight that would render most a far more pitiable sort of insane than he is.

Eridanus' question is a good one, and now that he thinks of it, Lucius isn't sure he knows the answer. He supposes they must remain tethered to him; after all, he has never lost a single soul on his deathly travels. And yet, every time he has made that journey, he has felt nothing but alone.

There is one exception, he supposes, but that is only because he does not truly recall it. ]

But I have experienced the cold nothingness you spoke of as well. [ His aggrandized smile dims, only a shadow of it remaining at the edges of his mouth. ] After my first taste of death, there was simply blackness until I woke up upon an apothecarion slab.

[ Even now, when he thinks of it, he wonders: was that void where Slaanesh first laid His mark upon his soul? The moment where it had seemed that death simply hadn't wanted him—had that been a recognition of his promise? The expression that settles across his visage appears more contemplative than it is flattered by the thought. ]

[Nothingness is certainly what Eridanus' expected and yet, from that spot where he floated amongst the sea of fellow souls, it was as if he had been dreaming lucidly. As if his mind, while cradled by stardust, had been both aware of everything on the peninsula and lost within that liminal space at once. It was an odd, hellish limbo—one that only made him yearn for his inevitable return to Lucius' side.

Perhaps that had been the source of his prior anger—as his consort had subjected him to a fate, in many ways, worse than the cage he had held months ago in the circus.

But those thoughts are quickly dismissed by the over-warmth of Lucius demonic form and the possessive touch that cradles his cheek once more. In the comfort of that space that feels more private than the entirety of their bedroom, Eridanus leans into the touch as if he were seeking water in a drought. Large fingers easily cup the entirety of his head, and in that monstrous palm, Eridanus has never felt so comfortable.]

Were you brought back medically? [Eridanus takes a breath, and with it, his eyes open by mere fractions. He turns his heavy-lidded gaze upwards, but he doesn't relent from nudging his cheek into that hand like a indulging pet.] I assume apothecary carries the same meaning in your world as it does in mine.

I should have been — but the apothecary seemed just as surprised to see my on my feet again as I was. [ He rubs the base of his thumb along the glittering opal of Eridanus' jaw, his own eyes unfocused on the loving gaze before him. Instead, their stare is distant, locked on memories that dance just beyond sight. ] Fabius was a loathsome man even then, but he had brought lesser men back from worse injuries before me. If it were as simple as resuscitation...

[ He trails off, and when he speaks again, that half-completed thought has apparently gone forgotten. ]

I awoke to the heat of an inferno. [ It's good to tell such stories from time-to-time, he thinks; whatever effect the touch of death has had on him, this way, he won't forget them. ] He'd lost control of one of his experiments, and it had interrupted him before he could do whatever it is he intended for my corpse. And yet, I sat up as good as new, without even the lingering weakness that had plagued Lord-Commander Eidolon after his medical revival.

[ Granted, Eidolon had been decapitated. There was certainly a difference in the scale of their injuries. Nonetheless—

His eyes refocus, and suddenly, he is smiling again. ]

You might say that I, too, was reborn as a phoenix: birthed from the darkness in flames.

[Thoughtlessly, Eridanus reaches a hand up to cup the back of the paw that holds his chin. His own gaze remains transfixed on Lucius, even as his consort's eyes dim with distant memory. In that moment, he would wish for the ability to gaze into those soulful eyes and see as he sees—and in the moment, he finds himself jealous of the ability of his Eternal: consuming the memories of his beloved.

But the thought it pushed away, for there isn't a use for senseless pining. In a way, it's just as well to learn such events from the lips of the man himself. He wonders, then, just how entwined their fates are when such coincidences happen time and again. His claws dig into Lucius' hand, not with intent to harm him, but with the desire to keep him close. To anchor him here, in the present, with him.]

However it happened, I am thankful for it. [His voice is soft, thoughtful, and he turns his head in that grip on his jaw to press a kiss to the pad of Lucius' thumb.] Were it not for your beautiful rebirth, I hate to think of a reality in which we would not have met. One stumble in time and space, and our paths would have completely missed one another...

[He pauses though, with his gaze returning upward.]

This Fabius and Eidolon... they are your legion-brothers?

Haven't I told you already, my Eridanus? Fate moves neither a moment too early nor too late.

[ Is the thought intended to put a stop to his own introspecting on the thousand ways the two of them might have passed each other by, and therefore his own attachment? Perhaps! But it has done its job, so far, and with that kiss accepted, Lucius' thumb drops below Eridanus' chin. Tipping his head just so, Lucius bows his face nearer, the very tip of his forked and serpentine tongue passing between his teeth as the gap between their mouths begins to once again shrink. ]

They are, [ Lucius answers, but now his thoughts would seem to be the opposite—eyes trained keenly on Eridanus' face, with the words that leave his mouth little more than an afterthought. ] What of them? They're both repulsive in their own right, and after your ordeal, I would think you'd rather spend your time on more pleasant things.

[Eridanus takes a breath, and as Lucius' face draws nearer, his own gaze goes heavy-lidded in a half expectation that his mouth will be claimed once more. It doesn't though, and with just the ghosting flick of a forked tongue at his maw, Eridanus exhales a hot sigh in that cloistered space. Anticipation seems to twist his gut persistently, and just the thrill of what he cannot expect of his consort has him inching ever closer into the warmth of his overlarge form.

Their conversation turns though, by his own lead, and Eridanus has to draw his mind back into a space where it isn't occupied with his ever-present veneration of Lucius. Instead, he busies himself with the shy touch of his own opaline claws over the fat wrist of the hand that holds him.]

For you to despise them so much... they truly must've done something to earn your ire. [For as short a time as Eridanus has known him, he knows that Lucius is not a man to easily hold grudges over petty squabbles.] Unless you don't wish to speak of it... even the unpleasant things — I wish to know everything about you, my Beloved.

[ Lucius barks with laughter, as though Eridanus has said something truly funny. He doesn't know anyone else who would assume his long-held grudges must have been nursed with good reason—but he supposes that is why Eridanus is his favorite of all, isn't it?

That sweet entreaty makes his heart beat quicker in his chest—like the heart of a wolf scenting the blood of a defenseless fawn. There isn't much room to draw Eridanus nearer to his flesh anymore, and his consort is already held well within his grip; instead, he moves, that bullish leg shifting free to hook Eridanus' form within its embrace instead. Great weight pinning the stony shape of that body beneath him, Lucius' tongue slithers longer, teasing along the column of his throat instead—as if he might simply repeat the experience of Felfri and devour him whole. ]

You ought to be careful what you wish for — one day, it just might be granted. [ Still, his breath is hot with that shared desire to become completely intertwined as he purrs, ] Bile's crimes are too many and odious to speak of. But, the good Lord-Commander... He is guilty of the worst transgression of all: thinking he could compete with me for our primarch's favor!

[ He laughs, because of course, the idea that Eidolon could be as worthy of the Phoenician's attention as himself is as great a joke as any. ]

[The weight of that leg settles over him with possessive need, and as it does, Eridanus only seems to relax beneath it as if it brought with it the comfort of nostalgia. To watch his Eternal from under his grip, under his ownership, flutters his heart like the beating of a hummingbird's wings in his breast. He swallows, and his tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth as his reverent gaze follows the sharp curve of Lucius' grin. And his laugh, the way it washes across his skin, shivers fawning affection through him.

A part of him wishes to argue with those teasing words—that there is no cruel memory, no possible event of his lover's past that would mar the adoration he holds for him. He doesn't as the words that follow distract him from voicing that fondness he holds so fervently, and instead he draws his claw-tipped touch across the expanse of corded muscle that wraps Lucius' forearm.]

Even without your primarch's favor, to compare himself to the Eternal at all... what a fool's errand he endeavored. [Eridanus hums in response, his gaze dropping as his touch ventures higher, over the strong curve of Lucius' bicep—just another show of his prowess with the sword.] You can never compare dirt to gold, and yet... moth larvae will always gaze upon the beauty of the butterfly, and yearn to share their destiny. Won't they?

Oh, they do more than yearn to be an equal. They look to the butterfly in envy, craving to surpass it in the only way they are capable: by dragging it back down into the dirt.

[ Lucius feels that adoring touch, but he doesn't answer it. Atop Eridanus, his body remains still and heavy—the peaceful repose of a predator at rest. ]

That was Eidolon's trouble. Would it amuse you to learn that once upon a time, I served under his command? [ It certainly seems to amuse Lucius, the sound of his laughter fluttering through the air between them. ] Even so, he felt threatened by how swift my star was in its ascent. Too bad for him that he wasn't able to stop it from eclipsing his own.

[For all that Eridanus knows Lucius to be, and for what he seems to say, he finds it hard to believe that this Eidolon was ever in a position of power in the first place. Still, he draws his adoring touch over the firm shoulder before him, until the bite of his opal claws trails red welts down over the curve of his broad chest.]

It sounds as if there is a crescendo you are leaving out, my beloved.

[Eridanus chuckles, the sound a soft and airy interlude to the fluttering gust that had claimed the space between them. His touch follows the same path it had carved before—reverently tracing up Lucius' arm, then shoulder, then down across his chest.]

Did you see to this Eidolon's descent yourself? Or was he merely the dirt beneath your boot, too miniscule to warrant your active part in his demise?

I didn't need to see to anything. He was far too eager to do it to himself.

[ He doesn't laugh, but cruel mirth curls his thin lips all the same. His eyes fall half-lidded with it—or perhaps with that dagger-clawed touch, Lucius' teeth parting wide enough for a hot sigh to escape between the cage of their enamel. ]

Far be it from me to call anyone else overweening, but the simple fact of the matter is that his reach exceeded his grasp. [ One of his own claws teases at Eridanus' upper lip, hooking beneath the thin scar long ago etched into its skin before it skims away once more. ] Eidolon was a man so hungry for glory that he would bungle a golden opportunity in the pursuit of it, and then blame the man who handed it to him for shining brighter in the primarch's eyes after.

[ He speaks of himself, of course, and his smile pulls broader with the memory whether he realizes it or not. ]

It's nearly enough to make a man question Fulgrim's judgment in ordering Fabius to reattach his head. But, I suppose he did have a role to play in our father's apotheosis.

A 'golden opportunity'?

[Eridanus parrots back, his attention wholly captivated. The claw that had drawn adulating forms over the expanse of Lucius' naked chest halts, and as his gaze bores into that of his Eternal, he looks as if he's a child waiting to hear some magical story.]

It sounds like much as happened with this Eidolon, [he chuckles, the sound of bubbling amusement,] and did his bungled opportunity result in him losing his head? Or was it a separate event entirely?

[He should likely ask for one story at a time, but he's enthralled, and it's apparent. Eridanus wiggles beneath Lucius' form, saddling closer as if it were possible, with his budding anticipation clearly worn on his expression.]

And all of it is ancient history, [ he laughs—but, of course, the fawning attention is all he needs to speak on it regardless. ]

They are separate incidents, though both date back to the Warmaster's rebellion — some ten or eleven thousand years ago. I wonder, dear Archmage: have you ever wondered about the Emperor the IIIrd Legion was named for?

[ His lips curl with the humor of a man about to tell what he believes is the funniest joke anyone has ever heard. ]

[Eridanus' head shifts in its cradle, laid comfortably in the crook of Lucius' elbow. His cheek rubs against the twisted skin of his lover's arm, the mottled opal that leads into his maw disrupting the sensation of warmth against his face. His gaze, however, remains raised in its veneration of the form above him—especially with such an obvious hook left dangling in the space between them.]

Tell me, my Lord.

[He breathes the words, his voice a soft whisper as he anticipates Lucius' next revelation.]

Tell me of this Emperor... is he the one you rebelled against?

Precisely so, [ he purrs, pleased, and the breath that trails that answer is nothing so much as a sigh of fond nostalgia. ] And not just us. We were led by the Warmaster himself: Horus Lupercal, Primarch of the XVIth Legion, and favored son of the Emperor of Mankind himself.

[ Of course, the Warmaster led them to failure and nothing more—but for the purposes of this story, that's beside the point. The irony is pleasing nonetheless: that the Emperor's favorite son would lead his Legion against his father, and bring the aptly named Emperor's Children with him. ]

A full half of the Emperor's Legions broke their leash and mustered against him alongside us. But, of course, not all of our brothers were so eager for freedom. [ Like a ripple in a pond's reflection, his smile distorts on his lips. Again, his gaze turns distant and dim. ] Too many of them were unable to see beyond the devotion we had been brainwashed to feel, as part of out elevation to the ranks of the Astartes.

The Emperor's Children unable to break the shackles of our hypno-indoctrination would never follow our father in glorious rebellion. And so, Fulgrim purged the blind from our ranks. [ Lucius brightens again, as if he's reached another funny joke. ] Would you have guessed that he once counted me among them?

IC Contact | ryslig

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cw: tongue, licking, gross, etc

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