Blood wound its way across the stone slabs, gathering into a thick, viscous mire that slowly crept over Ferrus's drake-hide boots. Every step produced an unpleasant, sticky squelch.
Crack!
The torture devices carefully constructed by the aliens were like rotten wood in Vulkan's hands. Barehanded, he tore apart the cages imprisoning mortals, cut through the ropes binding them, and freed them from the twisted instruments of torment.
"You're free."
Vulkan's voice rolled through the city like muffled thunder. The survivors stood frozen where they were, their eyes reflecting the grotesquely mangled alien corpses strewn across the ground.
At first there were only a few suppressed sobs.
Soon they turned into heart-rending wails.
The cries carried the pain of prolonged torture and the despair of struggling in endless darkness.
Ferrus dragged an alien corpse behind him and swept his gaze across the crowd.
"Which of you holds the highest rank?"
A middle-aged man covered in wounds stepped forward. He stooped slightly, his voice hoarse.
"I am Administrator Evar."
Ferrus tore the alien's head from its body with one hand, ripping out a length of blood-stained spine. He held the dripping head before Evar.
"Take it. Find the survivors hiding in the undercity and tell them the suffering is over."
Evar received the head with trembling hands. Blood dripped through his fingers as he clutched it tightly, as though embracing a fragile hope.
Ferrus's silver hand rested on Vulkan's shoulder.
"We are doing the right thing, brother."
"No," Vulkan replied quietly."Brother, we are walking the right path."
He gazed toward the distant villages still belching thick columns of black smoke.
The aliens were obstacles that had to be swept from their path.
Even if their numbers were vast, Vulkan swore that one day he would wipe the Dark Eldar from existence.
"I am Flores, governor of Epimitos, my lords."
The old man knelt before the two giants. Behind him stretched a vast crowd kneeling like wheat flattened by wind.
When Flores pressed his forehead to the ground, waves of sobbing rose behind him.
When the Dark Eldar descended upon Nocturne, these mortals could only cower in the undercities, praying the raiders would not discover them, praying the aliens would leave once they had captured enough slaves.
Even if those taken were their own family members.
It was no different from burying one's head in the sand.
Yet silence was the price of survival.
They were only mortals.
Resistance meant destruction. That was the survival wisdom of the Nocturne people, written in blood and tears.
They had once hoped someone might save them from the claws of the aliens.
And now,
The congealed pools of blood were filled not with human bodies but with the shattered remains of the aliens.
And the two giants stood amid the mountains of corpses like gods.
Their tears were not born of fear.
They were tears of joy.
After endless torment, these battered mortals had finally seen true hope. The two giants had ended the endless night that loomed over them.
Vulkan bent slightly and helped Flores to his feet.
"Stand up, Flores. The raids of the Dark Eldar are history. This land will no longer suffer their plunder. Rebuild your homes. You no longer need to hide."
Flores looked up at them, gratitude and worry intertwined in his eyes.
"My lords… what about you? Will you stay?"
Ferrus gazed toward the distant horizon.
"The war is not over. Other cities still cry beneath alien claws. Every second, someone dies."
"We will not stop until the last alien is crushed."
Ferrus believed that secrets were hidden beneath the earth of Epimitos.
Those secrets would not sleep forever.
But for now, the people of Nocturne still struggled in suffering.
They had not yet liberated Nocturne.
They had not yet ended the war.
When they returned victorious, they would uncover the truths buried beneath this land.
From Hesiod to Isaeon, legends of the two giants spread across all of Nocturne.
They were taller than the tallest warriors.
They wore black armor, bore silver iron fists, and were bathed in alien blood.
When the raiders of the Twilight Ghosts descended once more, they were no longer greeted by the terrified cries of mortals,
But by the furious iron fists of giants.
The aliens who had once terrified Nocturne were now piled high like mountains.
They were saviors.
They were avengers.
And the people knew this was no myth.
The giants had liberated every city attacked by the Dark Eldar.
They were thunder in the darkness.
On the day they returned to Hesiod,
The crimson sky was torn apart by blazing light.
A gilded warship pierced the clouds, descending above Hesiod like a falling sun.
Vulkan and Ferrus both sensed it. They stood side by side in the central plaza, awaiting the ship's arrival.
When the hatch thundered open,
A golden giant stepped out from radiant light.
He was the source of the brilliance.
A blazing blue-white mass of energy, like a spear of judgment piercing the heavens.
He was like an eternal lighthouse whose brilliance could not be dimmed by the thickest gloom.
He was like a solemn requiem whose sound proclaimed unquestionable sovereignty wherever it echoed.
He was the greatest being Ferrus had ever seen, or could imagine.
His golden armor was adorned with ornaments so magnificent that Ferrus could neither recall nor describe them, as though he had worn them since the first day he descended from heaven to walk among mortals.
In his hand he held a sword wreathed in eternal flame.
The fire flowed along the blade but seemed never to burn.
"My sons, Vulkan… and Ferrus."
The giant looked upon the two equally towering figures and spoke their names with perfect certainty.
His posture was utterly majestic. No one could read his emotions from his expression.
Yet Caelan seemed to glimpse a fleeting trace of surprise in his eyes.
Caelan: "You didn't expect this either?"
Neoth: "I truly did not expect twins on this journey."
"Ferrus didn't land on Nocturne. He came through the Webway."
"Dark Eldar?"
"And Harlequins."
"That's not surprising. They may not actually be Harlequins."
Caelan asked, puzzled, "Why?"
"The truth has always been right before your eyes."
"Are you speaking in riddles again?"
Neoth's deep eyes seemed to pierce through the veil of time.
It was not that he refused to tell the truth.
He simply could not.
"Do you remember how you taught Jaghatai?"
Caelan replied, "I remember. 'You cannot see the true face of Mount Lu while you are within it.' Are you saying I shouldn't be too deeply trapped inside the mountain?"
"No."
"You're still talking like a riddle."
"Not I."
"...6." (an expression of exasperation)
A faint ripple passed through Neoth's eyes.
Caelan had casually spoken the truth, without realizing it.
Neoth turned his attention back to the Primarchs he had momentarily ignored.
"Vulkan. Ferrus. You will return to the Imperium."
Vulkan and Ferrus answered in unison:
"And we will pledge ourselves to the Master of Mankind, Father."
A flicker of emotion passed through Caelan's eyes.
His sons had grown well, becoming exactly what he had hoped for.
Yet Neoth seemed to have missed many things.
The Primarchs were full of humanity and called him father.
But Vulkan had other parents.
Neoth was only the donor of his genes.
None of Neoth's children had ever been raised by him.
They shared no emotional bond with him.
That bond belonged to Caelan.
Neoth had reunited with his sons, yet they spoke less and less.
They already knew everything.
There was nothing left to say.
Idle conversation might seem meaningless,
But it is the foundation of human bonds.
Without conversation, feelings become castles in the air.
Neoth was simply an awkward father.
Even if his education had failed, he should not completely lose the chance to try.
Eleven Primarchs had already returned.
Nine still remained.
The returned Primarchs would likely never become true father and sons with Neoth.
Even though Caelan always tried to defend Neoth and maintain his image in their hearts.
Still, that image had not been built by Neoth himself.
If possible, Caelan wanted to give Neoth a chance to show himself.
Even if Neoth personally did not care.
Caelan asked:
"Neoth, did you ever visit Nocturne during the Golden Age?"
"Never. Why do you ask?" Neoth replied calmly.
Caelan explained his theory.
Neoth said:
"A theme-park world? The Golden Age did create some themed planets. But you should know me."
"I've always been busy struggling. I had no time for leisure."
Neoth's "struggle" was genuine struggle.
Even when abandoned by allies, even when separated from family, he never gave up.
He had sacrificed far too much.
Ferrus asked:
"Then why did you visit Commorragh?"
Compared to Commorragh, human theme parks were like vegetarian dishes beside a feast of meat.
Neoth looked at Caelan.
"You know why."
Caelan glared back.
"Why are you looking at me? I didn't ask!"
Ferrus stepped in front of Caelan.
"Father, it has nothing to do with him. I'm the one asking."
Neoth slowly withdrew his gaze.
"Study. Collection. Reconnaissance."
The Emperor had not gone to Commorragh for pleasure.
As a human "exchange student" there, he had intended to steal ancient Eldar technology and knowledge, and map the topology of the Webway.
"If humanity wishes to escape the shackles of Warp travel, we must control the Webway."
"But the Eldar still grip it tightly. They are an obstacle to humanity's ascension."
"Commorragh is only a city, but even during the height of the Eldar Empire it was a Webway hub."
"It is not a city in the normal sense."
"It is a labyrinth formed from countless overlapping dimensions."
"Its size is measured in light-years, larger than thousands of worlds combined."
Commorragh was not a single city.
It contained countless stations.
Traveling through it at sub-light speed would take thousands of years to cross.
Someone who fell from one of its bridges would die of old age before reaching the ground.
Each station functioned as a satellite city.
Each could be the private domain of a Kabal.
They were connected by secret passages and portals capable of crossing thousands of light-years instantly.
Though Craftworld Eldar were active in realspace, the largest Eldar faction was actually the Dark Eldar.
Commorragh was their domain.
They had enslaved countless species from across the galaxy, especially Orks, whose numbers were beyond calculation.
And this was only one city.
Many other nodes existed within the Webway.
Some were abandoned.
Others were still inhabited by Eldar, Harlequins, Craftworld survivors, or Exodites.
But abandoned cities were not safer.
Warp demons roamed them freely.
The dangers of the Webway were no less than those of the galaxy.
Humanity's conquest of the Webway would be a long war.
It would require the vast logistical strength of the real universe.
In the Emperor's plan:
First , unite the galaxy during the Great Crusade.Second , seize the Webway.Finally , elevate humanity into a psychic species.
Neoth asked:
"Do you have any further questions?"
Vulkan stepped forward.
"Father… how do you view our sons?"
Caelan never hesitated to tell the truth.
But Vulkan still wanted to hear the answer from the Emperor himself.
What were they, and their Legions, to him?
Neoth answered:
"My expectations for you do not end within this galaxy."
"The challenges ahead will be far greater."
"Even if you fear I will discard you after victory, that moment will not come at the end of the Great Crusade."
"That would not yet be victory."
"At that time I will still require an unmatched army."
"Humanity must be protected by warriors and guided by sages."
"You and your Legions are the guardians of humanity."
"The stars are our path, but not our destination."
"The galaxy is only the beginning."
"One day we will ascend."
"Space Marines will evolve over time, but they will never be replaced."
"Does that answer satisfy you?"
Ferrus spoke deeply, "If this is your will, we will gladly die for your dream, Father."
Vulkan then asked quietly, "Father… even if only for a moment… have you ever truly regarded us as your sons?"
Neoth sighed faintly.
"Must I truly say those words myself?"
"Yes, Father," Vulkan said firmly.
"We need an answer. And so do you."
Neoth raised his solemn face and spoke softly, almost like a confession.
"You are my sons. You always have been."
Vulkan dropped to one knee.
"Then please continue to guide us, Father."
Ferrus knelt as well.
"No matter what lies ahead."
They might not have been the most perfect Primarchs.
Nor the most noble.
But they were the most devoted.
Neoth looked toward Caelan.
"You raised my sons well."
"You're mistaken," Caelan replied.
"They are our sons."
ROAR, !
Juno, who had been ignored the whole time, let out a furious dragon roar.
She hated third wheels.
Neoth asked calmly,
"And what is this lady's name?"
"Juno Ignis."
"I assume you named her."
"Who else would?"
A hint of nostalgia appeared in Neoth's eyes.
He too had once conquered a dragon.
"Since you knew it would anger Father, why did you do it?"
Corax's question made Curze smile meaningfully.
"My dear brother… that is the answer."
The answer?
The thought circled in Corax's mind before landing.
He was trying to provoke Father.
Corax's voice became icy.
"That was your goal?"
Curze replied calmly:
"I'm insane. Not stupid. You should know the difference."
"And what about what you did to me?"
"You know I'm jealous of you."
"How jealous?"
"I envy you as much as you envy me."
Curze's elegance in every gesture made Corax uneasy.
They were Primarchs.
Nobility was in their nature.
Yet Curze felt strangely incompatible with that image.
"What exactly are you trying to do?"
Curze replied:
"What have I actually done?"
The answer was absurdly simple.
So simple it felt ridiculous.
But beneath the absurdity, Corax began to understand.
"I judged you too quickly…"
He had been biased because of what the Night Lords had done to the Raven Guard.
And yes, Curze's Legion had gone too far.
But beyond that,
Curze was simply a lonely madman.
He hadn't truly harmed anyone.
Except Sevatar.
And even Sevatar…
Corax could tell at a glance that Curze's son was just as abnormal as his father.
Because Sevatar looked at him with friendly eyes.
Not the way a Space Marine should look at a Primarch.
So what had Curze actually done?
Corax thought it over.
Aside from Curze's beautifully unstable mental state…
Nothing.
Curze had been diligently conquering the galaxy.
Many brothers respected him as an elder.
Only Corax and Sevatar knew the truth.
Curze had shown incredible restraint.
Everything he did was merely to gain his father's attention.
He had endured silently.
Only when Father returned would he explode.
A sick child who had endured everything for his father,
Even if he occasionally acted out…
He had never caused great destruction.
Didn't such a child deserve pity?
Corax stared deeply at Curze.
He had misunderstood his brother.
He was the truly scheming one.
....
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