Before the altar, Fulgrim also heard the thirty-two massive explosions.
His footsteps paused for a fraction of a second.
But he didn't look back.
He didn't even bother asking what had happened.
In his eyes, there was only the sword.
That perfect blade calling out to him.
He reached out his right hand.
Vespasian abruptly stood up, ready to rush forward.
But a hand clamped down heavily on his shoulder.
A silver-grey figure stood by his side, a faint light surging deep within his eyes.
"Don't move," his voice was soft. "Leave this to me."
Vespasian froze in stun.
The next second...
The silver-grey silhouette exploded into motion.
The speed was absolute, so blindingly fast that every Astartes present could only catch a blurred afterimage.
Paul beat Fulgrim to the punch, arriving directly in front of the altar.
The five talons of his lightning claw splayed wide, mere inches from touching the blade...
"Lord Fulgrim!" His voice carried an ironclad frigidity. "Let me inspect it first!"
Fulgrim's face instantly darkened.
It was the terrifying scowl of a demigod Primarch whose authority had just been gravely offended by a lesser being.
"Gabriel!" His voice erupted like a crack of thunder. "Stand down!"
Paul did not retreat.
His lightning claws were less than three centimeters away from the sword...
Right in that exact instant.
A colossal wave of Warp energy erupted from the blade.
It was the raw power of Slaanesh.
A pink-purple light instantly flooded the entire temple.
That light carried bizarre whispers.
It carried a maddening, intoxicating laughter, and a sense of... perfection... that completely transcended human comprehension.
The Blade of the Laer suddenly flew up from the altar on its own.
It traced an impossibly graceful arc through the air...
And landed perfectly in Fulgrim's waiting hand.
Paul was thrown back three paces by the sheer kinetic force of that energy.
A web of fine, hairline fractures spiderwebbed across his silver-grey Gorgon Terminator armor.
He steadied himself and looked up.
Fulgrim was already gripping the hilt of the sword.
In that split second, it was as if the entire world had frozen still.
Fulgrim himself froze.
He could feel the absolute perfection contained within the blade.
A flawless, intoxicating perfection that transcended everything.
This was what he had been chasing his entire life.
This was something he believed he could only ever witness in the Emperor.
And now...
It rested right here in his own hands.
At the exact same moment, an invisible psychic shockwave swept outward in every direction, with the sword acting as its epicenter.
The shockwave bypassed physical distance, ignored all armor, and completely bypassed the resistance of normal willpower...
Crashing directly into the absolute depths of consciousness of everyone present.
Except for the very few individuals with the strongest wills... Vespasian and Tarvitz.
As for the players, they were largely unaffected by it.
But the rest of the Emperor's Children, including Kaesoron and Eidolon, suddenly felt a dizzying wave of sheer infatuation and ecstasy wash over them.
They stared at the sword in Fulgrim's hand, captivated by the flowing pink-purple light and its flawless form...
As if they were bearing witness to an entity that stood above all creation.
--
[Wings of Freedom Regional Chat]
[I Just Like Sleeping In]: "He grabbed it! He grabbed it! He grabbed it!!!"
[Number One Handsome of the Soul Hall]: "Heh heh heh heh heh!!! What's the quest progress at?!"
[Blue Pigeon Knows Nothing]: "71%! It's still climbing! It's still climbing!"
[All According to Plan]: "We got it."
[Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe]: "Wuu wuu wuu wuu... Finally... finally... twenty-plus days of blood, sweat, and tears... wuu wuu wuu..."
--
What they didn't know was...
A terrifyingly powerful Greater Daemon of Slaanesh slumbered within that blade.
And it was waking up.
From this exact moment onward, seductive whispers would begin to haunt Fulgrim's mind.
Praising his perfection.
Sympathizing with his burdens.
Revealing the pathways to an even greater, grander perfection.
The corruption had officially begun.
Deep within Fulgrim's pupils, that pink-purple glow was spreading like a wildfire.
His very soul was trembling.
Right at that exact moment...
An incredibly faint, entirely imperceptible psychic pulse shot out from Paul's eyes.
It was the power of the Hope trait.
It silently and seamlessly slipped into the absolute depths of Fulgrim's consciousness.
In that split second, Fulgrim saw a vision...
A vision of what the future would hold if he rejected this sword.
He saw Ferrus.
He saw vivid images of himself fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with his closest brother.
The golden years of the Great Crusade, the deafening cheers of victory, the nights they spent raising glasses together.
He saw his Father, the Emperor, crowning him with the most perfect of honors.
In this timeline, he saw it all with crystal clarity...
He was still the Primarch of the Emperor's Children Legion.
He was the Phoenician, revered across the Imperium.
He was still marching side-by-side with Ferrus.
He was one of the Emperor's proudest sons.
There were countless battles, countless victories, and countless glories.
Fulgrim's gaze flickered slightly.
But the very next second...
Slaanesh's power fought back.
The slumbering daemon within the blade unleashed a low, visceral roar.
That seductive allure of absolute perfection instantly grew infinitely more intense, far more violently aggressive, and entirely... irresistible.
Fulgrim's soul was torn asunder by the sheer force of it.
He felt his very consciousness fracturing into pieces.
One half was screaming at him... Put the sword down. There is something wrong with this blade.
The other half was roaring in utter frenzy... Perfection! This is true perfection! This is what you have been chasing your entire life! Why would you ever let it go?!
The two opposing forces violently collided within him, ripping at his psyche, tearing at his sanity, driving him mad...
A single tear slowly fell from the corner of his eye.
The teardrop slid down his flawless cheek, landing on the blade of the sword, instantly evaporating into a faint wisp of white mist.
He didn't even know why he was crying.
Was it sadness?
Was it regret?
Or was it... mourning for the self he was about to lose forever?
And then... his grip tightened around the hilt.
Fulgrim slowly turned around.
Those eyes, which used to be a brilliant violet, were now beginning to glow with an eerie, pink-purple light.
He looked at Paul.
Vespasian.
Tarvitz.
And the surrounding Emperor's Children.
The corners of his mouth slowly curled into a smile.
That smile was still perfect.
It was still entirely flawless.
But that perfection... was no longer a perfection that any human should possess.
"Perfection..." his voice sounded hollow and impossibly distant. "I have finally... attained true perfection..."
Right at that moment, an Imperial official stumbled blindly into the temple.
His face was deathly pale, drenched in cold sweat, his voice trembling uncontrollably...
"Lord Fulgrim! Someone has detonated explosives on the thirty-two energy pillars supporting the floating coral platform! This entire platform... is about to sink into the ocean! Please evacuate immediately!"
The temple fell into a dead silence.
Everyone stared at the purple silhouette.
Fulgrim just stood there.
With the sword resting comfortably in his grip.
And that eerie, unnatural smile plastered across his face.
--
Bonus at 200 powerstones.
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