"Hahaha, Ferrus, it really has been a long time!"
Fulgrim laughed maniacally. His face, once so beautiful that mortals would bow in worship, was now twisted beyond recognition by the power of Chaos. The corners of his mouth split open to an angle impossible for human facial anatomy, revealing a grin that was as radiant as it was spine-chilling.
Yet, it felt utterly hideous.
It was not a physical ugliness. On the contrary, even after being corrupted by Chaos, Fulgrim's features retained a sort of bizarre, ethereal beauty. The true ugliness lay in the fanatical light gleaming in his eyes—a distorted cocktail of love, hatred, possessiveness, and a craving for destruction.
Fulgrim's gaze locked onto the familiar yet alien figure before him.
Yes, it was him. Genuine, beyond a shadow of a doubt. This was the Primarch of the Iron Hands, the Son of the Gorgon, Ferrus Manus, whom he knew so well. It was also the very man whose head he had personally severed on Istvaan V.
"Do you have any idea how much I've missed you?"
Fulgrim slowly spread his four arms, adopting a posture that looked as though he were embracing a long-lost dear friend. But the xenos weapons held in each hand gleamed with a terrifying light. Runes of Slaanesh were etched into those twisted blades, which vibrated slightly in his palms, emitting a hungry hum.
Fantastic!
Yes, this sensation drove Fulgrim into a state of absolute euphoria! This was a feeling that could never be replicated in Fabius Bile's laboratory, no matter how many clones of Ferrus he slaughtered!
Evidently, at this very moment, catching sight of Ferrus—the object of his twisted affection—caused him to completely disregard why he had been mysteriously brought to this place. Tactical situations, the survival of his fleet, the grand designs of Chaos—all of it was cast to the winds by Fulgrim.
Ferrus, however, clearly had no intention of exchanging pleasantries. He did not even utter a single word. There was only silence.
Then, Ferrus moved.
He strode forward, his silver metallic arms reflecting a cold luster under the brilliant white light. In his left hand, he gripped the weapon that had struck terror across the galaxy: the warhammer Forgebreaker.
Without warning, without any flashy opening stance, Ferrus simply brought the hammer down.
Yet, this single strike was like wind and thunder combined. The air itself seemed to be cleaved open by the blow. A violent howl flashed and vanished; the sound was compressed into an incredibly sharp sonic boom before it even had a chance to propagate.
Fulgrim's pupils contracted sharply.
His maniacal laughter vanished as his face instantly tightened, his madness entirely suppressed by his survival instincts in that split second. Exerting force across all four arms simultaneously, he crossed his four twisted piercing swords to form a shield, meeting the falling warhammer that resembled a plunging meteor.
The clash of metal exploded with a deafening roar. It was a terrifying, thunderous sound capable of tearing a mortal's body apart. A shockwave rippled outward from the duo as the epicenter, stirring visible waves in the pure white space.
Fulgrim's serpentine tail slammed against the ground to deflect the devastating force. He slid backward several steps, the muscles in his four arms trembling slightly.
Ferrus, meanwhile, took only a single step back before planting his feet firmly once more, standing as unyielding as a mountain.
"Truly beyond my expectations, my friend," Fulgrim said, pressing a hand to his chest as his serpentine tail coiled on the ground in an elegant arc.
Making a nauseatingly entranced expression, he continued, "To think you are still carrying the gift I gave you—this 'Forgebreaker.' You actually kept it! After all these years, I am truly moved!"
"I can even see the marks left by your grip on the handle. Admit it, Ferrus, the bond between you and me has never—"
"You talk too much."
Ferrus's voice was deep and entirely devoid of warmth. He had finally spoken.
The smile froze on Fulgrim's face.
But before he could even react, the power pack on Ferrus's back suddenly deployed. Every single armor plate on the pack snapped open in an instant, exposing an internal mechanical structure intricate enough to take one's breath away. The components flipped, rotated, and locked together in a dizzying transformation, extending countless weapons that even a Daemon Primarch would struggle to identify.
The next moment, a downpour of attacks howled toward Fulgrim.
Plasma streams, melta beams, bolt shells, gauss fire, and psychic weapons—every ounce of firepower unleashed simultaneously. The sheer density of the barrage painted the entire pure white space in a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors. The trajectory of every single attack had been precisely calculated, sealing off all of Fulgrim's possible evasion routes.
Faced with a terrifying volume of fire capable of melting an entire Legion, Fulgrim actually smiled.
Holding his four twisted swords, he began to dance on the spot. It was a dance in the literal sense. Every swing of his blade carried a morbid elegance, as if he were not evading lethal attacks, but performing a solo dance in an empty ballroom. His serpentine tail slithered across the floor, tracing beautiful curves, while his four arms swung in trajectories impossible for a human.
His speed and agility were so terrifying that the naked eye could only discern a violet afterimage weaving through the barrage. Even under such intense firepower, Fulgrim managed to hold his ground. In fact, it could even be said he was enjoying the process.
"Oh dear, don't look so cold, my friend," Fulgrim said, his body twisting through the barrage to dodge direct hits in a manner that defied the laws of physics. His voice drifted through the gaps in the crossfire, carrying an unsettling ease. "How about we chat for a bit?"
He spoke with genuine interest, as if discussing the weather with an old acquaintance.
"For instance, I am intensely curious as to how you brought me here. I was clearly ordering a retreat, and I had clearly escaped the encirclement of the Phalanx—so why am I here?"
"It is actually quite simple," Ferrus replied calmly. All the while, the attacks from his hands did not pause for a second. His power pack continuously poured out firepower, and the warhammer swung in his grip, with every blow forcing Fulgrim to abandon a counter-attacking opportunity.
His voice remained perfectly audible over the roaring artillery. "You can understand it as an attraction between Primarchs."
A flash of bewilderment crossed Fulgrim's face.
An attraction between Primarchs?
It would be one thing if such words came from anyone else, but the speaker was Ferrus Manus—the figure least capable of such sentimental talk among all the Primarchs. Even Fulgrim could not connect this sentence to the taciturn Iron Hand of his memories.
"Do not misunderstand; it is a fact," Ferrus said, his tone remaining cold as his strikes continued unabated. His warhammer slammed against Fulgrim's crossed-sword defense, triggering a ring of shockwaves. Immediately following that, the weapons in his pack fired in unison again, forcing Fulgrim to retreat repeatedly, his serpentine tail dragging a deep gouge into the ground.
"Have you not felt it? The karmic bond of destiny between us is incredibly firm. And your previous action of ordering an escape from the Phalanx's siege—that act of resistance—instead triggered a rebound from this very bond."
His voice paused as his silver metallic arm suddenly exerted immense force, violently sweeping aside Fulgrim's defense.
"Upon receiving that feedback, and thanks to an item given to me by a certain someone, the distance between us naturally compressed. Just like this!"
Before his voice even faded, he took a heavy step forward. It was a step powerful enough to make the entire space shudder. The ground shattered into countless fragments beneath his feet as he propelled himself forward like a cannonball.
Fulgrim's barely stabilized defense was completely torn open by this force. His four piercing swords were knocked wide, exposing a massive opening at his chest.
Ferrus's metallic fist clenched tight, his silver knuckles carving a piercing screech through the air. Then, that fist smashed squarely into Fulgrim's chest.
The sound of shattering bones was crystal clear.
Fulgrim's chest caved in completely under the punch. His ribs snapped like dry twigs, and violet blood sprayed from the rupture, arcing through the air and splattering onto the ground.
"Cough—!"
Fulgrim's body flew backward, his serpentine tail wrapping around the ground at the very last second to keep himself from being completely thrown. His chest collapsed at an appalling angle, blood continuously welling from the wound.
However, the expression on the Daemon Primarch's face was not one of pain—but of pleasure. Unvarnished, blatant pleasure.
"Wow, so that's how it is. Is this the bond between us?" Fulgrim lifted his blood-stained face, his violet eyes wide with excitement. Even after suffering such heavy trauma, his voice remained steady, laced with a morbid fascination. "To think the connection between us is strong to this extent—I am truly touched!"
Wiping away the blood from the corner of his mouth and licking the fluid off his fingertips, Fulgrim flashed another brilliant smile.
"In that case, doesn't this mean we can see each other every day?" Anticipation filled his voice.
Ferrus looked at him, gazing at the abominable smile blooming on that twisted face. Then, he said flatly, "Apologies. You have misunderstood."
"What?"
Fulgrim's smile froze. He sensed that something was wrong.
Initially, he had detected a furnace-like, burning emotion within Ferrus—a scorching hatred and a murderous intent that felt incredibly familiar. All of it had brought Fulgrim joy. He took joy in Ferrus's hatred!
But now, that emotion was receding at an unbelievable speed, like a fire suddenly starved of oxygen.
"There is no next time," the cold voice rang out, sounding like a final sentence. Ferrus's eyes locked onto him. "I only came to see just how hideous a state my once dearest brother had fallen into. Nothing more."
Fulgrim's violet eyes widened dramatically.
"Ferrus————" There was a barely perceptible tremor in his voice.
But Ferrus did not give him the chance to speak further. He cast a regretful look at Fulgrim, then simply shook his head.
Taking a step back, Ferrus vanished into thin air, as if he had never existed.
"No, wait—!" Fulgrim lunged forward, his four arms flailing in the air, trying to grasp the fading silhouette. But his hands only met emptiness.
His chest—the wound punched open by Ferrus—was still oozing blood. Yet, what truly caused him pain was a place much deeper inside his chest.
He would have preferred to be killed by Ferrus. He would have preferred to have his skull crushed by that warhammer, just as he had done on Istvaan V—only this time, with himself as the one whose head was shattered.
Fulgrim had fantasized about this scenario countless times: imagining Ferrus staring at him with that eternally cold face, pouring all his hatred onto him. That was what he wanted!
But Ferrus wouldn't even grant him that.
"How can you just stop playing—?!" Fulgrim's voice echoed through the empty, pure white space.
Simultaneously, he felt the world shift around him. The entire pure white space began to warp and fold like a crumpled canvas. The white light began to recede, replaced by a much more familiar illumination. It was a light composed of countless colors blended together, forming an eerie hue unique to the Warp that human language could not describe.
Time resumed its flow.
Fulgrim realized he had returned to the Warp. The endless, turbulent flows of emotion washed over his perception like a tide. He was intimately familiar with this place, knowing its every rule and every law. Fulgrim had returned. Returned to the place where he had willingly degraded himself.
"...He let me go?"
Fulgrim stood where he was, the horrific wound on his chest healing at a speed visible to the naked eye. The power of the Warp repaired his damaged physical form, but that sense of abandonment could not be mended by any means.
His hands shook slightly. Not out of fear, but because of an emotion he was unwilling to admit even to himself.
"What is going on————to think he won't even give me that?" Fulgrim's voice dropped low.
Then, a figure appeared before him. Without any warning, it was as if the person had been standing there from the very beginning, and Fulgrim had simply overlooked him.
"What? Oh no!" Fulgrim's face drained of color.
It was a young man dressed in simple traveler's robes, bearing a peaceful expression with a trace of a smile on his lips.
Wait, this face————
Wasn't this the Second Cursed One!
At this exact moment, the realization finally dawned on Fulgrim. Indeed, given Ferrus's way of doing things, since he had already transported Fulgrim to his home turf, it was only natural that he would make the most thorough and absolute preparations to eradicate him.
So, what method could possibly be more efficient than delivering him straight into the presence of the "Second Cursed One"—a guy capable of facing down the four Chaos Gods directly?
But then another problem arose. Fulgrim felt utterly bewildered: What on earth were the four Chaos Gods doing? Hadn't the fighting just been incredibly fierce? How could they fail to keep an eye on someone?
Slaanesh, save me!
"You—"
Before he could even speak, Adam extended a hand.
Then, an infinite, boundless torrent of information flooded into Fulgrim's mind like a deluge. It was a volume of data that defied verbal description.
The birth and destruction of the Warp, the history and future of the galaxy, the rise and fall of countless civilizations, the life and death of countless beings, the birth and nature of Slaanesh, the rules and loopholes of Chaos—everything, all knowledge that should and should not exist, all secrets permitted and forbidden to be known, were crammed into his consciousness in a single instant.
A stimulus of this magnitude far exceeded anything Fulgrim had ever experienced.
His brain—even the brain of a Daemon Primarch—was completely overwhelmed and broken by this torrent of information. His violet eyes lost all focus, staring wide in blank vacancy.
Fulgrim was completely incapacitated!
Standing before the Daemon Primarch, Adam looked at him and offered a delighted smile.
"My, my," he said softly, "this truly is a fine piece."