Chapter 80: Transactions
In the centre of the hall, the Primarch's massive body lay limp on the ground.
His prized serpentine tail, mostly severed, still emitted purple smoke.
His eerily beautiful face was filled with fear and deep self-doubt.
Three Primarchs—Guilliman, clad in the Armour of Fate; Mortarion, wielding the Scythe of Judgement; and Ferrus, engulfed in black flames—surrounded him.
"It is over, Father."
Akurduana stepped out from the ranks of the heroic spirits.
The pale soul-fire on his Sana Ap' Karna grew increasingly faint, yet he stood ramrod straight.
"You led us through the abyss of the Blight, making us the glorious Emperor's Children. You also told me to wield every sword flawlessly, to turn every battle into art."
Akurduana stared at the writhing mass of flesh on the ground, his eyes devoid of pity, only filled with merciless scrutiny.
"But your end is a hideous abyss."
"Look at yourself now. Mutated limbs, and a heart corrupted by desire."
"In the name of swordsmanship, in the name of the warrior's honour—"
Akurduana held his sword with both hands, tip pointing downwards, in a gesture of judgment.
"You are unworthy to wield a sword. Unworthy to be called perfect."
Saul Tarvitz also stepped forward. His power sword, too, pointed downwards.
"For Istvaan III."
Tarvitz's voice was hoarse.
"For those loyal souls you betrayed, those who died under the virus bombs. For those brothers who believed in you until their last breath."
"This is for the betrayed trust."
Lord Commander Vespasian, once Fulgrim's most trusted lieutenant, now simply stroked the unhealable scar on his neck.
"I would have died for you, Father."
Vespasian's voice trembled.
"But I never imagined I would die at your hands. Die the moment I drew my sword to protect you."
"In the name of honour, I, Vespasian, Lord Commander of the Third Legion, hereby declare—"
"You are stripped of command of the Legion. You are no longer the father we acknowledge."
Whoosh—
A massive shadow loomed over Fulgrim.
The Ancient Rylanor, in his colossal Dreadnought chassis, stepped forward, his power claw roaring.
"Whether as a warrior or as a father—"
Rylanor's electronically synthesised voice thundered.
"Fulgrim, you have utterly failed. In the history of this galaxy, you will forever be remembered as a shameful footnote."
"Rylanor, witness the end of the traitor."
All the verdicts had been read.
All the sins had been settled.
Ferrus Manus, the Gorgon of Medusa, slowly raised The Forgebreaker warhammer, burning with black flames of destruction.
The hammer was aimed at Fulgrim's head.
"Enough."
Ferrus's voice was devoid of emotion.
"No more words, no more repentance. For your repentance is worthless."
"Fulgrim."
"Your name will be forged. Your sins will be cleansed."
"On behalf of the Imperium and the Emperor, I sentence you to death."
The warhammer fell.
With the power to shatter mountains, it was poised to settle ten thousand years of grudges and entanglements of love and hate.
Fulgrim closed his eyes, and the daemon let out a desperate scream.
Just a centimetre from Fulgrim's head—
Buzz—Zzzzt—
The surrounding space suddenly underwent a violent phase shift.
The once-stable structure of reality crumbled like a crumpled sheet of paper.
A ghostly green light, filled with an aura of death, flickered out of thin air.
Accompanying it was an ancient, lifeless mechanical hum, and a sound like countless beetles crawling across the earth.
"Wait, wait."
An aged, hoarse voice, echoing with a mechanical resonance, abruptly rang in everyone's ears.
"Such a precious 'collection'… to smash it like this, even as a fragment of history, would be a terrible waste."
Ferrus's warhammer abruptly stopped in mid-air.
It was not that he wanted to stop, but a small force field barrier suddenly appeared beneath the hammerhead, completely absorbing the kinetic energy of the strike.
Everyone turned sharply.
On one side of the hall, where there had been nothing before, the air rippled like water.
A figure appeared.
The newcomer was hunched over, wearing a cloak woven from countless tiny metal pieces, and holding a sceptre topped with a green jewel.
His body was entirely composed of living metal, his face covered by an expressionless mask, only his eyes flashing green.
He was adorned with various strange ornaments: a technologically advanced small box, the skull of some unknown xenos, and even a ticking Imperial pocket watch.
A seasoned scholar among the Primarchs immediately recognised the figure before him.
The overlord of the Necrons.
The galaxy's greatest collector of artefacts… or perhaps museum curator.
Trazyn the Infinite.
"Xenos contact!!"
Guilliman reacted the fastest.
The highest-level alarm immediately sounded on the Armour of Fate.
"All personnel on alert! It is a Necron!"
The flames on Guilliman's Emperor's Sword surged, the blade instantly pointing at Trazyn.
Mortarion also immediately turned, his "Judgement" scythe sweeping across, blocking Eileen's path.
Ferrus did not speak, but his eyes, burning with black fire, had already locked onto the uninvited guest, his warhammer charging.
Faced with the killing intent of three Primarchs capable of changing the face of the stars,
Trazyn, however, seemed completely unfazed.
Metal fingers tapped the sceptre lightly, producing a crisp sound.
"Do not be nervous, living beings."
Trazyn spoke in a synthesised, laughter-like voice.
"I am not here to start a war. War is too brutal; it destroys many valuable things."
Green eyes flickered, their gaze passing over the poised Primarchs and landing on Eileen, who was being protected by Sicarius and Varo.
"I just… want to make a deal with an interesting lady."
Eileen peeked out from behind Sicarius's shoulder, warily eyeing the strange-looking metal frame.
"A deal?"
She asked in her mind.
"Old Huang, who is this guy? He looks even more like a robot than those red-robed oil-man types."
[Oh?]
Old Huang's voice echoed in her mind, tinged with surprise and amusement.
[Is not this the biggest thief in the entire galaxy… cough cough, I mean collector?]
[The Infinite Trazyn. This one is a tough nut to crack. He has everything, even Black Legionnaires and a Tyranid Swarmlord are 'collected' by him.]
[He actually came here? Interesting.]
Old Huang paused, his tone becoming playful.
[Hear what he is up to. Knowing his personality, he will not make a move under these circumstances.]
[Go, Eileen. Ask him what kind of deal he is interested in.]
With Old Huang's confirmation, Eileen grew bolder.
She patted Sicarius's shoulder armour, signalling him to lower her.
"It is alright, Uncle Sicarius."
Eileen jumped to the ground, straightened her slightly dirty trench coat, and strode to the front of the line.
She looked up at the metal skull, several times her height.
"Hey, Tin Man."
Eileen put her hands on her hips, adopting the posture of negotiating a price at the junkyard.
"What kind of deal do you want? Let me make it clear first, if you want a fight, my brothers are quite fierce."
Trazyn looked at Eileen, his electronic eyes flashing a few times, seemingly making some kind of assessment.
Then, he made an unexpected move.
He bowed slightly, offering an elegant, albeit somewhat stiff, bow.
"Greetings, esteemed lady."
Trazyn straightened up, his voice steady and alluring.
"I witnessed the battle. Very… spectacular. Full of historical weight and dramatic twists."
He extended a metal finger, pointing to the still-dying Fulgrim on the ground.
"I wish to exchange a 'flawless counterfeit'…"
Trazyn paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully.
"… for this 'damaged original'."
"A counterfeit? The original?"
Guilliman frowned, his sword still drawn.
"What riddle are you playing? If you try to rescue this traitor, you will face the wrath of the Imperium."
"Rescue? No, no, no."
Trazyn shook his head, clicking his tongue.
"Your Highness Lord Commander, your thinking is too narrow. In a collector's eyes, there are no traitors or loyalists, only 'rarity' and 'historical value.'"
"This—" He pointed to the fallen Fulgrim on the ground, "Although he has become ugly, twisted, and even broken into pieces, he is still the original. He is a witness to history, and a living specimen. He has great collectible value."
"As for my bargaining chip—"
Trazyn extended his mechanical hand.
A light flickered in his palm.
A small, hyperdimensional stasis field cube slowly emerged.
"Look."
As Trazyn spoke, the cube rapidly enlarged, transforming into a transparent stasis cage three metres high.
And within that cage,
a figure floated silently.
The moment the figure was clearly seen:
Guilliman's Emperor's Sword drooped, nearly striking his foot.
Mortarion's pupils contracted, and he even took a half-step forward.
Even Ferrus, a spirit, had his burning head tremble violently.
"This… how is this possible?!"
Guilliman cried out in disbelief.
The figure in the cage was a giant.
He had long, flowing, silver-white hair like a waterfall.
His face was as handsome as a hero from ancient Terran mythology—without mutation, without scars, and without any trace of corrupted evil.
It was a pure, noble, breathtaking perfection.
He wore a set of exquisitely crafted purple power armour trimmed with gold—the original livery of the Third Legion during the Great Crusade.
His eyes were closed, as if he were in a deep sleep.
Even so, that innate, Primarch-like warmth still emanated from within the stasis field.
That was—
Fulgrim.
Not the serpent-tailed daemon.
But the Phoenix that once shone brightly on Chemos, before obtaining the Blade of the Laer, still the most perfect son under the Emperor's throne.
"You… you resurrected him?"
Mortarion's voice was hoarse. He could not believe his eyes.
"Resurrected? No, that is something only sorcerers do."
Trazyn shrugged.
"It is cloning."
He explained, a hint of admiration in his voice.
"It was created by that living being named Fabius Bile… a mad but undeniably talented one."
"He used the Primarch's original genes, combined with certain technologies, to create this… 'perfect imitation.'"
Trazyn tapped the stasis wall.
"He possesses a perfect body, all his memories. Even—"
Trazyn's single eye gleamed with an eerie light.
"—he might even possess a fragment of a pure soul, one that should have vanished long ago."
"But he is not, after all, the original that has endured ten thousand years."
"To me, his historical value… is slightly less."
Trazyn turned to look at Eileen.
"So, the terms of the deal are simple."
"I will give you this perfect, perhaps even useful, Fulgrim."
"In exchange, I will take away the broken Fulgrim on the ground, a Fulgrim steeped in historical lessons."
"Of course—"
Trazyn added.
"Although his current condition is poor, he is still a warp entity. I need your assistance, using your technology… or rather, your rituals, to seal him within a material anchor point so that I can place him within my stasis field."
"You will not lose out in this deal."
A sudden silence fell over the room.
All eyes darted back and forth between the sleeping clone and the mangled daemon on the ground.
Guilliman's heart pounded.
A clean Fulgrim?
A brother who had not fallen, who could still fight alongside him?
The temptation was too great.
But he dared not agree easily. Because it involved the warp, it involved the xenos.
He looked at Eileen.
"Eileen… what do you think?"
Eileen scratched her head.
She did not understand Primarchs or cloning.
But she understood one thing: trade this useless, soon-to-be-chopped piece of junk for a brand-new, seemingly powerful one.
Was this not just… junk trading?
"Old Huang, is this a viable business?"
[Yes! It is doable!]
Old Huang's voice was almost cracking with excitement.
[This is the Fulgrim clone! One of the biggest unresolved questions in Warhammer!]
[Although that mad scientist is a lunatic, the clone he created truly possesses the Primarch's brilliance; even those traitorous Chaos Space Marines could not help but follow him!]
[If we can bring him back… that would add a real fighting force to the Imperium! And I still have some warp energy; I might be able to reshape his warp essence in the future!]
[As for that daemon on the ground? Give it to him! It is beyond repair anyway, just a useless piece of junk. Let the figurine king take it back as a collectible; it is perfect waste utilisation.]
"Okay!"
Eileen received a positive reply and immediately made the decision.
She looked up at Trazyn.
"Tin Man! I will take the deal!"
"But you have to guarantee that the new one is good! Not broken! Otherwise, you will have to provide warranty service!"
Trazyn revealed a satisfied "smile" (though it was not visible on his metallic face).
"Of course. The Infinite One never—"
Just as Eileen was about to nod, and the deal was about to be finalised—
Rumble—!!!
A tremor more violent than any before suddenly reached this place, even affecting the entire planet.
This tremor did not originate from the material realm, but from the depths of the Sea of Souls.
Sergeant Varo's auspex suddenly emitted a sharp cry.
The readings on the screen turned into gibberish.
"Massive warp readings detected!!"
Sergeant Varo reported.
"And not just one source! Three!!"
"Three massive warp energy sources, seemingly colliding behind the newly healed veil of reality here!!"
Buzz—
[Holy crap…]
Old Huang's voice echoed in Eileen's mind, tinged with schadenfreude.
[This is going to be quite a spectacle in the warp.]
[That purple pervert is probably desperate. The blessing did not work, and her most beloved toy is about to be sold. Looks like this will not bring her much pleasure.]
[Even more interesting is…]
Old Huang chuckled.
[The other two.]
[That red brute—he probably saw she was about to make a move and had to stop her.]
[As for that green fat old man… hahahahahaha]
[I cannot say what his mentality is.]
"Then… what do we do?" Eileen sensed things were getting serious.
[Do not panic.]
Old Huang's voice was reassuring.
[These three do not like each other. If they are going to team up… they will fight it out first.]
[So…]
Old Huang concluded.
[Those three are fighting amongst themselves in the warp; they do not have time to care about this.]
[Let them fight like dogs. Let us get back to business.]