Thrizes

The symphonic melodies of Imperial artisans filled the acoustic halls of the God-King of Thrizes. The late God-King of Thrizes. Three Thrizean days ago the world was forcibly brought into the Imperium of Mankind. Before the Imperials came, the world was ruled by a theocratic monarch, however now it answered to a new ruler: the distant Emperor of Mankind. The Emperor had sent his Angels of Death to liberate the world from the God-King, more specifically, the XIIth Legiones Astartes, the Brothers Encarmine, lead by the Twin Lords of Love and War, Vinicius and Euphrano Geminius. The compliance had been a glorious one, and earlier that day an occasion had been made official; the God-King and his royal guard had faced off against two of the XIIth Legion’s champions. Two-hundred-and-one versus two. Two won.

## Thrizes

In most conceivable instances that could not have happened, but the Emperor’s angels were far beyond any mortal man. Even then, the Brothers Encarmine were different even amongst their ranks, they had the benefit of their greatest asset: the Cojunx. The psychic bond of the Cojunx allowed two to become one in war, but the bond went beyond the battlefield.

Myron Lillas was part of the Brothers Encarmine’s 3rd chapter, 33rd company. He had been lucky enough to be part of the Twin Lords’ final push into the God-King’s palace. As such, he had been invited to join his Primarchs during the final celebrations in the same place that had been a battlefield only days ago. He smiled. These Terrans truly knew how to craft tunes for the ages. He had already joined his Battle Brothers in dance, but now he sat off to the side, enjoying the ambiance. Behind him, back to back, sat Loukas, his Cojunx partner. He looked around. Next to them were Aulus and Nias Verulus. They were showing pict-captures from the assault to a handful of other Brothers. They had had the privilege of witnessing the Primarchs dragging the God-King off of his throne and forcing an end to the siege. They had a talent for using their helmet-picters. Loukas took a sip from his goblet of wine. Myron could feel its taste.

“Terran. Franc. At Least 30 years old.” Myron said, savoring the taste. Loukas sat up and grabbed the bottle. Myron knew he was right. Both laughed.

“I still do not know how you do it.” Loukas replied.

“Years of practice. As well as your impeccable taste.” Myron joked.

He felt Loukas, still laughing, getting comfortable and shutting his eyes. Myron allowed himself to close his eyes for a little while as well. He savored the smells, the tastes and the sounds. These were the joys of the Imperium that Myron, Loukas and their fellow Brothers had brought to Thrizes. He felt at peace.

## War

Du’Van - M30.909

The 33rd company waded their way up the stairs of the tower, cutting and cleaving their way through the xeno-hybrids standing between them and their target. The Lillas Cojunx were at the speartip, ample metres behind the captain Cojunx of Decius and Septimus Valgus. The 33rd company had been deployed in a flanking maneuver, in the midst of an enemy fortification, to cut the head off of the enemy’s defenses and command hierarchy. These wretched hybrids, humans with altered xeno-gene based physiologies, would soon be another footnote in the glorious writs of conquest of the Imperium of Man. With one final push, the Brothers Encarmine slammed into the bolted gate and tore it off of its hinges. They flooded onto the roof, but more foes awaited them.

Myron and Loukas broke off and dove deep into the enemy ranks. They tumbled underneath the blade of an electro-ionized greatsword swung at them by one of the largest of the xeno-hybrids. Loukas tore through the giant’s calf during his roll and Myron immediately used the opening that gave them to put a bolt round through the back of the giant’s head. While he opened fire into the mass of hybrid soldiers, Myron spotted an enemy praetorian, armed with a cackling thunder lance, stepping in behind Loukas. Before Myron even had the chance to take the praetorian out, Loukas himself spun on his heel and cleaved through the lance and the praetorian’s neck. A kick from behind by another giant threw Myron off of his feet. Loukas leapt at the giant in return, plunging his chainsword into the giant’s chest. Myron, prone, put three rounds into the hybrid giant, including one in his faceplate. Angered, the giant tore off the battered metal, revealing black eyes, a mandible jaw and pale, scaled skin. The face of abomination. Loukas, chainsword still inside the hybrid, braced his feet and jumped back off, tearing open open the giant’s chest and neck in the process. One last bolt from Myron into its eyeless void brought an end to its death throes.

Their decision to break off from the speartip and move through where the concentration of enemy troops was lower paid off. The Lillas Cojunx were the first to get to the enemy’s command platform. Loukas strode up the curved stairs while Myron stopped at the base. Myron knew what was about to happen, as did the enemy general, by the look in his black eyes. He activated his helmet’s picter. Loukas caught up to the general, ducked slightly, clenched his fist and brought it up with righteous fury. His fist connected to the general’s chin, sending ripples through his body and tearing through his neck, causing the head to fly off several metres away and over the tower’s edge. Loukas stood at the top of the stairs, his white armor soaked in blood.

Myron and Loukas looked at one another. Before either had a chance to express their joy however, Myron noticed Loukas had spotted a threat. He spun around to face an enemy gunman standing on a higher point of fortification. Myron again raised his bolter and he blew the gunman off of his feet, but not before his enemy had gotten a shot of his own off. What filled Myron then was not a sense of victory. Only emptiness. He turned around to see Loukas laying at the top of the stairs. And a hole in his chest.

## Consequences

Orbit of Du’Van - M30.909

Myron Lillas sat on one of the many observation decks of the God of War, twin flagship of the 222nd Expeditionary fleet. He looked down at Du’Van. A twisted hellhole of a planet, home to nothing but heretics and pointless suffering; not the first world like that Myron had been on. Most of those he had managed to forget, but he knew that Du’Van would be with him forever. He took a sip from his wine, yet he tasted nothing. Not a damned thing. The constant buzzing in his head did not help either, nor the ringing in his ears. Myron’s thoughts were interrupted by a hand touching his shoulder, a comforting, firm grasp. Myron turned his head to see whoever the hand belonged to.

“Lord Dectusson!” Myron exclaimed. Dectusson returned a gloomy smile. Latros Dectusson was the Legion Sub-Commander of the Widow Companies, also known as the “Black Widower.” He had direct control over a significant portion of the XIIth legion, answering only to the Twin Primarchs and the Emperor of Mankind himself. And with Loukas’ death, Myron would now answer to him as well.

“No need to be unnerved, brother Lillas. This moment is yours, not mine.” Dectusson said as he sat down next to Myron. Silence fell over them for a little while, until Myron broke it.

“Does it get better?” He asked, looking at Dectusson. The Black Widower nodded.

“Given time and proper training it will. The ringing will quiet down. Your taste will return. But it will never be the same. There will always be a void tugging at you, where your soul stopped and his began.” He paused and looked at Myron. Myron said nothing. Dectusson continued. “That is why the Widow Companies were instituted. So we can cope with the grief together, and still serve the greater Imperium.” He got up and poured himself a glass of wine.

“I never imagined it would be like this. I had seen the Widow Companies, certainly, and I pitied their fate, but to actually experience it…” Myron interjected.

“We are the other side to the Cojunx’ boons. Most times they get lucky. Most times, when one dies, both die. A foe too strong, a hazard underestimated. But sometimes, we’re left behind. A single moment, and a lifetime of suffering. But not a lifetime bereft of purpose. We are the Emperor’s Angels of Death still, brother Lillas. We will grieve in war.”

“Thank you, Lord Dectusson. You are right. Only in death does duty end.” Myron finally replied.

“Indeed it does. Bloodbound. Honourbound.” Dectusson reaffirmed, citing the legion’s warcry.

“Bloodbound. Honourbound.” Myron replied. Him and Dectusson spent a few more moments together, in contemplative silence. This time, Dectusson broke it.

“Take a few more days. Once the immediate effects wear off, you’ll take the black and join us formally. Be well, Myron Lillas.”

With that, the Lord of the Widow Companies left the observation deck. Myron looked back down at Du’Van, the twisted hellhole he had left alone. He took one more sip from his cup of wine. Still nothing. He smashed it against the glass.