Poisoned Words

“Sire, we will be ready to initiate Warp Jump in thirty minutes. We expect to arrive at Feuerstadt in ten days. We have notified the spaceport of our arrival in advance”

“Acknowledged, lieutenant. Be sure that our arrival home will be the cause of great jubilation.”

Lukas Keath smiled at the young officer, his sparkling white teeth standing out in his tanned face like the eyes of a cat prowling in the darkness. The thought of homecoming lit the Primarch's soul with joy. Despite the calamities that had shaken the Imperium as of late, including the murder of two brothers of his, Feuerstadt would always be a safe haven for Lord Keath, the familiar heat of its forges soothing his heart and bringing peace to his troubled mind.

Sitting on his command throne, Lukas heard the familiar sound of the bridge's gates sliding open then closed again. Peering over his shoulder, he saw Lord Admiral Dorius enter the hall, his strong physique belying his advanced age, his proud, sharp face unworn by the years.

A capable officer of the Navy, Howard Dorius had earned not only the Primarch's respect, but also his friendship. There was a mutual familiarity and trust between man and demigod, and each valued the other's counsel in no small amount.

The Admiral moved further towards the bridge's centre, listening to the reports of the crew and giving a handful of orders in regards to the course they should follow. Then, he turned to the Primarch. Standing beside his command throne, the difference in size between the wizened mortal and Lukas, whose bulk came close to rivalling a venerable dreadnought, seemed almost comical, and the friendship between them paradoxical.

“We are returning home at last, Lord Keath. Truly a blessing from Him, wherever He may be. Proof that He watches over us, even now. Wouldn't you agree?”

Lukas' eyes lit up with a hint of fury at the mention of his Father, his face tensing suddenly, for he had accepted long ago that his Father was dead and forever lost to them. Lukas had mourned for him like few other Primarchs had. And then he had moved on, for he would not let grief interfere with his duties. Dorius' words were akin to reopening a scabbed wound with a blunt blade, and caused no small amount of vexation to Lord Keath. Nevertheless, the Primarch would not allow his stoic mask to crack.

“A small solace from the ruination all around us, my friend. It is time to test whether home does heal all wounds indeed.”

“Oh yes, And also whether it can treat the ailments of old age, the kind that even my rejuvenat treatments struggle to relieve.”

Lukas felt the hair at the back of his neck tingle and stand all of a sudden, the goosebumps creeping to the rest of his body like a corpse's frigid caress. It was not fear which he felt, that was an emotion Lukas knew himself long incapable of experiencing. It was his subconscious alerting him to something amiss in his proximity, reacting to stimuli only he was sensitive enough to notice thanks to his psychic gifts. He let his gaze wander around the room in search of something, anything out of the ordinary, and finally his eyes rested on Lord Dorius, who was staring at him, visibly curious.

At that moment, a dreadful realisation dawned on Lukas; Whoever he was conversing with, was not Howard Dorius. Who or what it truly was that had assumed his form, Lukas did not know, but he could not let this charade go on, lest he risk the stranger completing whatever his tenebrous goal was.

He stood up from his throne, towering over every soul in the room, and stared down at the imitator. Everyone around them suddenly fell silent.

“*Who are you?*” His tone was cold, laced with anger.

The impersonator took a step back and dropped his shoulders, his expression becoming mellow and nervous. He was trying to make himself appear harmless, Lukas thought.

“Why, Lukas, this is an odd question indeed… are you perhaps jesting, the joys of home getting to your head?” The false Dorius laughed, failing to mask his fear.

“Odd question… For a fellow just as odd, who steals one's face to infiltrate my ship”

He unleashed a backhand against the imposter, his fist moving so fast that not even the eyes of the Astartes present could keep up, sending Dorius crashing against the ferrocrete wall. His impact cratered the metal and his mangled, bloody corpse hit the floor a second later.

Yet, to the surprise and horror of everyone present, Dorius kept moving still, or at least, something in the corpse did. Its flesh bubbled and boiled as smoke rose from the remains. Faintly golden in colour, fragrant beyond compare, it entered the nostrils of the nearby crew, evoking blissful memories and fantasies.

The molten flesh rose and twisted in new forms, the bones rearranging themselves to support this novel body. It was taller than its former guise and clearly inhuman, with clawed limbs and chitinous exoskeletal plates covering its body. Four gangly arms hung down its sides, and its face had settled into a disturbingly familiar form. Once the transformation had finished, the creature raised a hand to its face in an exaggerated gesture of lamentation.

“My oh my, for my disguise to truly be so easy to see through. Have I really become so predictable?”

“I do not recall you asking my permission to enter the *Herald*. Not that I would ever grant it, not to you, *Absalom*”

The daemon that bore Absalom's semblance laughed, his amusement at Lukas' wit genuine. It was then that those affected by the incense would see their dreams turn to nightmares in a split second, falling to their knees while their eyes, ears and mouths bled profusely. They would not rise again.

“Lukas, is this your idea of hospitality? How you welcome the brother you have not seen in so long and who loves you *to death*? You disappoint me, o Fiery One!”

“You never were capable of loving anyone other than yourself and the depraved concubine you call a queen, fiend. But it is expected of you to lie, after all treachery is second nature to you.”

“Your accusations hurt deep, Lukas… I am expending such a large part of the powers granted to me by my Prince and liege lord to manifest this form, this fragment of myself here to warn you, to help you and this is how you repay me?”

“Warn me? What is there to warn me about, Absalom, other than the corruption of your kind? The one you so willingly embraced when you betrayed all we stand for? Spare me your nonsense and begone!”

“There is plenty to be wary of, Lukas. Threats from within, the machinations of those you hold as allies. Those you trust.”

“It would appear that whatever infernal force is now in possession of your soul has deprived you of your intellect. You have nothing that can turn me against the Imperium, against my allies.”

“They are not your allies, Lukas. Not for long, at least. Your existence poses a threat to the Mechanicum, you openly scorn their practices, spit at everything they represent. Alexandros cannot cover for you much longer, he cannot hold the Omnissiah's zealots at bay forever. One day, Mars will give him an ultimatum, and that is the day when you, your sons, your home will die! Has your dogged loyalty blinded you, robbed you of your senses?”

“Do you truly believe Alexandros or any other Regent would let the Mechanicum have free rein over the Primarchs? We are the sons of the Emperor of Mankind. His generals, we carry the future of Mankind on our shoulders!"

"And so does the Mechanicum, Lukas! They hold the monopoly on our technology. They control it, and through it, they control the Imperium in ways your stubborn mind cannot conceive. Should they secede or, worse, turn on the Imperium, Mankind would go extinct in a few scant years. Think! Were the High Lords forced to choose between a Primarchs and his Legion or the blessings of the Machine God, what would they really choose? For only one option condemns Mankind to certain death.

We were always meant to be weapons, Lukas. Engines of war and conquest. And weapons are disposable. That is why there are twenty of us. There are more where you and I came from, and they can replace us. That is the fate that awaits you with the Imperium, I am afraid.”

“ENOUGH”

Lukas extended his right arm, his telekinetic powers flaring up as *Tyrantsbane* was launched from its stand next to the command throne and flew to the Primarch's open palm.

“I will stand your poisoned words no longer. I curse you in the name of the Emperor, and send you back where you came from.”

He raised his hammer high with a single arm and brought it down on the daemon, crushing it under the weight and the power field of the weapon. He then struck again and again, until Absalom's facsimile had been pulverised. Raising his other arm, he launched a stream of warpflame at the remains, incinerating them and turning them to fine ash, before sitting back on his throne, paying no mind to the onlookers, shocked as they were by this outburst of violence. He was lost too deep in thought to notice their scared gazes. Though he was loath to admit it, Absalom's words had shaken him, somewhere deep inside his soul. Were his brother right, what would happen to him once this dark age was over and order had returned to the Imperium? Were he to be eliminated, what would happen to his sons, to Feuerstadt?

This was all meaningless; this is the conclusion he arrived at. He, Lukas Keath, had a duty to uphold, an oath he had sworn the day he joined His Imperium. Come what may, Lukas would not break this oath even if it cost him his life.