#clone!fulgrim

[syberfab]

Trazyn wont be the only one happy to finally acquire Fabius Bile <3

[candyswirls]

Return of the Phoenician Pt 3

Warnings: Fulgrim struggles with seeing himself as his own person and not an object or copy. Self depreciation, dehumanizing self, self-worth issues, identity issues, mentions of eating food, McDonalds (yes, I know)

Previous - Next - Master Post

He gasped awake, continuing sobs he had while dreaming. He gripped the tunic over his chest, and his eyes darted to the scarab, sitting in the exact same position he'd left it.

He hiccuped and reached out to it. It crawled into his hand, and he held it to his neck as he curled into a ball. He let tears drip onto the bed below.

Low green light lit the edges of the room. But whenever he blinked, all he saw was the decapitated body, massive terminator armor looming over him, and the backside of blue armor turned away from him.

He could not recall most of the dream- no, nightmare. His stomach grew nauseous, and he rubbed it in hopes of soothing the feeling.

He hated nights like this. Seeing his brothers dying. The pain caused at his hands... Did he even deserve to call them brothers? He wasn't actually Fulgrim... just a clone. Did he have any right to take what the original had discarded? He was already set to be branded by that stupid snake's actions.

He could be shot as soon as he set foot onto an imperial planet. This was a stupid idea. His measly rebellion back with teacher had failed. Then he'd been gotten rid of.

He tried shaking off these feelings and moping thoughts, but he couldn't. There was one aspect that kept his stomach in knots.

Roboute.

Why did the thought of seeing him again rock him so much? What had happened that made his brother reject him in these night terrors? Why was he so afraid?

Perfect and full memory indeed. That was a lie. After ascension to daemonhood, he could not recall anything that happened. Even as far back to when he touched that stupid blade, memory became spotty.

Even moments of his life on Chemos blurred together. Sections of childhood blank.

He choked and covered his mouth. Not his. These weren't his memories. Not his life. Not his childhood. He never had one.

He broke down further.

Was it foolish to feel like he'd been robbed? Of living and being his own self? Was who he believed himself to be even real? Or was he truly just some faulty copy.

He wasn't fulgrim. He didn't have a name. Not even a number to identify himself of what clone he was.

He sobbed on the bed for hours. Spiraling endlessly into damned thinking.

What if he didn't go? What if he just stayed here? With Trazyn? Grow into his own person. Learn from Orikan? He'd been abandoned here anyway.

He couldn't. Whenever he thought of not returning, he saw the mutated and mutilated faces and forms of the Emperor's Children. They lit up upon seeing the face and aura of their primarch. Relief and joy overwhelming them. They'd been abandoned. Cast aside. They followed HIM. He knew they would have come with him to rejoin the imperium.

How many had been doomed because they followed their primarch into becoming a traitor?

He could see within his mind the countless faces of those sentenced to death upon Istvan III. Brave and noble. They had no idea what was to come. Brave Saul going to warn them of what was to come. Young and eager Dallel wanting to prove himself. Optimistic Rameo urging his brothers to press forward. And Rylanor.

"Oh, Rylanor!" He wailed.

The last loyal Emperor's Children. Stuck on Istvan III all this time. He'd been told of what happened. How he had one last act of defiance.

The clone sobbed. They didn't deserve it. None of them did. All because of their cowardly primarch! Influenced by that dumb blade!

He nearly jumped as the scarab began making a high-pitched buzzing noise. Did he do something?? Was it short circuiting??

Then it abruptly stopped, holding still.

Fulgrim sniffed, "Scarab? Chemy?"

Its lights shut off, and he panicked. He grabbed it and poked it. No movement.

"Trazyn!" He yelled as he leaped out of the bed and ran to the door. "Trazyn!"

He ran down the hallway and out into the collection.

"Trazyn!" He continued to call. "Trazyn!"

He found the collector making his way to him.

"Why are you yelling?" He demanded.

"Chemy!" Fulgrim declared.

"Who?"

"The scarab! It started buzzing, and its lights went out! It's not dead, is it?"

He held out the little scarab, and Trazyn took it from the Primarch. He turned it over and then flicked it.

Purple lights flashed on, and it wriggled to get off of its back.

"There," Trazyn said as he handed it back to the teen. "It's fine. Just a minor reboot."

"Why is it purple?" Fulgrim questioned.

"It has aligned itself with you. Nothing is wrong. Why is your face wet and red. What is coming from your nostrils?"

He quickly wiped away tears and snot.

"I was crying..." He admitted.

"Ah yes, the human act when overwhelmed by specific emotions," the collector commented. "Why would you be doing that? Is the bed or room not to your liking? I have an even larger one, but I only have one set of sheets for that one, and I'd like it to be kept in mint condition."

The teen shook his head, "No, the current one is nice. I'm just... feeling sorry for myself. I'm pathetic."

"No life is superior to the necrons," Trazyn waved off. "But I wouldn't go as far as to call you pathetic. You did impress me after all. Is it because you are set to leave tomorrow?"

Fulgrim nodded, gently stroking the scarab.

"I'm a fake," he said. "I'm not the original. Who I am is a lie."

Trazyn inspected an alien artifact of his to the right, "Impossible. I pride myself on authenticity. Nothing in my collection is fake unless a fake itself is of worth, such as the decoy statue of the world Arit's grand temple. Fooled many. Is this a... oh, what do you call it, a "teenage hormones" thing? Is there an actual reason as to why you're feeling sorry for yourself? Or are you just thinking illogically as humans tend to do?"

"A primarch is meant to be above such things."

"Say what you like, but you are still very much human."

Fulgrim frowned as he sat on the ground, "I suppose..."

The necron watched the sullen youth. He noticed the scarab staring at him with ever judging optics. Boring into his core.

"A collector does not take in broken or corrupt items," he said. "Not when a better exists. As unique and intriguing as your gene progenitor is, he's been tainted and ruined. You are not a copy, but a restoration. Exact cellular code and chemical makeup but pure. You hold the essence and character of the original who no longer does. You are now more the original than the other. Far greater in value."

Fulgrim paused, mulling over the words.

Trazyn brushed it off, "These emotions are far too complicated and unpredictable, but what I've said is simply the truth, and you must live with that."

"Thank you," Fulgrim mumbled. "It helped."

The collector almost seemed surprised, "Oh? Well, that's good. Glad to be of help. Your food is ready. Make sure to eat soon lest it soil. It's important for youths to get proper nutrition. Especially with your departure tomorrow."

He turned to head back, and Fulgrim stood. He trailed behind till he came to the dining room.

"Today's meal is an ancient Terran one," Trazyn stated. "It once had set locations across the globe and varying nations. Many claimed that they were "loving it." I found many names for it, but from my research and deduction, the most authentic name is Maccas, though it was commonly referred to as McDonalds. These are their "McNuggets." A flightless fowl called a chicken was used as the meat, and it was covered in a binding grain. Various concoctions were created as a sauce. A root food, heated in a vat of vegetable essence and covered in a preservative with distinct taste, accompanied it. I've recreated it. They are called "fries.""

"Thank you," Fulgrim said. "I've not heard of it before. It must taste good to have been that popular."

Before the necron could leave, Fulgrim embraced him.

Trazyn stood there stiff, "If this is an attempt on my life, it is a terrible one."

He laughed at the xenos, "No. It's a hug. A sign of affection. You've been incredibly kind to me. The only one to do so in an incredibly long time. I'm very grateful."

The collector slowly reached up and rested a hand on the Phoenicians back, "Of course. You will always be welcome to return. Consider me a sanctuary."

Fulgrim broke into tears again.

To think it was possible that the love he'd so desperately craved from his Father was coming from a Necron.

"There, there," Trazyn said as he patted his back. "Now, if you're done, this is very strange for me."

Fulgrim pulled back and wiped away tears, "Right, right. Forgive me. It didn't occur to me that this is taboo for you."

"No harm done," Trazyn waved off. "Now, you can not tell me if the meal is a perfect replica or not. I guarantee it is, though. However, you can inform me if it is pleasing to the palate."

The primarch nodded and took a seat. The food was high in fat content, but sweet Terra did it taste good! He'd had common dishes throughout the crusade. Coming from what was considered the lower districts of planets and scoffed upon. But those were some of the best places.

After sampling the local cuisine, he'd send serfs to purchase food from hidden away gems. Favorites of the residents. How he loved doing that. It also was the best way to have the best tasting dishes.

This meal reminded him of that. He hoped that he could do so once again.

There was a planet in Ultramar that he would frequently visit during the crusade. He would circulate the restaurants in one district for each had something amazing to partake of. He hoped it was still there and that his brother would allow him to travel there.

He realized he had gone back to referring to the memories and life as "his" again. No, not his. It wasn't him. This had to be a facet of imposter syndrome.

I can at least use the memories as a type of guide. Experience those things... myself.

He pushed away the dark feelings. He wanted to enjoy his meal. Who knows how long it would take him to get to the Primarch of the Ultramarines. Who knows if he'd even accept a clone of his traitorous brother.

He tore off a piece of the fries and offered one to Chemy. He didn't think it would eat, but he felt bad for not offering any.

Chemy slowly took the piece, still staring out at nothing. Then, pincers slowly tore at the food. It wasn't actually eating, just pulverizing it, but it was still endearing.

He stroked the little robot and finished his meal.

***

Trazyn had max sized battle barges. If only it took one lone person to pilot it.

Fulgrim was gifted a small cargo ship. It was an ancient model but could warp jump and was of imperial build.

He could stand at full height within it. Orikan had insisted that it be comfortable for the young primarch and have plenty of things to do. "Enrichment," as he called it.

Sometimes, they spoke of him as if he were some wild and low intelligent animal. He knew it was the necron way, but he had the underlying feeling that they meant it... in an endearing and caring sort of way. A way they couldn't quite come to terms with yet.

He shifted in his new armor. An old custodian's but silver with green accents. He was also presented with an ornate rifle and a sword.

"This blade came from Terra," Trazyn explained. "Back before your kind learned how to harvest lightning and learn of electricity. It was thought to be only a myth. A sword forged with the energies of the warp. It was called "Excalibur". One slice or small stab would always be lethal."

Fulgrim stared at the silver blade. It was a simple and ancient design, but it was sturdy. It was large, and just looking at it made you feel it was sharp. Sharp enough to slice through the soul.

He gently took it from the collector, inspecting the craftsmanship. There were no scratches or blemishes. It fit well within his hand and was well balanced. The hilt was strong, and the pommel had an etching. A two-headed eagle, it's talons in a three-headed serpent.

He shook his head, "If this is from ancient Terra, why is it so big? I may not be my full size, but I'm definitely bigger than a baseline."

Trazyn had a glint in his optics. One he got when relaying information on his collection and reciting history.

"Your planets ancient legends and mythologies had the story of a noble King," Trazyn declared. "One who united a scattered, fallen, and oppressed people. His name was Arthur. Milennia, after his time, many would speculate if he was real or not. But tales of his deeds and valor would last. I met this King Arthur. He gave me the blade for safe keeping and as a guarantee of Terra's safety. You, however, know him under different titles. The master of mankind or The Emperor."

Fulgrim blinked, "My father?"

"Yes," Trazyn nodded. "He forged this blade with the help of a psyker to fight the gods of chaos. They desired the sword, and therefore, it was handed off to me. Orikan says it would be fitting for me to grant it to you. That it will do well in your hands."

Fulgrim looked down at the blade. It's simplicity suddenly dawning inner beauty and the symbol of it carrying more weight.

"Also, I expect it to one day be back in my collection so you better not break or lose it," the necron warned.

Fulgrim nodded his head quickly, "I promise to take good care of it. I... thank you. Thank you so much."

He went to move forward but froze. Trazyn sighed and opened his arms.

Fulgrim happily accepted the hug.

"I'll make you proud," he whispered.

"I know you will."

***

Hundreds of data tablets had been sent with him. On each was thousands upon thousands of stories and historical records from the imperium. Thank the warp for them. He'd have gone mad without them. It would be quite a while before he finished them all. It at least helped distract him from his own thoughts.

Days blurred into weeks. While sturdy and stable, the carrier was slow.

His only company was his little scarab, Chemy. He felt bad. It was such a simple and low effort name. But he'd been referring to it as such and had been training it with the name.

So far, Chemy could walk from one leg to the other when Fulgrim sat on the floor. He also taught it to crawl into his hand. Not much else was known, and the scarab took a while to learn. Or understand. It mostly just sat wherever he placed it and stared off into nowhere.

He gently tapped a finger on Chemy. They were underneath his bed in an attempt to see if the scarab could find it's way out of there. No such luck.

"There is nothing going on inside of there," he mumbled.

Chemy just stared off. It was almost like each eye was looking in a different direction.

An alert sounded from the command console.

Fulgrim jumped up and hit his head on the frame above him. He grumbled as he grabbed Chemy and slid out.

He ran to the front to see what the commotion was. It was a planet. Not much to look at, but there was a distress beacon.

He stared at the message, trying to catch his breath. Why was he so afraid? Surely he could help and they would listen to him.

He swallowed and stuck Chemy in his shirt. The signal originated from a vessel once part of the Emperor's Children fleet.

[nevesmose]

Coveting

Trazyn/Clone!Fulgrim requested by @chemos-factories (first time writing these two so drawing a lot of inspiration from your fics)

It's natural to play games with things you own.

Today's entertainment was an old favourite of theirs, and a way for Fulgrim to show off the knowledge he'd gained. Fulgrim loved nothing more than to show off.

"And here we see a typical cabinet of curiosities," he said, leading the way into the wide, marble-floored hall dotted with exhibit cases that formed a space so stereotypically like a museum as Fulgrim understood the term that, to an outsider, it would have verged on parody.

A strictly delimited playhouse, everything arranged just so and built to perfectly suit the superhuman build of the Primarch who was not a Primarch, in which Fulgrim had free rein to explore and learn as he wished.

Ancient scientists had done such things with rats in mazes once.

"They are also called wonder-cabinets," Fulgrim continued, eager to share his knowledge with his visitor. He was suitably attired in purple silks, and delicate gold bangles shifted on his wrists as he gestured to the object in front of them.

"Although the gathering of disparate objects and artefacts has no real scholarly intent or value, they represent an important step in the development of Old Earth's versions of museums as we would know them."

"How fascinating," Trazyn said, playing his role of distinguished guest to perfection.

"I think so too," Fulgrim answered. "And although the exhibit appears to be fully authentic to its ancient origins, further inspection reveals that the curator has included a number of deliberate anachronisms."

"Deliberate, you say?"

"Yes. To reward the attentive viewer for his study. For example, in the centre, beside a truly ancient specimen of monodon monoceros tusk, we can see a comparatively much more recent piece. A bust of an unknown subject by the remebrancer Delafour."

"Oh, how intriguing." Trazyn leaned closer, as though seeing the sculpture for the first time. "May I touch it?"

"My deepest apologies, honoured guest," Fulgrim replied, "but these objects are too fragile to touch. Lord Trazyn forbids it."

Trazyn stood back with a gesture of mock offence. "But I am, as you say, an honoured guest," he said. "Surely there's something here I can touch?"

The script being old didn't make the play any less entertaining.

Fulgrim hesitated for a moment. "The fragile objects are forbidden, but... I am not, honoured guest."

Sometimes he remembered that he had been something else, once. A being created for a very different purpose. But remembering brought pain and after so much time among Trazyn's other possessions it was infinitely easier to let go, to drift into the comfortable haze of being simply one more pliant, complaisant object to be arranged alongside many others. And so he did.

"A most agreeable solution," Trazyn said, radiating satisfaction as he moved closer to Fulgrim. "Shall we continue?"

The Archaeovist's hand settled comfortably in the small of Fulgrim's back and directed him onwards through an ornate archway with a subtle application of strength.

"Of course, honoured guest. We now enter the gallery of Terran dolls."

"Oh, how appropriate."

They halted in front of a tall, glass-fronted display case containing a multitude of dolls with painted ceramic faces and wigs of genuine human hair.

"In this exhibit," Fulgrim said, "we see every surviving product of the warrior and artisan Jean-Andoche Juneau, a toymaker from ancient Franc. The effort required to gather them here must have been vast."

"It was," Trazyn said. "Put your hands on the glass."

Fulgrim obeyed, bending gracefully at the waist to lean forward and place his palms flat on the cold surface. The dolls in their serried ranks smiled vacantly up at him.

"Good. Look only at yourself."

He locked his gaze onto his own face reflected in the glass, reducing Trazyn to a blurred outline as the Overlord of Solemnace moved behind him.

"Every object has a purpose, does it not?" Trazyn asked.

Fulgrim swallowed dryly as the Archaeovist's hand began to stroke languidly up and down his back. "I would agree, honoured guest."

"And, having acquired a truly beautiful, precious object, would it not be shameful for me to deprive it of its purpose?"

Necrodermis fingers glided up over the back of Fulgrim's neck and into his hair, stroking through it with intermixed possessiveness and reverence. He was intensely aware of how easy it would be for Trazyn to grab it if he wanted to.

"What is the purpose of a doll, Fulgrim?"

"To be looked at," he replied quietly. "To be dressed and posed as its owner pleases."

"And above all?"

"To be played with."

As all pretence fell away and Trazyn began to explore and claim his body in earnest, Fulgrim kept his focus on his own reflection as he had been ordered to and saw exactly what his owner wished him to see - himself in the glass as simply one more doll arranged among a thousand others. He matched their placid, vacant smiles with his own and felt nothing but happiness.

[syberfab]

You just know clone!Fulgrim still has the same talent as the original, Trazyn lets him out to paint from time to time :)

Human hybrid Trazyn might be the worst thing I've done

[candyswirls]

Return of the Phoenician Pt 2

First - Next - Master Post

Summary: Trazyn has not visited the Primarch at all. He's determined to go find him himself.

"...and therefore it would be far more beneficial to you and all Necrons to release me back into the Imperium. I shan't fail."

The scarab stared back at him, looking no more convinced than all of the other times.

"See?" He asked it. "This time I remembered to include not sending me straight to Terra and why that would be a bad idea. I don't need the custodes at my throat."

The Scarab didn't react. It stood slanted, having been one of those that he accidentally fell on and bent back it's legs.

Fulgrim sighed and slumped against the wall.

"You're such a good listener," He scoffed sarcastically.

He was constantly preparing his next debate and case each time Trazyn or one of his subordinates came in. He hadn't seen much progress of convincing the Collector to grant his freedom.

The first attempt had gone... poorly. He had been high on painkillers and ended up babbling nonsense while crying over the heresy. Naming each son he'd sent to be killed on Istvaan three. He barely remembered any of it. The most vivid part was when he was on the ground, curled into a ball at the Necron's feet, apologizing to the scarabs he accidentally crushed. There was a substantial puddle from his tears, snot, and drool.

The collector just stared down at him bewildered or at least as bewildered as he could look with a metal face.

When he came to in this small room and realized what happened he burst into tears again. Then went into a screaming rage. Frustrated at how he'd lost composure and couldn't control his emotions.

Everything felt off. He attributed it to this so called accident with the stasis pod. It had to have done something to his brain and possibly even hormones. He had reversed in age, after all.

Golden throne, he hoped he wasn't going through puberty again. The first time around wasn't even that long but he still hated it.

He grabbed the tray of food he'd been given and chucked it across the room.

He was going to yell for the scarab to take it. He wouldn't dare eat anything from vile filth!

It hit the scarab with the missing legs and knocked it back into several others.

Fulgrim gasped with horror and quickly crawled over. He despised how his lip began to quiver as they all scrambled away from him but the one was unmoving.

"I'm sorry!" He whispered as he gently picked it up. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Why did I do that? I didn't meant to! I'm sorry!"

He bit his lip, refusing to have yet another breakdown. He tried to see if there was a way to fix it, praying that it would go into the other dimension to be helped.

He held it close to his chest and gently stroked it with a finger.

It did not move, lights off.

He broke and hurt everything around him. He didn't deserve to cry. If his brothers saw him, they'd laugh at him. He'd deserve it too. He could practically hear them now. Mocking voices. Scoffing at him. The hushed whispers as them and their legions talked about him and the third behind their backs. The gloats of accomplishment. Remarks about how maybe next time he'd do better.

He was about to slam a fist down but quickly checked that no scarab was near by. All clear.

He smashed it into the ground and held up the scarab.

"Why aren't they helping you?" He demanded. "Why aren't they taking you to be fixed?? Trazyn! Stopping ignoring it! It just needs help! Please!"

He crawled to the door, legs protesting. They still ached and refused to work.

He banged on the door, cradling the scarab with one hand.

No answer.

He slumped to the ground and tried to look over it again.

Grief bubbled up again, "Don't ignore him. Please, don't abandon him. He's small, but important. Please. Please."

He choked as he pushed little bits of metal back where he thought they should go.

He's just like Father. Just like all of them. They all were horrible and awful to him and his legion. All except Ferrus. But he was awful to his dear brother.

He mentally smacked himself. Stop that. Too much to unpack there. Too much blame being pushed around. That also wasn't him. He wasn't the original. He had the memories but he was a clone. He would be better. Do better!

He readjusted the legs and head of the scarab and held it to his chest again.

Please work, please work, please.

He held it out, watching it with fading hope. It twitched and the lights flickered back on as it righted itself.

Fulgrim let out a breath he was holding.

"Oh thank goodness," He sighed. "I apologize. I was rash. I need to pay attention to my surroundings better."

He stroked a finger under what he assumed to be it's chin.

I'm talking to Xenos vermin. Oh how the proud have fallen.

He set the scarab down and rubbed his temples. He could see teacher's disapproving face. He wanted to throw up. Constantly he saw the faces and voices of others belittling him. Those whose opinions he had cared so much about. Wanted to impress.

He wished to punch some of those faces. He cringed at some of the things the original did to make others like him.

Had he changed or as a clone did he just have a different personality? Teacher had told him about these things.

He laid on his side, curled into a ball. He stared at the lavish bed. He refused to sleep in it. He may not be in a stasis pod but this still was an exhibit.

The other scarabs skittered around doing... who knows what. The one he hurt just... sat there. Oh no, how badky did he damage it?

Tears began to brim again. He was pathetic.

He pushed himself up and grabbed the scarab. He didn't care. He didn't care!

He was going to get out and find Trazyn himself! Demand an audience!

He pulled himself up to the door. He'd somehow fiddle with the lock and get it open. Could he break it down?

He pressed the release and yelped as it opened and he fell forward.

"Terra, are you kidding me?!" He hissed.

It was unlocked?? For how long?!

He pulled himself forward with his elbows. There were no guards. He rolled over and sat up. He was about to stand up when a missive cramp seized his left calf.

"MOTHER-!" He yelled as he flopped over and tried desperately to massage it out.

As soon as it passed he took several deep breaths. Wait.

He looked around for the scarab. It was next to him, just standing there. He picked it up again and tucked it into his tunic.

He began sliding himself backwards.

He's going to do this. Nothing will stop him-

The other leg cramped up.

He said every swear he could think of as he massaged it out as well.

He panted as it stopped. Then to his horror, both began cramping at the same time.

Why?!?!

The other scarabs came and tried dragging him back to the room.

No! No! No!

They managed to do so and the door shut as soon as the cramping ended.

He breathed heavily as he lost full composure.

He screamed and threw himself to the ground.

A few minutes passed and he shamed himself into calming down. He was acting like a petulant child. He was a primarch! Fulgrim!

He huffed and stared at his hair pooling from underneath him. He wanted to shave his head. What? Where did that thought come from? He'd never! That was a stupid decision. ...but the desire was definitely there.

He groaned and covered his face.

"What is wrong with me?" He muttered. "This worse than puberty!"

He laid prone again then decided to check on the scarab.

He looked down his tunic and sure enough it was still sitting there on his chest, unmoving.

"Okay," He said aloud. "Second time."

He slid himself to the door and hit the release. It was still unlocked.

He was careful not to use his legs at all. They still ached.

He got farther this time and the hall opened up to all of the various items of the collector. Massive ships, strange artifacts, strange xenos, and even elaborate garments.

He wished he could stop to appreciate them more.

He slid past a statue and nearly came face to face with a cyclops necron. They had a tail and held a staff.

"Oh," Fulgrim said, startled. "Hello. I-I need to speak to Trazyn. Please. And thank you."

"You're not supposed to be out of you room," the Necron stated.

"It was unlocked," He said point blankly. "And I need to speak to Trazyn. He hasn't come around at all."

The necron made a sound that he realized was laughing.

"I'll go fetch him," they said.

"Thank you," Fulgrim sighed.

He sat against the statue and pulled out the scarab.

"I'll get you help," He assured it, stroking it with a finger.

A moments later he heard, "What are you doing out of your room?"

He looked up to Trazyn as the necron approached.

"It was unlocked and I need to speak to you and-and this needs help!" He answered.

He held up the scarab.

Trazyn turned to another necron, "take that thing to be melted down."

Fulgrim clutched it to his chest, "No!"

Trazyn narrowed his gaze, "it is damaged and one lone scarab."

Fulgrim felt tears form, "It can be fixed. Just because it's small and just one doesn't mean that it does not matter."

The necron hummed, "Very well.

The collector had a variety of items including a chair big enough to fit the primarch. One that moved upon wheels at that.

He learned the cyclops name was Orikan the Diviner. It was apparent that Trazyn and him had a great history.

A device was scanning and working on the scarab.

"You'll be brought back to your room," Trazyn told him. "In the bed and do eat this time."

"I need to talk to you," Fulgrim insisted.

"Yes, yes," the necron waved him off, "releasing you to return to the Imperium but not near Terra for that is a foolish idea."

"I..."

"Heard everything through the scarabs," He informed the Phoenician. "Every practice."

Fulgrim felt his face flush, "Everything?"

Orikan confirmed, "Everything."

The primarch opened and closed his mouth.

"Please," He begged. "You must see the benefit-"

"There is nothing more to be convinced of," Trazyn shut down.

Fulgrim started to tear up.

Orikan scolded Trazyn, "You're causing him unnecessary distress. Explain your choices."

The collector glared at his... partner?

"I do not understand," Fulgrim admitted.

"There is nothing more to be convinced of because I have already decided to grant your request," Trazyn answered.

Fulgrim lit up, "I- thank you! I- might I know which of my points or speeches convinced you?"

Trazyn hummed, amused, "None of them actually."

He felt dejected, "Oh..."

"It was your actions," The Necron explained. "Interacting with the scarabs. Your compassion for such small and insignificant beings. It has... touched me. Your determination to help this one has proven it so. You are unlike any of your 'brothers' or any astartes. Kinder and more genuine than any human I've met. It is... impressive."

Fulgrim just stared forward, not even realizing that tears streamed down his cheeks.

"You are still unwell and therefore must rest here for a while," Trazyn explained. "But you have my word, sworn upon my dynasty, that I will grant you your request."

Fulgrim surged forward and enveloped Trazyn into a hug.

"Thank you!" He cried. "Thank you so much!"

[candyswirls]

Return of the Phoenician Part 4

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Summary: Fulgrim lands on a planet to meet up with his old legion, but something is wrong. With him.

The cargo ship rumbled quietly as it descended. It was unassuming stealth as it landed in the jungle foliage below.

The young clone took deep breaths, holding Chemy. His massaged a knee. His legs had felt stiff as of late.

He set the scarab down and waited in anticipation as the door opened. Warm humid air rushed in, mixing with the stale recycled air of the ship.

The primarch gingerly stepped out, weary of the golden armor he bore. It had the emblems of his father upon it, and his traitorous legion might attack first, ask questions later.

Surely they would recognize him and follow?

He paused as he heard tiny clicks following after him. He turned around and saw Chemy following.

"No," the primarch ordered. "Stay."

The scarab paused, then continued down the ramp.

"Chemy, turn around," he said sternly.

Chemy persisted, not hearing or not understanding.

Fulgrim scooped it up and placed it back in the ship. It immediately began crawling after him.

He rushed out and closed the door. As he went around the ship, he heard it open.

He dashed around to see Chemy, crawling down the ramp. He sighed and grabbed the scarab again.

"You can't come," he insisted.

He felt bad, but he stuck Chemy under the bed upside down. The scarab rocked and flailed its legs. It would be stuck there for a while.

He hurried out.

Rain began to pour and had already soaked his hair. He had to commend the build of custodian armor. It didn’t allow a single drop to get past his collar. It would be wise to wear his helmet, but if his sons were really here, they would need to see his face.

Gently, he stepped through the mud and leaves, listening for any movement.

He paused for a moment and found himself in an area with no canopy above him. He stared up into dark clouds. Droplets splashing against his face and cascading down unblemished skin. He may have the memories and body build of an immortal demigod... but he was merely a child. He was young. There were many things he could recall he hadn't experienced. Such as standing in the rain on some random planet in an unknown solar system.

He couldn't explain it but he liked the feeling. Being cleansed by nature.

He wasn't an untouched canvas. He was a sketch of a masterpiece that had been painted over white. Still. He had a fresh start. This was his experience. His life.

He didn't know what he was doing. The feeling was almost crippling.

He heard the cracking of twigs and leaves and drew Excalibur.

White armor burst out from bushes and rolled down next to him. A bolter was held up at the primarch.

The astartes breathed heavily and frowned, "A custodes?"

The marine's armor had purple and gold accents. The symbol on the pauldron was of a wing and helmet. Broken candles were on his power pack.

"Are you okay?" The Clone asked, reaching out as he saw blood dripping from the other's head.

The astartes flinched, "What is one of the ten thousand doing here?"

It was now or never.

"I am a primarch," He said. "Reborn and ever true to the emperor. I am fulgrim. I found a signal of my old legion and have come to recruit them back to the imperium."

The astartes kept his bolter up, "What you speak of is madness and heresy. You do not sound so sure of yourself. I don't believe you."

Fulgrim sighed, "I'm an uncorrupted clone. Deemed a failure by my creators and sent away. I refuse to be like the original. I am working through the knowledge that I am not the original. I mean you no harm. Who are you?"

The marine stared down the primarch and finally lowered the weapon.

He let out a sigh of exhaustion, "I have no choice but to trust you. I am dead either way. I am sergeant Thaedeus of the Sons of the Phoenix. Successor chapter of the Imperial Fists... actually... that is a complicated story."

The Clone looked at the white hair. Not frosty like Dorn's. Platinum and metallic, like his. He didn't have time for that.

"Where is the rest of your squad?"

Thaedeus breathed heavily, "Captured. The trai- I mean -"

Fulgrim put up his hands, "You can call them traitors. They... are."

He nodded, "The traitors are holding them in a shallow bunker, trying to lure in more of us. We've been tortured, and many of us killed. I managed to escape to find a way to send for help. But I fear I am being hunted in reality. They gave me back my armor."

"I will free them," Fulgrim promised.

"How?"

"I am a primarch. They will recognize me and that I have the aura of one. Some have followed me before. They will listen."

Thaddeus leaned against a tree, "I pray to the God-Emperor that you are truthful. You are our only hope right now."

"What's your only hope?" Cackled a voice.

Both turned to see a legionaire in pink armor move out from the undergrowth. Horns growing out of a warped head. A bolter was trained on the Son of the Phoenix as the Emperor's Child grinned fiendishly. His eyes landed on the clone, and his smile dropped.

"My-my Primarch," he gaped. "You are here... in your original form."

Fulgrim smiled, "Hello. Tell me your name."

The astartes paid no mind to the loyalist as he surged forward and took one of the primarch's hands.

He knelt and kissed it.

"Praise be to the dark prince! It is me, Bors!"

"Will you follow me?" Fulgrim asked.

"Anywhere," He swore.

"Good. We need to free the imprisoned astartes that are the brothers of this one here."

Bors nodded, not doubting his liege for a moment.

Thaedeus gaped, shocked at how quickly one of his captors was willing to help.

"You-you-you-you stupid bastard!" He yelled at Bors. "You've held and tortured us for weeks! Slowly killing us off one by one! Then your primarch shows up, and you completely switch your perogative?!"

"Yes," Bors answered immediately. "You would too."

The Son of the Phoenix opened and closed his mouth before deciding not to push further.

Something about his facial expression reminded Fulgrim of a pouting puppy.

"This way, my liege," Bors bowed and motioned the way he came.

Fulgrim intook a deep breath and followed him. Thaedeus trailed behind.

***

He was both impressed and bewildered at the distance Thaedeus had run. He must have been desperate. Bors had rode a cycle out to catch up to him.

It was hours before they reached the encampment and bunker the Son of the Phoenix had spoken of. The astartes was weary. His time imprisoned had weakened him, and a limp had grown apparent. Fulgrim took to supporting them as they entered.

An Emperor's Child jeered as they approached, "You caught the little morsel, and it looks like you also got - My Lord!"

Several others craned to see what their brother was speaking of as he dropped to his knees.

Fulgrim stepped out of the foliage. The encampment grew silent as they froze or also took a knee.

"My primarch..."

One astartes managed to move forward, "You... you are here, but... you are different?"

The Clone took a deep breath, "I am an uncorrupted clone of the Primarch Fulgrim. I am Fulgrim but not fallen, created by Fabius Bile. I found your signal and came to recruit you back to the imperium. I came to get you. Will you follow me?"

A legionaire with a conelike head jumped up and popped one foot in the air as he clasped his face. He giggled gleefully, "Yyyyyeeeeesss!!"

He practically skipped over to the primarch, others following.

Some nodded their heads, and others declared their loyalty. A few crawled forward on their knees, crying and begging for forgiveness.

Thaedeus gaped at the scene.

"You dare follow a knockoff?" Scoffed a voice.

His hearts sank.

A captain stood off to the side, arms folded.

Conehead immediately jumped to defend, "You dare speak blasphemy of our lord when he is returned to us?"

"He admitted he's not our Primarch," growled the captain. "Just one of the mad doctors experiments."

He glared at Fulgrim. The look was hurtful.

"I still have most of the memories, and I have the aura of a primarch," the primarch spoke with a warning. He hoped none of his anxiety came through.

Another added, "We will find the original. With the song of Slaanesh-"

Through a speaker on his face, a third snapped, "But he's here! Without that stupid song!"

Tension crackled.

The previous hissed, "Dysseus, you dare doubt the dark prince?"

"We have a chance for something better," added Bors. "A chance to return... home."

The captain interrupted, "You will never be beautiful again! Do you think the imperium would accept your sorry face?? After everything?"

He couldn't allow this to press further. He could see the words hurt some of them. Others were weary with their decision. Thaedeus was digging his fingers into his arm out of fear.

"Enough," Fulgrim Barked. "I will not have this. The imperium will accept you. Because I accept you. We can go. Let the Sons of the Phoenix go, and we can travel together."

The captain stared a moment and then walked forward. A path parted for him.

He stared up at Fulgrim. The Phoenician reached out a hand in solace.

The captain pointed his flamer at the Primarch, "I doubt it."

Fulgrim gritted his teeth. Those who had not immediately come over drew their weapons as well.

"What are you doing?!" Another legionaire demanded.

"Shut up," the captain hissed. "You think you're so grand? Waltzing in here like you own us?"

"I don't -" He tried to protest.

The captain wouldn't let him speak, "I am Captain Antioch, and I am in charge here. I follow Slaanesh, not you! You are not our primarch, and you will be staying. I'm certain you'll fetch a fine price."

"Fine," the primarch sighed.

"My lord!" Bors protested.

Antioch nodded, "Good, now -"

In a singular movement, Fulgrim swung Excalibur forward and sliced through the fuel line. Then he held the blade to Antioch's neck.

"You are foolish to assume that I do not have the skills my predecessor has," He growled.

Antioch stared up in defiance and shock. Those who stood with him froze, moving their weapons back and forth, unsure of how to proceed.

Electricity ran up his arm. By the throne... no... his hand tensed, and the sword slowly fell from his grip. His body wouldn't listen to him. His legs gave out, and he was on the ground.

Antioch growled as he grabbed his combat knife. Those with him were about to leap in front of him.

A shot rang out, barely audible.

Antioch flinched, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He flopped forward, drool dripping out the corner of his mouth. A metal bullet with feathers stuck out of the back of his neck.

"Oh, damn," said Conehead.

Terminator armor moved out into the open with a long and thin bolter that smoked at the end.

He had milky white eyes and almost grayish skin. What little hair he had left with thin and wispy. It flitted through the air as he moved. Scars like lighting covered his skin.

Fulgrim recognized him instantly.

"Hebe."

Hebe responded with a raspy voice, "I haven't been called that in a long time. It is good to see you, Lord Fulgrim."

Antioch grunted and struggled to move. His eyes bulged, and he was beginning to resemble Magnus in skin color.

"What did you do to him?" The clone questioned.

"Tranquilizer," he answered.

Hebe glanced around, "I suggest you all move quickly before he becomes coherent."

"What madness is this?" Demanded another brother, weapon still drawn.

Hebe walked right up to him and snatched away the bolter. He trembled.

"You're an idiot," He said.

"What?"

Hebe turned around to another, "Our primarch. The original. He never wanted us. He was a miserable wretch who thought perfection would be the key to happiness. He fell to a damned possessed blade. He doesn't want us or want us to find him. He only shows up if he needs us to do his dirty work. Get it through your thick heads! Our primarch hates us! You're just in denial. We have just been given the miracle of a lifetime. Go release the prisoners and bring them aboard the ship. Be prepared to leave in half an hour. Now!"

He couldn't explain it, but Fulgrim felt his hearts breaking. Especially as he saw those who had pledged themselves to him hurry to follow the orders.

Hold it together. Hold it together. Stop being a failure! Come on! You haven't done anything wrong? What did I do wrong? What did I do?

Breathe. Focus. Analyze the situation. He still couldn't get up. His legs were locked.

"My liege?" Bors questioned. "Are you alright."

He managed to mumbled out, "What have I done wrong?"

He wanted to swear. Emotion had come through.

Hebe sighed and approached.

"Antioch is just angry," he said. "He will relax with time. We have enough room for you and the Sons of the Phoenix. An apothecary will check you. While you rest up, we will take care of everything. Some will need to warm up a bit to you. You'll be well taken care of."

He could feel his throat tighten. HE was the primarch. HE should be leading.

Yet he didn't protest.

"I have a cargo ship I was using," he said quietly.

"We'll send someone to fetch it," Hebe assured.

"There's a scarab on there," he added. "His name is Chemy. Don't harm him."

"Of course. My lord?"

"Yes?"

"Can you look at me?"

He blinked, realizing he'd been staring at the ground. He finally met Hebe's gaze.

The terminator sighed, "You are merely just a child. Solace, escort him to the Thunderbird. Assist as needed."

Conehead, who was Solace, nodded.

Fulgrim found himself sitting on the floor of a small ship. He stared forward. His sword had been given back to him. He was loaded up with Thaedeus' brothers. While they reunited and were told everything, he blocked them out.

Dysseus knelt before the primarch.

"Fulgrim?" He asked cautiously. "Are you alright? What happened?"

His lip trembled, and tears welled. All the attention was drawn to him. He'd accomplished what he wanted. He freed Thaedeus and his brothers. The Emperor's Children were on his side. Why did he feel this way? What did he do wrong? Why wasn't his body listening to him?

No, he had failed. Something was wrong, and he had failed. He'd just been taken prisoner, essentially. The way Hebe had talked to him.

He didn't understand it. Just like when Teacher gave him away.

"What did I do wrong?" He choked. "What did I do wrong?"

He broke into sobs on Dysseus chest, the astartes arms wrapped around him.

"It's alright. It is noble to cry. Let your emotions run free."

"WHAT THE-" Yelled someone from outside.

He looked outside to see his ship slowly and shakily approaching. It wobbled side to side.

"That your ship?" Solace asked while pointing.

Fulgrim nodded, unsure how to react.

It landed with the bay doors facing them. After a few moments of powering down, the doors opened, and Chemy came crawling down the ramp. He was on a mission.

Fulgrim covered his mouth as laughing mixed with more tears. He reached out to pick up the scarab and held him to his chest.

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[candyswirls]

Return of the Phoenician - Chapter 7

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I have been working on this chapter for two weeks (watch there still be spelling mistakes). There's so much that happens and angst! I'm really proud of it. It's also long. I considered splitting it into two.

Summary: Fulgrim can feel the lack of respect and trust for him. He decides to take a stand. He is supposed to be leading this legion. It just opens a whole new level of hurt and despair.

Warnings: regret, emotional despair and pain, self-worth issues, toxic relationships, abusive relationships, Emperor's Children. Drugs, sex, and rock and roll!

He was sick and tired of being stuck down here. He wasn't doing anything except wasting the day away.

He should be up there, taking command of his legion and the ship. He should have done that in the first place. That was his plan, but then his legs began to have issues.

It was just him, the Sons of Phoenix, and Hermes.

She'd been staying down here, watching over him and avoiding her moping ex. She couldn't hold still, taking laps around the deck. He figured she was patrolling, finding some familiar routine from before she was taken.

He saw his opportunity when Hebe came down to visit.

"I want to go up to the deck," he blurted.

Hebe answered back, "It's dangerous. You're safer down here."

"How am I supposed to lead down here?" He questioned. "I feel like I've been confined. I should be exploring the ship, meeting everyone, planning our next move."

"You should rest," Hebe redirected. "Have yourself healed."

The legionnaire quickly left before the conversation could continue. He hadn't stated why he came down in the first place.

Fulgrim's mouth fell open as he processed what had just happened.

Thaedeus stood off to the side, watching.

He spoke as soon as Hebe was gone, "He is deflecting. I... may I speak freely?"

Fulgrim looked up at him, "Oh-I, I mean- yes. Please do."

Thaedeus glanced around. It was just them inside. "It seems to me that he doesn't want you to lead. You're kept down here. They give you orders and you follow. They treat you like... forgive this comparison, but they treat you like a new scared neophyte."

The Primarch swallowed. Thaedeus was just saying his fears out loud. But perhaps... he was right?

There was a knock at the ship's entrance. Passion waved excitedly, "Hello! Good morning!"

He skipped in, getting bashful as he approached. He stopped and stared at Thaedeus.

He let out a giggle and clasped his hands together, "You're cute and tall! Hi, I'm Passion, what's your name? You seem kissable!"

Thaedeus backed away quickly and pulled the curtains closed, where his brothers were.

Passion hummed dreamily then skipped over to Fulgrim.

"Hello, my lord!" He greeted. "Your hair looks really good today!"

The primarch smiled, "Thank you. What can I do for you?"

"Just here to see my mother."

"Mother?"

"Yes, where is Hermes?"

The custodian entered the ship, having done a patrol around. Passion let out a happy squeal and ran to her. He embraced her, hanging off of her as she walked to her main spot and sat.

Passion moved and hugged Hermes from behind, nesting his head next to hers.

"Oh," Fulgrim remarked. "She's your mother."

"Yes," Passion smiled. "Hermes and Antioch are my parents."

"Oh."

"Antioch took me when I was two after my planet was ravaged," he explained. "Been here ever since and then made into an Astartes."

This was an interesting piece of information.

Fulgrim asked, "How was being raised on the ship and with the legion?"

Passion thought momentarily then shrugged, "It's all I've ever known. I love the legion. I didn't want to be an Astartes initially, but I'm glad I am now. Things are good. Just wish my parents wouldn't fight."

Sadness crept into Passion's voice. He leaned further into Hermes. She rubbed her cheek against his head.

"Passion?" He asked.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Who runs the ship? Such as who leads it?"

"My father does but he's... out of commission. Hebe is Vice-Captain, and there's a council of eleven others that help make decisions. It depends on the matter though."

He stared at Fulgrim.

"Thank you," the Phoenician mumbled before turning back to his corner and polishing Chemy's eyes.

As soon as Hermes went out to patrol around again, Passion ran over to the primarch.

He grinned as he twirled his hair. "What are you planning? Do you need help? Can I help? What if we held hands?"

Confidence grew, "I am going to go up to the main deck before this council and demand control. I will challenge Hebe and anyone who defies me to a fight."

The marine's eyes grew wider, "I can guide you there!"

"Yes, please."

Whispering echoed from behind the Sons of the Phoenix curtain.

One stepped out, "My lord, I am Lieutenant Fary-"

"Fairy?!" Passion gasped happily.

"-and we will stand with you if you choose to storm the deck." He finished.

Others stood behind him.

Fulgrim blinked, "Are you sure?"

They nodded.

"We could use our armor though," a third commented.

Fulgrim turned to Passion.

"We can go to the armory first," he offered. "It's all in there, I know because that's my favorite makeout spot."

The primarch couldn't help but grin, ignoring Passion's comments further. Yes, this was all coming together!

"Can I touch your hair?" Passion asked with a nervous laugh.

"Let's not say those things," Fulgrim suggested gently.

***

The command deck was a buzz. Several spoke in Chemosian in an argument over what servitors went where. Two were in a duel for sport. Juno stood in the corner, muttering to himself.

"Fulgrim?" Solace questioned, the first one there to notice him.

"Primarch Fulgrim," he corrected.

Attention turned to him as he walked in. Juno lit up and moved closer.

The Sons of the Phoenix filtered out behind him, Passion trembling as he was near Thaedeus. Only he had a blade though. Not Excalibur, he didn't want to kill anyone.

Hebe inquired, "Little Phoenix, what are you doing up here?"

He pointed the blade at Hebe, "I challenge you. I am the primarch. I should be leading."

Another marine protested, "My lord, I don't think-."

"I am fine," the Primarch insisted. Why was everyone like this? It was irritating.

Juno approached, "I do not recommend this."

"Neither do I," Hebe frowned. "You are ill. Go back to the barge, Little Phoenix."

The Phoenician bristled, "I am Fulgrim, son of the emperor and Primarch of this legion! Stop telling me to go away and what to do. I have a right to stake my claim and fight anyone who stands in my way."

He added, "And stop calling me that."

Hebe raised a brow and conceded, "Very well."

He held out an arm and one of the two who were dueling handed over their sword.

He circled the room, across from Fulgrim, allowing the Phoenician to make the first move. His legs felt tight, but he ignored them.

The Primarch struck first. Hebe dodged and sliced under his arm. His sleeve was cut but no skin. Fulgrim forced away his shocked expression and pressed on. He could hear Juno making a low growling noise.

"Your technique is sloppy," Hebe mentioned as he parried a swing.

He suppressed a yell of frustration. The marine deflected every swing. Why was he struggling so much? This should be easy. Why was Hebe having such ease?

The marine caught his blade and then rammed his body into him. The primarch almost lost hold of his own blade along with his balance. He staggered backward, careful not to slip. He spun around, trying to use the force to disarm his opponent. Hebe met every swing and every parry. There had been several openings where the marine could have caught the young primarch and declared victory. He hadn't taken the offensive once. He was going easy on him. It was infuriating!

"Remember your hand positioning," Hebe lectured, "You're striking higher than what your height and your opponent's height allows. Move lower."

"This is not a lesson!" Fulgrim exasperated, still taking into account what was said.

He managed to pick up speed, beginning to overwhelm the astartes. He smacked away Hebe's parry, disarming him.

He held the blade to Hebe's neck.

"Yes!" Solace cheered.

Passion began clapping.

"Well done, little Phoenix," Hebe smiled.

Fulgrim growled.

He was about to declare himself the winner when pain shot through his legs and he was unable to hold himself up.

It hurt so much and was so sudden that he vomited.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Why?! Why now?!

Hebe managed to pull the blade away from the primarch as he coughed on the ground, choking on his own bile. Juno was by his side, steadying him.

Hebe sighed, "Take him back downstairs and get him some water. You're confined to your room for the rest of the day."

Fulgrim bit his lip and muttered, "No. I am fine. Just let me-"

"This is not up for debate," Hebe interrupted. "Go back, now."

"No, I refuse."

"Little Phoenix."

"Primarch Fulgrim. I can-"

"*Fulgrim, now.*"

"Just-"

"This conversation is over."

He almost slumped.

"Why must you treat me like a child?!" He cried out.

"BECAUSE YOU ARE A CHILD!!" Burst Hebe.

Others flinched and froze in shock.

"By the Prince's tits!" He continued. "It's so obvious! Look at yourself! You're a child! You're not fully grown! I was barely sparring with you! I let you win! Even if you were fully grown you act and speak like a child! It is daft to think you're not! Everyone knows this!"

Tears welled as the words cut into him like knives. He should be snapping back. Taking authority.

"I am a primarch-" he began.

Hebe cut him off.

"That doesn't matter! That holds no weight here! You are still a naive kid! Even though you've aged faster than mortals you're still a child! You're not expected to do all these things because you're still a kid! WE understand that! Yes, you're a primarch, yes, you're Fulgrim, and this is your legion, but you don't have all the responsibilities because you're young! You are not the original! You do not have the skills or prowess! We have survived over ten millennia without your leadership and continue to do so! We do not need you!"

Fulgrim fought back the urge to turn away, to seek comfort from Juno. Tears spilled freely down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop his lips from trembling.

The apothecary snarled at Hebe, "Do not talk to my baby like-"

"Sit down!" Hebe snapped.

Juno stiffened, as if he were fighting something. His legs slowly bent, bringing him lower. He hissed through gritted teeth. Blood vessels popped out on his face.

Solace protested, "That is not fair! You know he has to listen to you!"

Horror danced across the Primarch's face, "Stop it. Stop it!"

He crawled over to Juno and grabbed his arms. He didn't know what to do!

Hebe seethed and then snapped his fingers, "You're released."

Juno gasped. He was able to shake off the order and breathed heavily.

Fulgrim looked around to see if anyone else was going to help or defend him. He saw the looks on their faces. They agreed. They weren't going to intervene.

He couldn't hold back sobs as he reached for Juno. The apothecary immediately reciprocated, rubbing his back and soothing the boy.

"I'm okay," he breathed. "You're okay."

Hebe snapped again, "By the Prince, you still have delusions of grandeur. Did you really expect this to go the way you wanted? Just like before? Your illusion of perfection was shattered long ago!"

Juno slammed his fist into the floor, denting it.

Solace retorted as he knelt next to the two of them, "Stupid bastard, shut up! Leave him alone!"

Fulgrim couldn't stop the tears, devastation growing within his chest. He felt... crushed.

He'd been tricked. He'd been stupid and such a fool. Thinking it would really be this easy to come back and take over the legion. Only a handful interacted with him. Antioch and Hebe still ran the ship and had their orders followed. He was just a glorified prisoner.

He'd failed. Again. He just embarrassed himself in front of everyone. He proved himself a weak crybaby. A child. No one would follow him after this. They didn't want him.

"Take him back downstairs," Hebe muttered as he stalked away.

Solace helped Juno lift and usher him out. Passion opened his mouth to say something but Solace waved him to silence. The Sons of the Phoenix trailed behind in shame.

He hid his face so no one could look at him till they arrived at the docking bay.

They passed Hermes who raised a brow. They didn't stop to explain what had happened. Passion went up to her for comfort.

As soon as Fulgrim was on the ship, he grabbed Chemy and climbed into bed, pulling blankets over his head.

All was quiet, save for his muffled sobs.

He wished he'd stayed with Trazyn and hadn't vied for his freedom. It would be less painful than this. Trazyn at least wanted him. He briefly considered what it would be like to go back.

***

He did not recall falling asleep. He was unsure how much time had passed. He groggily rubbed his eyes as he sat up. Chemy chittered on his chest and he patted the scarab.

"Morning," Juno said as he walked over, handing a glass of water.

Fulgrim drank all of it. He needed it, especially with all the tears he shed last night. No doubt this had spread throughout the ship.

'The clone is weak and a whiny child.'

He could feel another bout of crying rising but Juno caught it before it happened.

"Bors wants to know if you want to make pottery," Juno informed him. "He has a studio one level up and you liked making art."

"Not right now," he mumbled.

He could use a distraction but feared he'd fail at it and didn't want to see anyone. He was also exhausted.

He stretched and went into the bathroom. He showered quickly to avoid lingering in his thoughts for long.

He still managed to wonder how he had been able to commandeer an entire planet into compliance before the emperor's arrival. Then manage entire fleets and bring countless others into the imperium. How did he do that? What did the first have that he didn't? Was he missing something completely vital to doing this? Was there something wrong with him?

Why was he... wrong? Why did he have to be broken? Inside and out? Why was he so pathetic? No wonder they didn't trust him. A cheap imitation at best.

Tears mixed with water and he scrubbed his skin, not caring if it hurt.

He rubbed his eyes again as he stepped out, slowly pulling on the clothes he was given. He took several deep breaths before leaving the small space of privacy.

The Sons of the Phoenix were unusually quiet in their section.

"Can I enter?" He asked, staying outside the curtain.

Thaedeus pulled it back, inviting him in. Their beds had been piled together, keeping close for safety. They idled around, still put off from last night.

"My apologies for dragging you into... that," he said.

"You need not apologize to us," Fary insisted.

Fulgrim shook his head, "I do, though. I was foolish. I'm a broken Primarch. Not whole. You deserve better. I need to get you home."

They marines exchanged glances.

Thaedeus spoke, "Your brother, Primarch Roboute Guilliman, is not whole. He must wear armor to filter out the poison in his body and his scar on his neck is wide."

One of his brothers stared in shock at him.

Fulgrim wiped away brimming tears, "Scar? What happened? Why was he poisoned?"

They shifted uncomfortably.

"Your brother was slit upon the throat and poisoned from the blade," answered another. "Shortly after the arch-traitor was killed. His armor filters the poison, and he cannot leave it for long, which causes him pain. He can tell you the story when you see him again."

Fulgrim nodded, doubting if he'd ever see Roboute.

"Rumors echo through the warp," Fary continued. "That the Lion is awake. But he has aged in his time away. He is old. He is not whole either."

"The Heresy still affects us all today," Thaedeus added. "I don't think any Primarch, if they come back, come back whole. Forgive me if this is blasphemy, but not even the emperor is whole. He is entombed upon the golden throne."

Fulgrim just nodded. He wanted to feel better, and he slightly did, but the pain was overwhelming. It kept cascading back.

He went out without saying anything.

He mindlessly walked to the platform leading down and stared out into the vacancy. No ships, cargo, servitors, nothing. There wasn't much before but it had been cleared to give him a quiet and private area. His personal hangar.

Juno came and stood next to him.

He looked up at him. The marine gently caressed his cheek.

Fulgrim hiccuped and ran into his embrace, crying in the crook of the apothecary's neck. Juno said nothing, only holding him. The primarch didn't hold back wails. Juno rubbed his back, the marine's warmth and strength, swearing gentle safety.

This. This is what he wanted. To be able to be vulnerable. To run to someone and cry in their arms. He'd wished he could have done it with his father; he almost was able to with Ferrus; he hoped that he could do so with Guilliman, and now Lion. He pleaded with Teacher but to no avail. He just wanted to be held. To feel loved.

He didn't care if he was feeling sorry for himself. It was so hard to overcome and frankly, he was angry. With himself, with Hebe and Antioch, with those who didn't step in, with Teacher, and with the First.

If he wasn't next to Juno's ear he'd scream in frustration.

The marine pecked kisses atop his head.

"My baby," he mumbled. "My good, sweet baby. Best baby. Mmm, baby. My baby."

Fulgrim's breath finally slowed, occasionally riddled with a hiccup.

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

***

The barge lights were dimmed, signaling sleeping hours.

Hebe nodded to Hermes as he entered the ship. The custodian was outside, leaning against the old barge.

"Antioch wants to know if he can come see you."

The custodian shook their head.

Hebe smiled, "I'll let him know."

He nodded to the Sons of the Phoenix as he passed them, still wary of him. Some glared.

He spoke, "We are still making repairs and purging the ship. I would ill-advise going out, but you are free to roam as you please. You can also have assistance from an apothecary. The Primarch wanted you saved and we will deliver you without further harm."

They stared at him until one finally broke the silence, "We do not trust you."

Hebe shrugged, "I expect that. I'm not blind to what you've been through. You were an entire deployment, and now barely a kill team is left. That is our doing. We were once noble and courteous. I can still extend that to you. You have a right to defend yourselves and refuse our offers. But the offers are still there."

The seeming leader looked away.

Hebe moved on to where the Primarch's area was.

Fulgrim was in a deep sleep, sprawled across his bed. The scarab was tucked under one arm and a blanket was wrapped around them both. He snored lightly.

The utter irony.

He'd seen the first Primarch's quarters. Both his main one and those on other ships. Before and after the touch of the chaos gods.

He'd always had a large and luxurious bed. Every detail handcrafted from the frame to the posters to the bedding itself. Fine silk sheets from the rarest of creatures and dyed in the hardest colors to achieve. Specialty-crafted blankets. Rare and hard to come by from various worlds. Each more beautiful and expensive than the last. The plumpest and softest pillows. A multitude of them upon the bed. A resting place made for a god.

Now, he slept on a rickety old cot, a thin pillow, and a well-worn blanket. Sleeping in this with a pet next to him.

The first would have had a fit. It brought a smile to Hebe's face. He could have requested such things but remained humble.

Juno sat next to the bed, stroking Fulgrim's head and muttering to himself.

He turned around with a glare that turned into a disappointed frown when he saw Hebe.

He came around and rested a hand on the back of the apothecary's neck, gently scratching it.

"How is he?" He asked.

Juno mumbled, "Another nightmare. The Emperor choked him and called him a fake. He was panicked and unable to fall asleep. Your words did not help. You left him in hysterics. I had to sedate him."

Hebe sat next to the larger Astartes, bigger than a Custodian, and laced an arm around the apothecary's waist.

"You do good work," he said. "You're taking good care of him."

Juno hummed, "Mmmm, my baby."

The apothecary's face still had the possessive look the daemon had worn but there was a tenderness to it. You could see the deep-seated paternal instincts surfacing.

Hebe turned to the primarch's peaceful sleeping form.

"He's so small," he mumbled.

"Babies are supposed to be small." Commented Juno.

"He's barely the size of a custodian."

"He will grow."

"He's also incredibly young."

"Yes, and you are incredibly stupid."

Juno turned and looked down at Hebe who grimaced at him. He blinked as a moment of clarity and soberness came in. His obsessions subsiding for just a bit.

Juno spoke, "You have been hurt much and by his hands. You have been outspoken against the primarch for a long while. Yet you welcomed this one so eagerly. Is it because he's a clone or did you see this as a chance for revenge?"

Hebe shook his head and leaned against the cot, "He's different. It's like he's the original's son. The true heir coming to stop his tyrant father. I saw him and heard him speak and... just knew in that moment we needed him."

Juno cupped his cheek, "You have apprehensions. You do not fully believe that."

Hebe sighed, "I struggle. Just as you do with how the daemon rewrote your brain and behaviors. Antioch does have good points, and I agree with him far more than he or anyone would expect. Not to mention the physical and medical issues he's been experiencing."

Juno's face twitched, "There had better be a 'but' coming next. You're no longer my main obsession."

"What a shame," he chuckled. "There is. He's our only hope and we're his. He is naive. Young. He will not be leading us. He can't. It's not fair to him. It isn't a matter of not wanting but the fact that we should be caring for him. It would be cruel and wrong to force this upon him. Just as the Corpse-Emperor did the first."

"You should tell him that," Juno insisted. "You have wounded him more than you realize."

The vice captain rubbed his face, "This is another reason why he cannot lead us. He is too emotional. It would be cruel of us to put him in this position."

"You speak of cruelty but is it not cruel what you said?" Juno accused. "You snapped out of nowhere and continued to tear into him even as he was sobbing. He thought he won and you embarrassed him in front of everyone. He cried all night and all day, yesterday. He has memories of being worshipped and now is treated like this."

Hebe rested his head on Juno's pauldron.

The apothecary pressed, "You say one thing but your actions do not reflect it. I think you should reflect on those actions. You have left him a wreck. He barely has a moment pass where he isn't crying, sad, or upset in some way. Sweet highs, Hebe! I had to sedate him just so he could sleep! Sedating a primarch is not easy to do. You have royally fethed-up."

Hebe pondered a moment, battling with growing guilt, "I just don't want him to fall again. I wanted him free of all the expectations, and to- why must you stare at me like that?"

Juno spoke candidly, "I may be plagued with obsession but you are incredibly dense and stupid. You need to think about what you've done and how to rectify it. You're making excuses, you hypocrite. I'm still upset with you. I don't know how quickly he'll forgive or if he will but those wounds and pain will still be there. They may scar but you will still see the marks and feel how distorted the skin is. He will forever think of you when he feels them and forever think of them when he thinks of you."

Hebe opened and closed his mouth as realization dawned upon him. The words digging up long-suppressed trauma. Personal trauma. His shoulders slumped.

He looked to Fulgrim, now noticing the dried tears upon his cheeks.

He put his head in his hands.

"I'm a hypocrite," he muttered. "I just... I'm repeating what was done to me. You're right. I will return tomorrow and apologize when he's awake."

"You're still an idiot."

He sighed. "I know. I am also sorry for ordering you like that. I... have much to think about."

Juno seemed pleased at this. Hebe studied his face; each curvature and line that he was ever so familiar with. He looped his arm around the other's, a familiar tenderness growing in his demeanor. He brushed hair out of Juno's face.

For centuries the daemon had taken Juno away from him. It was slow, but he was coming back to him. Sweet saccharine, the subject was difficult but he loved being able to converse with him like this again.

"Would you like to come up to my room? Just the two of us for a bit? It's been a while."

The apothecary turned to face him, closing the gap between them. Their noses brushed one another and he stared into glowing eyes. His breath was taken away until Juno smirked.

"You're a bastard and I'm preoccupied, no."

The larger marine went back to stroking Fulgrim's head, pulling away from the other. The moment of clarity was gone, obsession flowing back in.

Hebe bit his lip and stood, "Yeah, I deserve that."

He was a little disappointed but it did him good to see the other hold a moment of clarity for so long. He had a feeling it would happen more often. He pressed a kiss to the apothecary's forehead before leaving.

He paused near Hermes.

"What if he comes crawling to you on his knees?" He asked her.

She narrowed her eyes.

"What about to the primarch?"

She shrugged.

"I'll let him know."

***

Bors waited outside the ship and refused to take any excuses Fulgrim gave. Even if they didn't go to the studio, he needed to be out.

The marine's studio was filled to the brim with various pieces of pottery, shards, and supplies. Almost like a hoarding situation.

Many pieces depicted the shape of a drukhari women or declarations of love.

Bors showed Fulgrim the wheel and how to make sure the clay was centered. He was a fine teacher, giving simple instructions and occasionally demonstrating.

His calm and guiding way put the primarch at ease. There was no expectation to succeed. Just to try and experiment.

"You stick your tongue out when you're concentrating."

He looked up to meet Bors' eyes. He pulled his tongue back in.

"Sorry," he said.

"No need," the marine smiled. "It was cute. What are you making this time?"

Fulgrim looked down at the lump on the spinning wheel.

"I'm attempting to make a bowl. It's not going so well."

Bors nodded, "It is good to see you doing it though. I remember when you swore to never take up sculpting again."

The Phoenician sighed, "A childish decision. What a baby..."

Bors ruffled his hair, "Still. It warms the hearts."

The primarch noticed a smaller figure near the door he didn't recognize. A drukhari watching calmly.

Bors gasped and practically bounced over to them, "My love! My precious wife! My lord, I'd like to introduce you to my spouse!"

He rested a hand on their back as they nodded their head in his direction.

"Hello," Fulgrim greeted. "Pleasure to meet you."

They spoke with a soft and low voice, "Likewise. I'm Fhaseth."

Bors jumped in, "I met them on a dying craftworld, and they were so amazing with a knife, I fell madly in love. Their prowess, determination, and calm they exuded captured my hearts in an iron grip."

Fhaseth said, "He makes me laugh."

Bors practically melted at that, "My sweet dew drop in the desert, what brings you here?"

She pulled a small object from her robes, "You forgot one of your earrings."

Bors gently took it, "Oh thank you, you always remember everything and are so thoughtful. I have the best wife. She is fantastic!"

He leaned down so they could kiss before she bid them both goodbye.

Bors was elated, "I love my wife. She's so good to me."

Fulgrim couldn't help but smile.

The legionnaire beamed at him, "I'm so glad you got to meet her! I was wondering when the time would be right."

"She seems nice," Fulgrim said.

"Oh yes," Bors gushed. "So calm, and patient. She says our ship is mellower than what she grew up with. I'm so lucky! She is the best! She is my muse!"

The rest of the time as Fulgrim made his bowl, Bors told him all about his wife and how much he loved her. She had a collection of his pottery.

It felt good to be making art and utilizing his hands as he listened. He liked hearing love stories and Bors definitely loved his wife.

He placed the pieces he made in the kiln. They'd turned out better than he anticipated. Bors began sealing it up as Fulgrim left. He lingered, not wanting to go back down yet.

As he walked down the hallway, a small creature darted out from a door and began repeatedly running into the wall.

Fulgrim gaped at it. It was pudgy and reptilian-like. Multiple tubes connected to a pack on its back.

"Come back here, you little- my Lord!" A legionnaire exited the room to grab the creature.

"So sorry," he apologized as he scooped up the being and bowed. "Encarion at your service!"

Encarion had his skin removed, the muscle and sinew underneath turned to black and gray.

"Oh, I remember you," the primarch remarked. "You were under Julius' command."

He smiled, "Yes, indeed!"

"What is this creature?" Fulgrim questioned. "It looks like a Tyranid?"

"That's because it is a Tyranid."

"Oh."

"I find them so fascinating," Encarion exclaimed! "Please, I invite you into my lab!"

He didn't allow Fulgrim to give an answer. He grabbed the primarch by the wrist and dragged him inside.

The lab was filled with everything Tyranid. Cages with them inside, samples floating in jars, a mural made of carapace, taxidermied ones on display, or hung on the wall. There were little figurines of Tyranids, books on them, and even a little Tyranid plush.

A tyranid warrior was in the corner, drinking out of a water trough and blowing bubbles. It looked up at Fulgrim for a moment before going back to the bubbles.

Inside a cage, a lictor hissed at him.

"You hush!" Encarion snapped while pointing at it. "That is Buellabell. They're broody right now."

"I didn't know they could reproduce?" Fulgrim questioned.

"They do not," he informed him. "I have studied them for a long time and am now attempting to create ones that can breed. Buellabell has the hormones but none of the parts. Aren't they gorgeous?"

He blew a kiss to Buellabell and they snapped at him.

"If only they'd let me polish her scales like Carmillion. Carmillion!"

A red gargoyle came scrambling around a tank. Its tongue stuck out as it raced to Encarion.

"Come here, baby!" He shouted just before he was tackled.

The gargoyle excitedly licked and nuzzled Encarion as he laughed.

The smaller Tyranid slipped from his arms and ran headfirst into a tank before scrambling up and running into Fulgrim's legs.

The Phoenician reached down and picked up the creature. It breathed heavily with small snorts. Eyes were looking in the opposite direction.

Carmillion caught sight of him and tried to move forward. Encarion held onto them and pulled them back by the harness they were wearing.

"Sorry about this one," he grunted. "They get very excited and will try to jump on you."

He hooked Carmillion to a lead that was tethered to a wall. The gargoyle whined as it realized it was trapped.

Fulgrim giggled, "It acts like a dog."

Encarion stoically stated, "That's because I infused dog DNA in! They've all been disconnected from the hive mind and I've been working on producing ones that will follow our orders. But it's proving more difficult than initially thought. Had to solve the digestion issue first. They don't have digestive tracts. They just eat and are reabsorbed back into the hive mind. That pack acts as a proper stomach, kidney, liver, and intestines."

The one in Fulgrim's arms licked its eye.

"Could I pet, Carmillion?" He asked.

Encarion stepped aside with a bow, "Please do! It loves under the chin and it does not bite."

Fulgrim stepped forward, Carmillion wagging its tail faster. He scratched under its chin and it made a purring noise.

"Scratch his belly," Encarion suggested.

The primarch did so and the tyranid flopped backwards, making a happy chirping sound. He laughed.

He nearly jumped as the warrior was now next to him, nudging him with its head. He stroked it and it rumbled calmly before going back to the trough.

"That's Bob, and it always has to be pet at least once," Encarion beamed. "Aren't they fantastic?"

"They are," The primarch grinned.

Encarion grabbed a pellet and handed it to Fulgrim.

"A treat for this little one."

Fulgrim held it out in front of the tyranid. It practically inhaled it and choked. It coughed it back out then immediately tried eating it again.

The primarch snorted. He scratched its belly and it flopped backwards in his arm. One leg stuck out as it made a gargling noise.

Encarion dashed back to grab a box of toys. Balls, feathered teasers, crinkling foil, braided rope, and squeaking plushes.

Despite wanting to run into everything, the tyranid was still a good hunter, clawing at the teaser, leaping to catch a ball. It also liked being rolled around.

"Aren't they so fun when they're not trying to eat you?" Encarion inquired.

Fulgrim laughed as Carmillion licked his hand, "Yes, they are and cute."

Encarion jumped to his feet, "Yes! You get it!"

The primarch sighed, patting the little tyranid then petting Carmillian one last time.

"I had better get back. Could I come visit again?"

"Anytime," the marine grinned. "Do you want this one?"

Fulgrim blinked at him, "To keep?"

"Yes, " He replied, "It obviously likes you and you it. It can be trained to do tricks. Very good pets, and you look brighter after playing with them. You were very melancholic out there. You've lit up now. I think it would be great!"

Fulgrim looked at the tyranid. Not a thought in its head. It reminded him of Chemy, and it was cute and sweet and was so nice even if it was a bit off, and this was the first time he'd truly smiled within days...

"Yes, please, I'll take it," he decided. "Thank you."

Encarion squealed happily, "Yay! You're going to love it!"

Encarion went over all the behaviors and care it would need before sending the primarch off with a harness for the tyranid, a lead, a water bowl, and a small pamphlet he'd written on proper tyranid care.

The tyranid slept soundly in his arms. Encarion told him it was a small termagaunt.

"I'll name you Akurduana," Fulgrim stated. "Akur for short."

***

He could hear a string instrument lightly playing as he approached the barge. As soon as he stepped back into the ship, Juno was upon him.

"My baby!" He exclaimed. "Where have you been? Why did you take so long? Why weren't you in the studio? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Were you lost? What is that?"

He smiled, "Sorry to worry you. I met Encarion, and he was showing me his Tyranids. I stayed a bit, playing with them. He let me keep one. This is Ankur."

"Glad you came across him," Rouge smiled as he came up, setting aside a guitar. "He loves Tyranids and just wants to spread that love. You're in better spirits."

Fulgrim nodded with a sad smile.

He shrugged, "Today has been... better than yesterday. I can focus on hobbies and things I like... better than sitting around all day like a prisoner."

Juno nodded, "Tell me about your day."

Fulgrim sat on his bed with Chemy and Ankur as Rouge did his hair, telling Juno all that transpired. Hermes came in partway through to stand near them.

"You should ask Bors to see his wedding pictures," Rouge told him. "He'd be ecstatic. You might be able to try some of Fhaseth's cooking as well. She doesn't do it often but it tastes amazing."

He couldn't hold back a smile. He liked this. Far better than having people stare up at him in awe or fear. It felt candid. It felt like family.

"Glad your day had been better," Spoke Hebe as he walked up the ramp with Passion.

The primarch's good mood came crashing down and his stomach twisted.

Fulgrim bit his lip and defiance rose up, "Get out. Get off of my ship."

His voice cracked with emotion. He recalled every moment of hurt from before the crusade, during it, and during the heresy. He'd shoved them down, far deep within himself, and pasted over it with perfection, looks, and show. The only sign of it was spurts of anger he couldn't hide. He'd only shown a bit of it to Ferrus. The rest of it was shown when he was alone in his room with the door locked.

Hebe raised his arms, "I can stand right outside and still talk to you. I want to apologize and explain myself. Will you let me?"

The primarch glanced at Juno who nodded approval.

"Fine," he answered quietly. "But if I tell you to get out again, leave immediately. Please."

"Of course," the Vice-Captain answered.

Hebe took a knee before him. Rouge placed a protective hand on the primarch's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Hebe began. "I shouldn't have yelled or taken out my frustrations on you. I'm also sorry I haven't been up front with you."

Hebe opened and closed his mouth, "You know that the trauma of the first runs deep. I have forgotten to realize that it runs deep for you too. I wanted to protect and coddle you. Keep you from being stressed. Make sure you're healed. That you have what most of us never had. The chance to be a kid. Mold you into what we need and want. I... wanted perfection."

His stomach twisted upon hearing that.

Hebe chuckled pitifully, "The very things I was wanting to avoid, I was forcing upon you. I tried too hard to make you happy that I failed to see you were going into misery. I have been thinking over everything and know I hurt you deeply."

Tears began to stream down pale cheeks.

"You're not the one to blame," he told Fulgrim. "You didn't ask to be cloned or end up out here or to come back to us. We're older than you and have had far more millennia of experience than you've had or can remember. That places responsibility on us. We are supposed to care for and protect you. It's our duty. You need us to survive and thrive and we need you. By the Golden Throne. Please, just let us help you. You can't stand alone. Both figuratively and literally. You know this. It's why you need to get back to the imperium and why we're going with you. You will one day be back to your former glory. Being greater than before."

Tears streamed down Fulgrim's own cheeks as Hebe cupped his face.

"Please," the astartes choked. "Let us help you and take care of you. We'll lift you up. You could have stayed with the Necrons or gone off and done whatever you wanted, but you didn’t. You chose this. We are choosing you."

He could feel a weight slowly coming off his shoulders.

Still. He caught the eyes of Fary and Thaedeus, leaning out from their quarters. Pleading, rooting him on.

"Is this an apology or an excuse?" Fulgrim sniffed.

"An apology with an explanation," Hebe insisted. "I didn't want to force things upon you. I believe it would be cruel to do so. I should have spoken with you first and told you my thoughts. You are young and bright. I don't know if you feel it as well but the dynamic has shifted with us. Instead of father and sons, it feels like fathers and son. I want to protect you. Help you thrive and grow."

The primarch swallowed the lump in his throat. He wanted to be defensive but he had to admit... he'd been feeling that as well.

Passion spoke up, "You are like the lost heir, meant to right the wrongs of the king!"

"You are our salvation," Rouge added, moving to the front and grabbing one of the Primarch's hands. "We will protect that and ensure you flourish. From smoking sparks to a full flaming bonfire."

Fulgrim wiped his eyes and took a breath, now feeling it was time for his piece, "I'm still a primarch and I still need to lead and help and-and... do something at least. I can't just sit here and do nothing to help. What's the point then?"

"To learn by our sides."

They looked to the entrance.

Antioch stood in the doorway, out of his armor. His eyes were puffy and red. Damp streaks marked his cheeks.

He scanned the room and his eyes dilated upon seeing Hermes. She refused to look at him.

He turned back to Fulgrim, "The legion is different now. It will not go back to how it was. You know that. We know how it works. We can guide you. Teach you. Set you up for success. You are a primatch but you are also a kid. Kids deserve to be taken care of and have fun. Your childhood was taken away from you in both lives. I want to give that back to you."

He looked back at Hermes, a pained expression growing.

He swallowed and went on his knees, crawling to the primarch and bowing down.

"Forgive me, my Lord," he uttered, barely a whisper, "For rejecting you immediately."

He looked up into his eyes, "I will swear loyalty and do all I can to assist you. I only ask that you guarantee Hermes' safe return to the Imperium. Her happiness is my greatest joy."

Fulgrim nodded, "I will."

Hermes turned to look at Antioch.

"If it is truly your wish," he choked. "I will leave you be. I just want you to be happy."

Hermes sighed and rolled her eyes. She sat on the floor and motioned him over.

Antioch let out a strained cry as he covered his mouth and quickly crawled over to her. He wrapped his arms around her, silently sobbing. It was difficult without lips, but the way her muscles pulled, she was smiling.

Passion let out a sigh of relief and muttered, "Oh thank goodness."

Hebe stood and pulled Fulgrim's head to his chest, gently running fingers through his hair.

"I am sorry," he said again. "I need to set aside hope and expectations of perfection."

Fulgrim sniffed, "Me too."

He pressed a kiss to Fulgrim's forehead.

"Rising from out of the ashes," he announced. "You are the true Phoenix!"

Fulgrim laughed in the middle of a sob and stood as he hugged back the vice captain. Would things be alright?

Hebe suddenly pushed him back, staring at the top of the primarch's head. He squinted and looked back and forth between him and Juno, then to his shoulders.

"W-what?" Fulgrim questioned.

Hebe frowned, "You're smaller than when you first got here."

The primarch felt his hearts drop.

Previous - Next - Master Post

[candyswirls]

Return of the Phoenician Part 5

Previous - Next - Master Post

Had to work on this chapter a bit to get it where I want. I'm not fully satisfied with it, but it's leading to where I want to story to go. I do like writing how his mood fluctuates and him struggling with what he's feeling.

Synopsis: Fulgrim is brought aboard the Emperor's Children Battle-Barge. He's fighting off the feeling of being a failure but gets to reconnect with some of those he knew.

The cargoship was placed in the bay of the old barge.

Since its Gellar fields worked properly and the interior was uncorrupted, he and the Sons of the Phoenix were placed inside.

Embarrassment filled him as he tried to hobble forward on his own. Sharp pain running from his legs and up his spine.

"Get Juno down here," Hebe ordered.

Fulgrim was placed on his bed, with Chemy in his arms. Dysseus stayed by his side, offering comfort and reassurance.

Hebe spoke, "You'll need to stay down here as we inform the rest of the company. There are things we need to prepare as well."

"We need to... purge a lot of stuff before you come up," Solace explained.

"Only daemons," Fulgrim said. "Please don't kill any prisoners."

Hebe nodded, "As you wish, my Lord."

"Do I have to get rid of all my drugs?" Questioned another.

Bors smacked the astartes upside the head, "Yes, you dolt."

A larger Astartes in Terminator armor skipped in.

"Hi, what did you bring back- Oh."

He stared at Fulgrim, eyes pink and bulging. Hard drugs and years in the warp had changed his features. But was this Juno? He had been an apothecary. An up-and-coming chirurgeon. He was much larger now.

"You look different," was all the astartes said. He spoke in a soft whispery voice.

Hebe came up behind him, "Juno, this is the primarch, now an uncorrupted clone. Take care of him."

"Okay," Juno nodded. "My Lord Primarch. You look so young."

The primarch smiled as he brushed away tears.

The apothecary scanned over him, studying him.

"You are young," he mumbled.

"You're like an infant primarch right now," Solace mentioned. "It's exciting to see you at such a young age!"

He didn't fully like that statement but nodded and looked back at Juno.

He looked shellshocked, still taking everything in.

The apothecary slowly nodded, "Yes... infant. I am to take care of you. Infant... take care of infant. Baby. I am to take care of baby. My baby."

He reached out and grabbed one of the Primarch's arms. He held the hand to his chest, staring at Fulgrim. Possessively, in a way.

"My baby," he mumbled.

"Your baby?" The Phoenician questioned.

Juno lit up, "Yes, my baby. Need to get rid of the daemonettes. Pesky. I'll be back. Rest."

Juno still stood there, holding onto Fulgrim's arm, staring at the Primarch.

"Ar-are you going to let go?"

He considered this a moment, "Yes, I'll be back."

He dropped the Primarch's arm and hurried out, constantly looking back at the primarch, as if he'd disappear if he looked away for too long.

Hebe looked pleased.

Bors turned to the captain, "Was that really a good idea? You know how obsessed and possessive he can get."

Hebe nodded, "He no longer has the daemon inside of him and I'm counting on his possessiveness. He will fight tooth and nail to protect our dear Primarch and give him the utmost care. If he gets to be too much, let him know."

The primarch didn't say anything. He just ran fingers over one of Chemy's lights.

"We're headed up," Hebe said. "Solace, Bors. With me. Dysseus, stay here."

Fulgrim rubbed his face and looked around.

The Sons of the Phoenix huddled close to one another. They tried wearing brave and undeterred faces, but existing exhaustion took over. They were tired, wounded, and weary. Only Thaedeus had his armor.

Some primarch he was. Ever since coming aboard, he'd been a teary mess. He could recall moments where his mere presence struck awe in anyone who beheld him. How those who caught sight of him on the battlefield were renewed with hope and strength.

He couldn't even do that now with a handful of Astartes. He was just a glorified prisoner, wasn't he? He wasn't even giving orders. He wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. But he was stuck.

Dysseus leaned against the wall. He didn't say anything, but Fulgrim didn't feel like talking.

Minutes turned to hours but passed like centuries. He wanted to tear off this stupid armor.

"It's true!" Gasped someone as they entered.

This newcomer had hot pink armor with neon designs across it. His hair was cut into various lengths and styles. Bright colors ran across it, and his shaved sides had been painted with animal print. Piercings ran up his face, and the folds of his cheeks had been cut and peeled back to be pinned to his temples.

He grinned happily, rocking on his heels with his arms behind his back. He waited at the entrance for permission to enter.

Fulgrim glanced at the others.

He sat up and bid him welcome, "Come in."

"My lord," he greeted happily as he moved in. His voice was gravelly.

"What is your name?" Fulgrim inquired, trying to pretend he didn’t notice the Sons of the Phoenix moving further back.

"Don't you recognize me?" His son asked.

The primarch opened and closed his mouth.

The legionaire laughed, "I jest, I jest! No one recognizes who I used to be. I've done so many body modifications over the centuries on myself. I change my hair as often as I can, too. My name is Rouge, but it used to be Roushal. I was there when a daemon possessed the original. Do you recall me?"

Fulgrim concentrated on the name and memories of a young Astartes matching the name floated through.

"Oh, Roushal," the primarch smiled. "Yes, I do remember you. I would expect you to have changed within ten millennia. Uh, how is it? The body modifications, I mean."

Rouge clasped his hands together, "Oh I love it. Especially when you can get a biomancer involved. I was considering getting a few speakers in my chest, but not now."

He stared eagerly at his lord.

Fulgrim cleared his throat and scooted to face Rouge fully.

"Um, what brings you to me?" He asked. "Were you just wanting to meet again, visit, or is there something I can do for you?"

"I'd also like to know that."

Rouge turned around to reveal Juno, who was glaring at his brother, almost murderously.

The other marine had silently moved up.

"A bit of all three," answered Rouge as he moved to kneel down across from the primarch. "It's been so long, and I wanted to see you. Many are... resistant. Some are resentful towards the original's actions, and many have... opinions on you being a clone, and plenty are afraid of what you'll think of them."

Fulgrim nodded. He knew this would happen. Juno moved the primarch's side, watching his brother.

"But I also really wanted to offer my specialties," the other Astartes offered enthusiastically. "I mean, new body, new you! If you ever wanted anything like piercings, tattoos, scarification, implants, or dental work, then I'm the one for it! I do it for all the others."

"Oh." Spoke Fulgrim.

"No," Juno said.

Rouge put up his hands, "It's not for everyone, and it can be a lot to handle. Especially if it's your first of any of them. I stress thinking deeply about it before committing. My best skill is actually hair! I work with all hair types. I can cut, dye, braid, style, extensions, anything really."

The other legionnaire backed down at this as Fulgrim slowly nodded.

Rouge buzzed with excitement, "I always wanted to feel your hair. It's so soft-looking and flowy. You're a primarch, after all. Perhaps it will boost your mood!"

The primarch blinked. He was offering to pamper him. Fulgrim, the original, had given him memories of others pampering him. Serfs and occasionally Astartes during the crusade. On Chemos, servants and courtesans did so. Those betrothed that he loved had offered as well.

But he, himself, he'd never experienced it. Throne. He hadn't even experienced much affection in general.

He recalled one time teacher had patted his head in praise. He had desperately craved it since. Hoping enough approval would entail that.

"I would like that very much," Fulgrim answered.

Rouge smacked his hands to his cheeks and tried to repress a squeal of glee through a wide smile.

"I'll go get my tools and supplies!"

Rouge dashed out, then returned just seconds later with a case.

"I brought it with me," he beamed. "Ah, you meant now, correct?"

"I assumed you meant it as well," the Phoenician smiled.

Rouge opened the case and began rifling through organized drawers of brushes and combs.

"What are you wanting today?" He inquired, giddy at the prospect.

"Um, show off your skills," Fulgrim decided. "You decide what hairstyle."

"With pleasure!" The Emperor's Child practically purred.

The primarch moved to the edge of the bed and Rouge bounced around behind him. The Sons of the Phoenix were slowly relaxing.

Fingers gently ran through Fulgrim's platinum locks. The Astartes parted his hair and sectioned it off as he began what was assumed to be an intricate braid.

"Do you see yourself and the first Fulgrim as the same person or completely separate?" Rouge inquired as he worked.

The Clone pondered a moment, "I will admit, I struggle deeply with identity. While I have many of the memories, I don't have them all, and I did not experience them fully. Teacher said that clones can differ greatly from the original being. I see myself as a separate individual but one who has to live up to the greatness anand d right the wrongs."

"Mmm," Rouge acknowledged. "I assume Teacher is Bile?"

"Yes."

Rouge paused before continuing with the brush, "I sense tension there. You did not part on good terms."

Fulgrim whispered, "No. He gave me away. To a Necron collector. I still don't know what I did wrong. He wouldn't tell me. He just... tossed me like I was nothing."

"We will not do that," assured Dysseus from the wall.

"He was always a creepy bastard," Rouge commented.

Juno hummed in agreement.

The subject soured the air, and Rouge tried to change it.

"It is far calmer down here than above," he commented. "Love the lack of fighting."

"What's going on?" Fulgrim asked.

Juno flinched and glared harder at Rouge, "You idiot! You weren't supposed to say anything!"

Rouge slowed, "Oo-oops? Sorry, it just slipped out."

Fulgrim turned around, "What is going on? I may be struggling right now, but I'm still a primarch."

Emotion cracked at the end of his sentence. He wanted to bawl again.

Juno muttered, "The ship is divided by those who want nothing to do with you and those who want to join you. Mainly Antioch vs Hebe. It was escalating quickly."

"It will be over soon," Rouge assured.

The Primarch went quiet. Fighting within his own men? But they're not mine.

Juno moved forward and cupped his face, "Only a handful of us have met you, and you're obviously sick. We've been on our own for a while. We can take care of you."

"Take me up there," Fulgrim ordered, refusing to listen.

"My lord," Dysseus protested.

"Now." The primarch growled.

"I can not allow you to be put in harm's way," Juno said.

"Then you will be by my side," he replied. "You're now part of the new Phoenix guard."

Juno paused, then nodded.

"Wait!" Rouge protested. "I'm almost done! Just tie this... over here... oh, can't have that fly away... aaaaaaaaaaaannnddd done!"

Rouge jumped back, looking proud. He grabbed a mirror from his case and presented it.

The Primarch blinked. It was an intricate braid, forming flowers and a crown upon his head.

He choked.

Rouge's face dropped, "I can redo it."

Fulgrim shook his head, "It's beautiful. I've never had this done for me before."

Juno was already catching tears and wiping his eyes.

Rouge's became misty, "I'm glad you like it!"

"Let's go," Fulgrim sniffed, hoping for anything to distract from his emotions.

As he stood, his knees threatened to give out.

Juno and Dysseus were at his sides immediately.

"Rouge," Fulgrim spoke. Stay here and ensure the Sons of the Phoenix are protected. And watch Chemy."

"As you wish." He replied with a bow.

The scarab sat on the bed, not a thought in its head.

Juno carried most of his weight as they hurried up the decks.

The higher they went, the more his legs ached. But he could hear the sounds of battle growing closer. That pushed him forward.

The same determination he had when he wanted to speak to Trazyn was coming back. He could not allow a civil war to happen over himself.

What was he doing? Sitting there and moping that everything had been ruined? He was not a small child upset that the first stroke of a painting wasn't what he wanted it to be. It was his stupid struggle with perfection! It wasn't going to be perfect, and it didn't need to be.

He had a duty here. He needed to foster harmony and hope.

They came upon some legionaries in the hallway. One was about to hack another in two when he spotted the primarch.

He dropped his blade and then fell to his knees. The others did the same.

He wished he could stop and speak to them, but the main fight was just beyond.

The doors slid open to reveal a cacophony of sound and bolt rounds. He clasped his hands over his ears as it washed over him. It was awful. Like scraping fingernails across a slate board. There was no harmony or coherence.

Waves rippled through the air as noise tore through. Blood sprayed up as brother fought brother. Some lay on the floor, and some reveled in the pain they received. Others delighted in the pain they inflicted.

He could see the graceful and well-coordinated marches they used to do in his mind. It was jarring to see the depravity now.

"Stop," he whispered. "Please stop."

He didn't hear what Dysseus said, but the marine had such hopeful and intense eyes.

"ENOUGH!" He yelled.

Most of the noise died away as his sons froze. Some dropped to their knees and began crying. Some immediately begged for forgiveness.

He yelled to those still fighting, "Stop it! This is ridiculous! Has there not been enough loss due to the heresy? We already fought the other legions. We do not need to add ourselves to that list! Please!"

The hall was so quiet that he could only hear the echo of his words.

"My lord," whispered one.

Some burst into tears, some dropped to the ground and crawled forward; Pleas of forgiveness on their lips. Some claimed praises at his return.

"False!" Yelled Antioch, waving his sword. "This is the false primarch! Thinking that you can come in here and take ownership of us?"

"I own no one," the primarch stated. "No one is forcing you to join me."

"You just shouted an order!" The captain growled.

Hebe was up, "That is enough."

"No!" Growled the other. "I will not stand by and -"

He was cut off once more as dirty brown armor appeared behind him. The captain was kicked down and landed face-first on the ground.

The being in the brown armor had rage etched across their face. Their mouth was gone. Sealed by a nasty-looking scar. They also had no arms. They were larger than the others and definitely not from the third.

Antioch looked back, utter shock upon his face as blood dripped, "Hermes?"

Hermes flicked his head, and a piece of jewelry fell to the ground. He stomped on it and stormed away. The astartes around him quickly parted.

Antioch scrambled forward, "Hermes? Hermes?? Hermes, please!"

He ran after them and grabbed onto his back. Hermes spun around with blinding speed and kicked him away.

"No!" The captain begged, any and all ire gone from his voice. "Don't leave me! Hermes, please! Just listen to me! Please, I love you! Hermes!!"

The two disappeared down the hall, Antioch on the verge of tears as he frantically begged the other to listen.

"Oh damn," Solace said from the middle of the group.

Hebe pointed his gun upwards, "Anyone else want to stand against the primarch?"

There were no protests.

One stumbled forward, "H-how? You have no touch of the warp on you? Is it really you?"

Fulgrim reached out, "Yes, Cassa, it is."

The marine choked upon hearing his name.

He had imagined this moment as having great decorum, but he surged forward and fell to his knees, grabbing anyone close and pulling them into an embrace.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as more joined in. He sat on his rear, his legs screaming at him. Others joined in, hugging him from behind, crying, stroking his hair, nuzzling close.

"I'm sorry," one sobbed. "We're hideous now."

Fulgrim laughed through tears, "You're beautiful still. I think you look fantastic!"

He meant it. He was afraid to say it out loud, but he'd always wanted various piercings and tattoos. To have his hair cut and dyed in what used to seem like a provocative way. He would have to bring up Rouge on his offer.

"We're cleansing the ship!" Hebe announced. "All signs of the God are to be gone. No daemons. No killing prisoners. Primarch's orders. Speak to an apothecary about weaning off your substances. We are returning to glory."

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