Hanahanu Reborn
"Bring him in," a voice announced. It was strong, albeit a bit concentrated in the nose. It was one that wouldn't be too out of place within his home Legion. But here? It was one of the many markers that made him so distinct from his newfound kin.
"Yes, lord," a second voice said, a figure bowing and moving from the threshold of the door that was barely cracked open. This one was firm, a bit hardened by yelling orders to his warriors, though a note of unease was easily able to be noticed. The figure was dressed in full warplate, crimson and edged in steel, with the armor itself carved and inset with symbols taken from the Book of Lorgar. Upon one pauldron sat the icon of his Legion, the Latros Sacrum, and on the other sat the icon of his Host, a bloodied handprint over a leatherbound book. The Host had no grand title or name -- few did, nowadays -- and was simply known as the 17th Host. He was bare headed, with tanned skin, black hair styled with an undercut swept to one side, and dark eyes that betrayed his worries. His name was An-Ishkur, and he had been asked to assist in the rejoining process for his brothers within the Legion.
He strode into an adjacent chamber, where a number of warriors bearing similarly-colored warplate currently sat. It was quite barren, as the newly-named Master of Possession had asked it to be, with benches lining the walls and warding sigils carved into the pale walls. The floor was a mosaic of white and black, marking out the sacred octed beneath their feet. The warriors within tried not to show their overt discomfort. Most were able to mask it well. But some were pawing at their faces, snarling with annoyance, tapping their foot, or reciting prayers and litanies under their breath. Within each one sat a creature of the Empyrean, one of the revered Neverborn. Daemons, as many called them.
"Hanahanu Elil," An-Ishkur said from the doorway. A few heads came up, and he locked eyes with the one who was destined to go next. "Your time has come, brother." The eyes looking back at him were a tawny grey tinged with amber, a testament to how much the daemon within had changed him. He was just surprised to see that Elil was able to even take his helm off -- several of the other Legionnaires could not. The face looking back was darker than his own, with the same handsome, almost patrician features found amongst most of the Legion. His hair was a short, messy crop of black that almost edged on a very dark grey. He reached a gauntleted hand up to brush some of it aside.
"We're ready," Elil said, standing. As he spoke, An-Ishkur noticed his teeth were becoming sharper. If all went well, like it seemed to with the two who had gone before, then hopefully the beast within could be quelled.
Hopefully.
An-Ishkur nodded, making a gesture and leading him to the door. The door itself was decorated and ornamented, with some more recent carvings and wards having made permanent marks within its surface.
He raised a hand to knock, before the man within impatiently said, "I know who you are and who you are with, just get him in here."
The two traded glances, and An-Ishkur shook his head before opening the door and allowing Hanahanu in first. The room still smelled of burning flesh, blood, and incense. The only other figures within the vaulted chamber was an Astartes clad in robes of red and white, followed by two smaller robed humans as he renewed the circles and prepared for his next experiment. The room was approximately fifty feet on a side, with braziers of burning incense set about ten feet apart to the duo's left and right. Towards the front of the room sat a raised dais with a lectern, and upon it sat a book bound in skin with yellowed pages. An-Ishkur suppressed a shiver as his eyes passed over the book. Something... else felt as though it brushed his consciousness as he did.
The man in robes finished speaking an invocation and finally drew himself up, turning to face the two newcomers. With the two of them arrayed in battle plate, it almost made him look smaller and slighter in comparison. He was still formidable compared to the two humans beside him. He brushed aside his sandy-colored hair, his odd sky blue eyes staring into Hanahanu. He clasped his sun-kissed hands together, a smile plain on his face.
"Well, Hanahanu Elil, it is my pleasure to formally meet you," he said. An-Ishkur had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "And a pleasure to meet your partner as well. Do they have a name?"
"Hersyaf," Hanahanu growled, his teeth half bared. He shook himself out, closing his eyes and letting out a breath. "... Hersyaf. He calls himself Hersyaf."
"Hersyaf," the man said with a nod. "I am Zikar-Sin. Formerly of the Thousand Sons, now taking the position of your new Master of Possession as the Apostle wills."
Formerly was an interesting word to use. To An-Ishkur, it was blatantly obvious that he had not entirely eschewed the ways of his old Legion, and that he still considered himself one of them.
"Do you know why I have called upon you, Hanahanu-Hersyaf?" Zikar-Sin asked.
"You want to make us more 'whole'," the warrior answered. An-Ishkur could hear the growls of the beast under the careful voice of his friend and brother. An-Ishkur looked to him, trying to hide his worry.
"Are you sure you want to volunteer? Maybe you should wait until we know it works," he had said when the sorcerer had first announced his intentions.
"An-Ishkur, we've been over this. If something isn't done, Hersyaf is just going to take over and rend us apart anyway. This can be a chance to give us true balance, rather than having this more..." Hanahanu trailed off. "... parasitic relationship we have together."
"Hopefully it won't be more than a few weeks of waiting and testing," An-Ishkur protested. He sighed. "Look, I get it. Hersyaf is getting stronger and bolder, but he's always been a bit of an arrogant blow-hard. It hasn't always been easy calming you down."
"That's the point," Hanahanu said. "This can make it so I can have more control, too. That way we both benefit, and the bond is less one-sided. I don't want to just be a vessel to feed a daemon, An-Ishkur. I am my own man, with my own thoughts and my own devotions of the Powers."
"I know, I know. I'm just worried something will go wrong."
"And if it does, I know you'll be there to take care of me." Hanahanu rested a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We've been side-by-side ever since we first strode the sands of Colchis as aspirants. And we've been there for each other in all other miserable exploits of ours. Remember the wine raid in Tizca?"
"Hey, that was your idea," An-Ishkur replied, finally breaking into a small smile. "But that was much different to this."
"Even though we had one of our cousins scolding us for ages afterwards?"
"Hanu, come on. I know you want to make light of this, but this is a serious decision."
"I know it is. And I know why I've made it." Hanahanu removed his hand. "It's for the benefit of us both. Even if Hersyaf is impatient and doesn't want to admit it, we spent some time discussing it and we both agreed." He offered his friend a kind smile. "But I appreciate the concern." An-Ishkur tried to smile back, but he knew it read false. His expression turned into obvious concern as his brother walked back to his own personal chambers to prepare for what was to come.
"I am indeed." The words of the sorcerer shocked him out of his memories. "I am going to make sure that both of you can co-exist in a mutually beneficial relationship. Already, two of your kinsmen have walked away as one. I can see the strife within you both." He reached up one hand, reaching towards Hanahanu. He growled and gnashed his teeth at him.
"Sorcerer," he hissed.
"Hanu," An-Ishkur said. "Please." The other warrior turned, his eyes looking unfocused for a number of moments, his face locked into a snarl. It took some effort for him to nod. An-Ishkur's concern only grew.
"Ah. Feisty one. Not an uncommon reaction," Zikar-Sin said. "Well. We should be getting started, now shouldn't we?" He turned his body and gestured to the center of a number of concentric rings. Hanahanu looked apprehensive of them, but An-Ishkur nodded his approval. Once more, there was a pause before he moved, carefully avoiding the salt and chalk that marked them out on the ground. Once he was standing, the Master of Possession made a gesture for him to sit. Hanahanu obeyed. "You may wish to put on your helm. Or don't, it's not very relevant to me," he said to An-Ishkur. An-Ishkur nodded, trying to give his brother a smile one last time.
"I'll see you on the other side, then."
"We'll be made as one," Hanahanu said with a nod. An-Ishkur took the helm at his belt and fit it over his head, taking in the new view behind his jade-colored eye lenses.
"You will be called if you are required," Zikar-Sin told him. "Close the door on the way out, don't pay attention to the whispers, blah blah blah, this is your third time hearing me say this." He made a dismissive gesture towards An-Ishkur as he moved towards the lectern. An-Ishkur was glad the helm could hide his face, so the sorcerer couldn't see his grimace and his eyeroll.
He moved back towards the entrance of the chamber, casting one last look over his shoulder at his brother as he knelt there. Once again, they locked eyes, but instead of only seeing the eyes of the man he'd known for centuries, something else looked back at him, too. With a breath, he left the room, letting the great door creak close behind him.
It was eighty minutes before they opened again.
Eighty long, torturous minutes. Eighty minutes holding a vigil at the door, one hand planted on the pommel of the chansword belted at his side. Eighty minutes left wondering if anything would go wrong, wondering if his brother would be the one to fail. He never had the control his predecessors had over his daemon -- Hersyaf was infamous for his hungers and rages, and notoriously difficult and reluctant to relinquish control -- so would this process even work?
His answer would come to him in a way he had dreaded since Hanahanu had volunteered himself for the process.
A ghastly, snarling howl erupted from the room behind him. An-Ishkur moved, drawing the chainsword as he faced the shut doors. From within he could already smell flesh cooking, and he could hear the chanting of Zikar-Sin within. He stood there, tense and waiting, for fifteen seconds.
+GET IN HERE AND HELP ME!+ a voice thundered through his mind. An-Ishkur doubled over from the force of it, clutching his helm, but he soldiered on and threw the doors open wide, his chainsword revving.
He froze at what he saw.
Within the circles, with blood covering its ragged maw, stood a beast. Its head was lupine in form, with large fangs and teeth that constantly salivated, milky blind eyes, and spines starting from its forehead and continuing down its body. The armor of the beast was the same deep crimson of An-Ishkur's own, though it had been moved and formed into natural armor. Mangled fur sprouted from where the plates had buckled, sitting atop mutated musculature. Its arms were twice as long as they should've been, the hands having grown to triple their natural size and ending with curved and wicked claws. A long, almost serpentine tail, ending in a wicked thagomizer lashed. The legs were armored, wolf-like in form, with claws sprouting from the crimson ceramite boots. One of the circles was pulsing a sickly pattern of red. Zikar-Sin had a trail of blood coming down one side of his face, his clothing a messy ruin. The only other figure was a robed human, who was cowering away in the corner.
The bloodied rag of a robe that laid at the feet of the beast was all that remained of their companion.
The beast let out another ragged howling snarl, its sightless eyes staring into the ceiling.
"What have you done?" An-Ishkur demanded.
"It was not me! The daemon was too strong, it overpowered his soul!" Zikar-Sin shouted. He wiped blood from his forehead, drawing himself up and keeping his hands loose before him. "Thanks to the wonderful thralls provided to me, it was able to breach one of the wards against my distinct command!"
"It seems your thrall has paid the price for it."
"Thank you for stating the obvious, now help me!" Zikar-Sin said with an eyeroll. An-Ishkur approached the raging monster, keeping his weapon leveled at it.
"Hanahanu Elil!" he spoke, keeping his voice as strong as he could. "I know you are in there, brother. Hear me! Come back to us! We shall try again at a different time!"
"We are not using that weakling's name!" the beast spoke, resting its weight on its hands. Its tail lashed.
"You can speak?" An-Ishkur asked, lowering his weapon. He glanced to Zikar-Sin. "What shall we call you?"
"I am HERSYSAF!" he roared. "WE shall be HERSYAF! Not a weakling, soul-bound MORTAL!"
"Where is my brother?"
"I am your brother now, Captain An-Ishkur," Hersyaf practically purred. It came down to rest its weight on its hands. "The bitter whelp is going to be sleeping for a while. But I like him enough to not destroy him entirely. Not yet. He feeds me well." The two locked eyes. Through the milky film, An-Ishkur could swear he saw the same old tawny eyes of his oldest friend looking back. Hidden. Repressed. Pleading. The creature grinned, and An-Ishkur turned on Zikar-Sin.
"You have explaining to do. Lots of it." He revved his weapon, anger clear in his voice and in his posture as he stalked over to the sorcerer. "Start talking, or I'll rend you open myself. What have you done?"
"Those are questions best left answered for me, Captain," said a dangerous and deceptively soft voice from the doorway. Both An-Ishkur and Zikar-Sin diverted their eyes to the floor. An-Ishkur dropped to a knee.
"My Apostle," he practically whispered.
"Captain. You may look up, your obedience has been recognized." Eyes of flint locked onto the robed Master of Possession. "Zikar-Sin. I sensed that something had become altered," said the newcomer. "Look at me."
"Yes, lord," said the sorcerer, his voice actually sounding shaken, for once. Both looked up to see the unarmored form of the Dark Apostle of the Host, flanked by four members of the Annointed. Even Hersyaf seemed to be attentive, his nose sniffing at the air. A soft whine came from him.
"We shall discuss the ramifications of this failure and you shall discuss how this happened with me," the Apostle stated.
"Aposte Ans'ar, I-"
"You," he said, shifting his attention. "Captain."
"Yes, lord?"
"You know the brother whom we have lost?"
"Not yet lost," An-Ishkur said quickly. "I-I can still see him, my lord, though he has been pushed down. I think I can help save him."
"Do you?" His head was gently cocked to one side, his eyes intense and searching. He glanced back at the creature stuck beyond the wards.
"I do, Apostle." An-Ishkur nodded. There was silence. The tension was palpable. He could hear Hersyaf clawing at the ground.
"Then he shall be put under your command, if we decide he is to live." Ans'ar crossed his arms, making a gesture to one of the heavy-plated Terminators behind him. "Zikar-Sin, you are to come with us. You will explain what blasphemies you have created."
"Yes, Apostle," Zikar-Sin replied. The two Annointed came forward, with one seizing his arms and putting them behind his back.
"As for you," the Apostle once more looked to An-Ishkur. "You and your coterie may begin the rites of mourning. The Legion will join you." He turned to leave, but the captain's voice stopped him.
"Apostle, if I may?"
The Apostle stopped. "Speak, Captain."
"Please, let him live. Hanahanu and I have been together since we were aspirants. I know I can reach him. I know he's still in there. I can deal with Hersyaf. I promised him I would help him, no matter what happened."
The silence that followed made him feel as though he was balancing on the blade of a knife.
"Very well," the Apostle said with a small sigh. "If this is what you wish to pursue."
"It is."
"I can reverse this!" Zikar-Sin called as he was being taken away.
"Silence, sorcerer," Ans'ar called after him. "Then he shall be considered a member of your coterie. If he acts in a way that puts the Legion at jeopardy, he will be punished."
"As would any of us," An-Ishkur said quickly.
"Indeed," the Apostle agreed. He turned once more, making another gesture as he walked out with the Annointed, leaving An-Ishkur alone with Hersyaf in the circle.
"He wanted union," Hersyaf said in a snarling whisper. "He wanted the two to become one. And, well..." he grinned. His acidic saliva splattered and hissed on the salt making up the wards. "This is what our unity looks like."
An-Ishkur watched his Apostle leave, standing and facing Hersyaf. "Hanu never would've wanted this. But I swore to him I would help him no matter what."
"When did I ever say it was he who desired this unity?" the daemon asked with an all-too-knowing grin.
