The Dark Scion
(Tw for Gore, Child abuse, Childhood Trauma, child neglect, Gore, torture, and implied character death)
(I am so sorry my tags are fucked rn cause Ellipsus went down, sorry in advance for minimal tagging lol) @platinummice @undeaddream @bowiecoded @belovedhades @xx-rabidpossum-xx @slaaneshsleftovergender @lostprimarchwriting @the-sharena-draculea @riokunova @thisuserislilsilly
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Nyctos had no fond memories of his father. Of all the people in the universe, he should be able to recall something positive, but he never could. He'd tried, he really did, he scanned his own memories countless times to find something he could reflect on happily, but there was nothing. He knew the feeling was mutual.
His first memory of his father had been when the hulking figure of the Primarch had entered the quarters he'd been locked away in since the day he'd arrived, his only companions a wet nurse and a rotating group of Serfs. He'd never been so afraid, seeing the hulking monster lurching towards him, reeking of death and muttering nonsense. He was something right out of the fable books he'd read.
A beast cloaked in feathers and soaked in blood, the first touch to his face made him flinch. His chin had been seized between two fingers, nails digging deep enough into his skin to draw blood. "Do not flinch from your father, child. Look at me, look at what you will become." The Night Haunter had demanded, and Nyctos met his gaze and saw only loathing.
That was all his father's gaze ever held when he dared to meet his eyes. It was after that day that he was ripped from the warmth of his little sanctuary and instead introduced to the cruelty of his gene-sired brothers.
He'd been naive to their nature. He'd trusted them, the constant talk of the Emperor's angels, and the propaganda fed to him by his nursemaid had made him vulnerable. A nearly fatal mistake if it hadn't been for Jago's intervention. The interaction didn't leave him without scars, deep and painful were the three that resided on his arm from being grasped. After that, he'd begun to accompany Jago around the Nightfall, the Night Lord making a point to teach him some defensive techniques, and even gifting him a dagger.
Of course, Jago was not always present, and Nyctos took to lurking in the vents, but soon outgrew them and instead retreated to the rafters. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it worked. He continued to grow, and when he surpassed the size of his father, the Night Lords became reluctant to bother him. He let them be, not interested in pursuing them over past slights.
Jago began providing him with a data pad loaded with books on all sorts of topics, urging him to be as well-read as he could "Unfortunately, you are burdened with having to attend negotiations and political arrangements; it's best you be prepared."
Nyctos gladly accepted and spent most of his days reading after that. He learned the important things, of course, mathematics, history, social theory, and literacy, but he also delved into the arts with gusto. He learned of fashion and weapon smithing, and music as well, all of which he desperately sought to indulge in, but having neither the resources nor the freedom to do so.
Still, he was able to at least sketch out designs on scraps of parchment he stole. He hoped that one day he would be allowed to take up a hobby, but for the time being, the drawings had to suffice. He plastered them over the walls of his favorite napping spot, and in time brought other small items to his nest to make it feel like home.
He lived with a loose sense of security, his space respected until he was shaken awake by his father. He guessed it had been at least two years since they'd last been face to face, and the sight of the sullen man was more confusing than frightening. "Father, what's happened?" He asked.
Curze smiled, teeth pointed and needle-like. "We've been invited to a Gala by your Grandfather. You are to attend. We will both be fitted by your uncle Fulgrim."
"Fulgrim?" Nyctos was only half awake as he propped his head on his fist. "Why Fulgrim?" He mumbled groggily.
"Because he has a taste for these things," Curze said with a wave of his hand before he descended. "In an hour, boy." He called up before disappearing.
Nyctos had never met another Primarch, or even other Astartes, so there was some excitement when the purple-clad warriors of his uncle arrived, gathering those who were to be prepared. His uncle emerged wearing long lilac robes, silver embroidery covering the cloth, one of his pectorals exposed, and his beautiful white hair tied in an intricate updo. Golden jewelry hung from his ears, and his skin was glowing in the mellow light of the landing pad they were standing on. Nyctos was in awe, he'd never been outside the ship before, and the fresh air and light were overwhelming his senses. "Konrad, dear brother, come here, bring me my nephew so I may finally meet him!" He called.
His father had obliged, grabbing Nyctos's arm and tugging him through the crowd without saying a word. Nyctos was afraid that if he got too close, the man who was now looking at them with such beautiful violet eyes. Fulgrim reached up when they approached, and he smiled, his hands callused, perfumed, and warm. "Oh my, Konrad, you didn't tell me what a handsome young man you were hiding away!" He laughed.
His father just grumbled in distaste. "Let us just get this over with."
"Yes, yes, alright then." Fulgrim looked up at Nyctos, "I can't wait to see what we can do with you, little bat."
Nyctos nodded. "I appreciate you taking the time to do this for us."
He hadn't realised how in-depth the treatment he'd be receiving was, not until he was brought to a room that seemed to be designed just for physical maintenance and aesthetic, something he didn't even know existed. His nails were cleaned and clipped, his body washed and covered in scented oils, the excess painstakingly scraped off before he was wrapped in a simple, white linen cover and sat in a chair.
Fulgrim himself entered to tend his hair, wearing something fair more casual now, his hair partially down. "Ohh, that's much better. Look at you! Now, let's get rid of these dead ends first, then we can give you a proper cut…" He lifted the ends of Nyctos's hair and tilted his head, admiring the white streaks. "What a beautiful mutation! Oh, we can do so much with this, hm?" He grabbed a pair of scissors and began to trim his hair, "What do you think? Short? Medium? I think you need bangs, some nice curtain bangs to frame your handsome face." He leaned down to rest his head on his shoulder, gently grabbing his chin to feel the stubble.
Nyctos wasn't sure how to react, staring at himself in the mirror. His hair was so long, but now that it was clean, it was slightly wavy. He'd never seen it like this before "Um… Maybe just shave the sides and trim the ends, I like it long." He saw a flash in his uncle's eyes that could only be described as inspired.
Fulgrim nodded, "Oh, I have so many ideas! A nice long braid with some pearl strands..." He stood up and grabbed scissors and some clippers. "I have some ideas for your outfit too, oh I'm just so excited~!"
Nyctos held still as his uncle worked, his cuts precise as he styled him, adding oils and tonics that made his hair soft and shiny. Fulgrim opened a drawer, retrieving strings of pearls, each string a different shade, holding them up to Nyctos's face and comparing them "I'm thinking red, or maybe this nice, dark blue, what do you think?" He angled said strands to catch the light.
"What if we did the red? Then perhaps a darker outfit with red details?" He offered, and Fulgrim squealed in delight.
His uncle hugged him from behind. "Perfect!" He pulled back and began to braid Nyctos's hair, adding in the strings of red pearls.
For the first time in his life, Nyctos saw himself as he wanted to be. For the next hour, he and Fulgrim tried on outfits and talked. They discussed fabrics and styles, but they also discussed weapon forging and what Nostramo had been like when his father sat on the throne. It was the most pleasant conversation he'd ever had with a Primarch, and it fueled his excitement for the event. So much valuable knowledge he could access, and so many interesting people he could talk to.
When they had settled on an outfit, Fulgrim insisted on guiding him out, going on and on about how excited he was to introduce him to all the others, "Oh, just wait until you meet your cousins, Zadkiel is such a delight, and so is Virius, both will be so happy to meet you! I'm sure Callahan would be too if he wasn't so ill." He gave him a squeeze and led him to the party, the pair descending into the massive, gilded ballroom. There were so many sights, sounds, and smells, all of them completely overwhelming him.
Servants dressed in bright colors moved in practiced sync as they served drinks and food, Astartes and Primarchs alike partaking happily. It was almost too bright for him, and he squinted as Fulgrim helped him down the stairs "Let me introduce you to your cousins. I'll introduce you to the boring old men later." He joked with a wink.
Fulgrim gently shooed people aside, waving at a pair of Primarchs. One towered well over the others that were born of the Emperor, his large grey wings tucked close, his caramel hair casually tousled, his maroon eyes full of amusement, his robes a rich red and gold. The other was short, barely taller than the Astartes who wandered around them, his brown hair short and curly, and his dark brown eyes were gentle as he listened to his winged cousin, "Oh, boys! Come meet your cousin Nyctos!" Fulgrim called, both turning to face them.
The larger one shot a fanged grin to Nyctos, "Ah, we were just discussing when you would arrive, cousin. I'm Zadkiel." He offered a taloned hand, and Nyctos shook it.
"Must our grandsire insist on making you vat-grown lot so fucking big?" The shorter joked, "Really now, what's the point? I find myself to be a perfectly acceptable warrior at my size."
Zadkiel laughed, "Oh come now, Virius, one of us must brunt the weight of being the short one. Now come, join us for some wine. We have much to discuss." He pulled Nyctos closer, and Fulgrim waved as he left, and a look of mischief overtook the Primarch, "Ok, good, we can fill you in on the plan. How good is your aim, Nyctos?" He whispered.
The question caught Nyctos off guard, and he raised a brow, "I suppose my aim is ok…Why?"
"Because whoever can land a slice of cheese on Horus's head has been promised a barrel of Fernisian Ale by Leman," Virius explained, taking a sip of wine.
Nyctos scrunched his nose. "What's special about Fernisian Ale?"
A wide grin spread on Zadkiel's face. "You can get drunk off of it. Actually drunk." The angelic Primarch explained.
"So we've been trying to figure out who has the best aim so we can win." Virius said as he grabbed a plate of cheese slices, "Problem is, Zadkiel and I both prefer close combat, so our long-distance aim is a little…" The dark-haired Primarch made a shaky hand motion.
Nyctos had never been invited to such an activity before, and the idea was exciting. He nodded, "As I said, my aim is alright, I've trained minimally, but I would be willing to try." He offered.
"Sounds just fine to me." Zadkiel said with a grin, "Look for the big bald guy with a pelt around his shoulders, just watch out for the redhead with the top knot, and when the slice makes contact, run."
Virius nodded, "Yep. Abaddon can and will fuck your shit up if you're not quick."
"I'm good at climbing," Nyctos assured with a shrug before jumping as a hand landed on his shoulder, the other two immediately averting their eyes.
"What mischief are you two dragging your cousin into?" A stern voice asked.
Nyctos turned quickly, preparing to apologise, but was stopped as he took in the smile tugging at the lips of the Primarch staring up at them. He had long black hair tied in a bun, and was wearing ornate silk robes lined with fur, his eyes a bright gold, and he was sporting a goatee. There was no actual anger in his eyes, instead there was mischief. "And why have I not been informed?" He asked.
"Oh great Khan, we have been tasked with landing a slice of cheese on the fine, polished dome of the War Master, please, lend us your wisdom!" Zadkiel pleaded, putting his hands together in a prayer motion.
"Second story. Position yourselves on the balcony. Throw it from there." The Khan patted Nyctos on the back before leaving them.
Zadkiel grabbed the pair and the plate of cheese slices, hurrying them down the hall and to the stairs, going up to the balcony. Nyctos yelped as he kicked his feet on instinct before relaxing in the grip of his cousin. They stationed themselves, peeking over the metal railing and down to the entrance. It was a perfect spot, should someone enter below.
Virius shuffled into place, "Alright, when we see a perfectly shiny, bald head, we all throw slices."
Nycto nodded, and as the doors opened, the three leaned to look. When they did, there was a sudden blinding light, and Nycto fell back, an agonising pain settling behind his eyes as visions began to flash in his mind. He didn't feel his head make contact with the ground as thousands of lives began to circle in his mind, thousands of lives with thousands of branches, some of people he knew and some of people he didn't.
He saw his father, redeemed and shining, and then he saw him rotting and dead; he saw his cousins, both trapped in separate agonies, and he saw them ascending to become beings beyond his comprehension. He saw the life of millions of humans, and then he saw a being clad in gold and shining with light falling to the ground in a pool of blood as a giant flanked by gods stood above him. He watched, forced to witness all that could be, or would be, until a presence drew him from his vision.
It was like he'd been ripped from sleep as he came back to reality, lying on the floor on his side, his face resting in an unfamiliar lap as his hair was pet, the taste of blood clinging to his lips as his head was tilted up to meet the gaze of a massive red man "I think it worked. Nyctos? Someone fetch him some water. Now!" The man snapped.
"Father…Where..?" He looked around the crowd but didn't see his father. He was gently sat upright, the person above him an unfamiliar man with dark skin and red eyes.
"Hush, don't waste your energy." The man urged, his voice low and soft, "We'll find your father, just rest."
Nyctos soon found a glass pressed to his lips, and he took a few reluctant sips. He was gently lifted, adjusted so his vision was obscured by a cloak of gold, and he shut his eyes, his body trembling and weak as he was carried away from the crowd "Father…? Jago?" He called, struggling harder by the second to speak.
The man hushed him again, and he drifted in and out of consciousness, head bobbing until he was set down on a bed. He felt the pillow being adjusted before a cold cloth was wiped over his face gently "It's ok, they'll be back for you soon." He was assured before a blanket was tugged over him. "I'm sure he just went to fetch something for you."
Nyctos wasn't sure if that was true. His father rarely showed interest in him. He might have just gotten bored with him and had scurried off. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to rest, not wanting to think of the visions he'd seen. His uncle sat with him, continuing to clean his face and hands. He didn't know what had happened to them, but he worried he'd ruined the outfit Fulgrim had helped put together for him.
He lay in the dark until the door opened, and the smell of rot he'd come to associate with his father, "Konrad, there-"
"I'm taking the boy." That was all his father said, and Nyctos was lifted from the bed and held to a cold chest. He was fairly certain it was the first time his father had held him. He leaned against him as he was carried from the room, no one stopping them as they made their way back to the Nightfall.
"Father?" He looked up, but received no acknowledgement.
His father didn't speak until they were in the halls of the Nightfall, "Jago. We are not to be disturbed."
Jago bowed "Of course." His eyes met Nyctos's, and Nyctos wanted to reach for him, "Do as your father says, little bat." His voice trembled, and he averted his gaze.
Nyctos didn't fight as he was carried to a room that smelled of rot and blood with such intensity he could barely breathe. He was laid on a table, his father restraining his wrists and ankles. He looked up, and a vision flooded him as the restraints tightened. He saw his own future. One of pain. All would turn to ash, there would be war, and blood, and death would touch all.
He saw his father's bones gilded and stored in velvet boxes flashing before him, and saw his own body preserved in a silver coffin. He saw Jago chained in the belly of a ship, and a little girl talking to him. Between the visions, he would feel flashes of agony, but none of it was enough to keep him from the onslaught of visions, some of beings he didn't even recognize. Beings made of metal with armies of strange automatons.
Any prolonged breaks from his visions only served to tell him time was passing rapidly. He would be removed from the chamber and allowed to be cleaned and rest in a bed. Jago would take to sitting beside him and feeding him, tending him until inevitably, the visions would start again. When they did, he would be brought back to the chamber. Each time he was reunited with Jago, the man would look more and more haggard.
At some point, he came to accept he would die. The visions began to circle around the same vision. His father was standing over his broken corpse, one of his uncles forcing his father to look at the corpse while screaming at him. He saw himself preserved in a silver coffin, hidden away. He accepted this. He looked forward to the peace he would receive.
He was vaguely aware he wasn't in the chamber, instead lying on cool marble, and he could feel the drag of the blade, the visions fading, and he could see his father's face contorted with sorrow. Nyctos knew the time had come when he'd felt the gentle drag of a blade on his throat. His father's voice pierced the veil of the visions "I could not save you, and I must apologize. All I can offer now is peace."
He also saw the door open, and a man with gray armor entering the room. He took a look at the situation and said something while waving his arms, retrieving a hammer and surging forward. He didn't understand what was happening. This wasn't the vision he'd seen for weeks. This wasn't the place, nor was his father cloaked in feathers. His vision faded as he felt himself being lifted up and held, a brief vision of himself standing on the bridge of a ship, staring over a beautiful city flashing before him as he met a pair of worried eyes.
-
"My lord. The preparations have been completed for extraction."
There was a small army of Iron Warriors flitting between screens. The stasis coffin they were monitoring was beeping steadily for the first time in months. Perturabo looked down at his data-slate at the slow beep of his nephew's vitals, "Move slowly. Failure is not an option." He said simply.
He'd never been close to Nyctos. Nobody was. The boy had had two outings in his life, one a Gala where he'd been overtaken by visions, and the second when his father had attempted to kill him on the Invincible Reason. Perturabo had just so happened to encounter the pair in a hallway, and for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he'd intervened, and for centuries, he had kept his nephew in stasis until he could find a safe solution for his retrieval.
Maybe it was because he saw some of himself in him. The isolation, the sorrow, the pain, or perhaps it was his own desires for companionship, but he had tended him, planning to one day release him and take him under his wing. A scion. He watched his Astartes tending his nephew carefully before beginning to remove the lid of the coffin, an apothecary immediately getting to work on his neck, inserting several implants in the process. All meant to help contain his immense psyker abilities. If it was safe, he would remove them completely, but that wasn't a possibility. He would take what he could get, and for now, what he could get was his nephew, safe and sound.
