Alexander glanced at the price of the item in the Future Department Store. It was a necessity for seizing the Domain of Encroaching Ruin.
With this thought, he looked toward that domain—the pitch-black sun hanging in the Warp. The Emperor had indeed prevented the birth of the Dark King, but the method was catastrophic. He had committed suicide, using the Blade of Enmity as a medium to kill himself with his True Name. Such intense self-destruction suppressed the Dark King's birth, yet paradoxically amplified its power.
The Dark King would not die; its birth was predestined. Even if the Emperor used his True Name to slay himself, he would eventually return. He was an absolute Perpetual; his current death was only temporary. But the moment he resurrected, the Dark King would be born. That time was not far off.
Alexander tried to reach toward the black sun. The searing heat of the star caused even his round hands to sting with pain. The Domain of Encroaching Ruin was resisting.
The Emperor was tied too deeply to the domain at this moment, leaving no room for a second party to interfere. Alexander could feel the domain's revulsion toward him. It had once favored him, allowing him to exist as the acting God of Death for the Aeldari, but now, as the Dark King drew closer to realization, the domain's loathing became clear.
It judged Alexander's actions as not "ruinous" enough. He lacked sufficient desire for destruction or self-annihilation, and the prayers directed toward him contained no themes of vengeance or ruin. His compatibility was thinning.
Yet, his goal required a third godhood—a forced takeover. Alexander assessed the situation and realized the extreme difficulty. Even if the current Dark King was essentially a corpse, its power was staggering. This single domain was stronger than Alexander's two combined, and not by a small margin.
Even with Nurgle... no, even with all four Chaos Gods, they might only barely match this corpse. Alexander estimated that if he tried to forcibly pluck that black sun, the corpse might suffer a stress response and lash out at him.
Then, what about Formless Distortion? Alexander looked at the domain opposite Wicked Arts. It was a realm of no knowledge, no form, nameless and unknowable—symbolizing the Unknowable.
This domain still lay submerged in the depths, but with the manifestation of the Greed-Dissolution domain, it began to flicker into view. The moment he looked at it, he felt a rejection even stronger than that of Encroaching Ruin. Alexander had ascended through Wicked Arts; his domain represented knowledge, while Formless Distortion represented the Unknowable. Not the "unknown"—which is the object of curiosity—but the absolute "unknowable," the enemy of the desire for knowledge.
The two domains were diametrically opposed. As the Lord of Wicked Arts, Alexander could hardly contain Formless Distortion. Furthermore, the faith directed at him believed "Saint Doraemon" to be omniscient, the incarnation of infinite curiosity. The 22nd century he wished to reach was a world that did not allow the "unknowable" to exist. Formless Distortion was too far from him.
Was his only path still to plot for Encroaching Ruin? To do that, he had to get that specific item. He could scrape together the cost, but the issue was time. The Dark King would soon resurrect. He had to find a way to suppress that resurrection, to slow it down.
Alexander felt like he was leaning over the Emperor's coffin, wailing about how tragic his death was while secretly hammering an extra nail into the lid.
His consciousness descended back into the physical universe.
Fulgrim's body had become extremely weak. The roars from the Warp were audible; Slaanesh was frantically summoning him. The tiny flicker of rebellion in his heart was being extinguished. Ever since he sacrificed half of Perturabo's life, he had been ascended to daemonhood by Slaanesh. His flesh and existence were constructed entirely of Slaanesh's power. He was but a unique finger of the Dark Prince. How could a finger resist its master?
Even if the master had been severely wounded, the bond remained.
Fulgrim was amazed he had held out this long; it was a miracle of will. His flesh was de-materializing, dissolving into pure aether. His soul was being pulled into the Warp. His body was a ruin of ugly scars, exposing bone and viscera.
The more he struggled, the stronger the Warp's drag became. Slaaneshi fell-energy rolled beneath his skin like squirming tumors, making his form bloated and hideous. This was the ultimate torture for Fulgrim, who had always prided himself on his beauty.
Archines knelt by Fulgrim's side. The surrounding Phoenix Guard were decimated, and Archines himself was at his limit. He had failed his mission as a guardian.
A screaming Slaaneshi Daemon Prince lunged forward—a twisted former son of the Emperor—mocking Archines's meaningless sacrifice. Fulgrim would be theirs. He would belong to the Lord of Hunger.
A flaming sword flashed. Fulgrim's blade severed the Daemon Prince's head. The head rolled on the ground, still screaming and mocking him, telling him his resistance was futile. Soon, he would be summoned back to the Warp, and when he next opened his eyes, he would still be a servant of the Dark Prince.
"My Lord..." Archines said sorrowfully. He could see the exhaustion on Fulgrim's bloated face, yet the Primarch still chose to swing his sword to protect his sons, draining what little strength he had left.
"I owe you all so much..." Fulgrim's voice was hoarse and grating; his vocal cords had been ruined by the Warp's corruption. "...I once thought I was a phoenix that could lead you through a rebirth of fire. I didn't realize I was a serpent, injecting a venom more lethal than the Blight into your veins."
"I... I can no longer resist. The Dark Prince's grip is too strong."
"Archines, live. Rebuild the Legion with Saul, who inherited Tarvitz's gene-seed. And then... live with the goal of killing me."
"This is the only order I can give you as a Primarch, and as a father."
Archines's tears flowed uncontrollably.
"Do not cry. Lift your heads. You are the true Emperor's Children. Be proud... but not too proud. Learn humility. You can follow Guilliman... actually, follow the teachings of Sanguinius. Or even Lion."
"Guilliman would be very sad to hear that."
A voice as clear as bright light rang out. White wings vibrated gently, and the silver-chained circlet nestled in golden hair swayed with a crisp, bell-like sound. He still bore the marks of battle, but they did not diminish his beauty; instead, they lent him a tragic, sublime grandeur. Sanguinius... remained as beautiful as ever.
Fulgrim let out a whimpering wail. He instinctively covered his face, unwilling to expose his current hideousness to someone so beautiful. "I suspect... was my pursuit of perfection actually a form of deep-seated inferiority?"
"The proof is that every time I see you, I feel an unearned surge of irritation. I can always sense that you are more perfect, more beautiful than I."
"But you were never obsessed with perfection. Your perfection seems as natural as the heavens. How I envy you... how inferior you make me feel."
Sanguinius merely watched Fulgrim, speaking softly: "Fulgrim, my most beautiful brother, why do you hide your face? Why are you unwilling to look at me?"
Fulgrim let out a piercing cry, twisting his ugly body. He felt the expanding scars and disgusting cysts, wishing he could vanish entirely. Slaanesh seized this moment of vulnerability, pulling harder on his soul.
+Only I can accept you. Only I love you. Only I can satisfy your every desire and hunger. Fulgrim, you were born to be mine. Return to my embrace. Return to my domain.+
Slaanesh's weakened but still seductive voice whispered in his ear. The Dark Prince's embrace grew vivid, fingers wrapping around him to drag him into the Warp. Fulgrim's vision began to be eclipsed by pink, purple, and black light...
Sanguinius reached out and pulled away the arms Fulgrim used to hide his face. Fulgrim was stung by Sanguinius's gaze. He was acutely aware of his ten thousand years of corruption. Exposed before the Angel, he felt like a ridiculous worm before a white dove.
"How beautiful, brother," Sanguinius whispered. "How perfect, Fulgrim. No wonder someone as simple as Ferrus loved you."
Tears streamed from the corners of Fulgrim's eyes. Behind Sanguinius, he saw metallic blue and deep shadows dispersing the pink and purple. A round hand emerged from the void behind Sanguinius and grabbed Fulgrim.
Pain flared as Slaanesh's power fought to tear him away, to pull him back into the Six Circles of Pleasure. But Fulgrim smiled. He did not reject the round hand. He understood that his corruption was too deep for redemption—and if even someone like him could be "saved," what would become of the path of perfection?
Since he could not be reborn from the flames, Fulgrim chose to die as a phoenix within them. Alexander snatched Fulgrim and stuffed him into the four-dimensional pocket.
[Item Name: Fulgrim]
[Origin: Sol System - Terra - Himalayan Mountains - Imperial Palace Underground Lab]
[Evaluation: One of the twenty-one superhuman scions forged by the Emperor. A product of intense Warp resonance combined with the Emperor's genetic sequence. Fulgrim is the third. His essence is the infinite pursuit of perfection by the masses. Perfection is unattainable, but one can approach it infinitely. When he realizes it is unreachable, his fate branches: either continue the path with nobility until death, or fall into infinite hedonism as a serpent chasing sensation...]
[Production Date: 792.M30]
[Perform child behavior correction re-education? Yes/No?]
Alexander turned his gaze from Fulgrim and looked at Sanguinius.
"Is everything still within your expectations?" Sanguinius asked softly.
"Much of it is, but much is not," Alexander said, glancing at the black sun in the Warp. "I only obtained the method for success, not success itself. It was the will of you, me, the Emperor, Fulgrim, and many others that brought us this close."
"...But we are also closer to destruction than ever before." Sanguinius watched Alexander closely, concerned he might be losing his humanity to the flood of the two domains.
Alexander smiled. He understood the concern, but his state was better than Sanguinius imagined. He used several items to self-hypnotize and suppress his divinity, fixing his "human" behavior through artifacts.
"What do we do next?" Sanguinius's expression softened.
Alexander's voice took on a tone of exaggerated sorrow: "We have to announce the old man's funeral!"
"Tell Guilliman we're holding a funeral for the Emperor—and we're doing it according to the ancient rites!"