Chapter 337: Ahriman: Prospero

"Pah! You traitorous beast! As a lawful subhuman of the Empire, I denounce your vile betrayal!"

"You monster who slaughtered an entire legion, your betrayal shall be eternally remembered by our human subhuman Aeldari!"

The jester-clad Death Guard spat curses at Ahriman, then with astonishing skill spat seven thick wads of saliva onto his face within three seconds,

what troubled Ahriman most was that he somehow couldn't dodge— as if the jester's spitting carried some unique ritual effect.

"You, an Aeldari, dare accuse me?" Ahriman growled, leveling his staff at the jester.

"I am a lawful subhuman of the Empire, genetically stable and reliable, unlike certain individuals whose entire legions have mutated into flesh."

Ahriman longed to burn the jester to ash on the spot,

but if he did, the damned jester's soul might vanish like that savage Aeldari's, denying him any information about the Death God,

remembering how the so-called Death God's Chosen, Yvraine, could resurrect the Red Throng warriors and restore consciousness to his brothers turned puppets by his own mistakes, Ahriman gritted his teeth,

fuck it, I'll endure it.

"Aeldari, what price did the Empire pay you that proud beings like you would submit to humans?" Ahriman forced down his fury and asked the three Aeldari before him,

the three Aeldari being the foul-mouthed jester and two Dark Aeldari.

"Loyal subjects need no reward—loyalty itself is the reward!"

the jester declared solemnly:

"Of course, beings like you—unstable genes, always mutating flesh, psychic monkey variants—could never understand."

"You don't even feel human."

Saying this, the jester spat seven more wads of saliva at Ahriman's face within three seconds; Ahriman, ever vigilant, raised his staff instantly, burning every wad to ash with psychic flame.

"Are you done yet? Do Aeldari have overdeveloped salivary glands?" Ahriman's voice rose involuntarily.

"I thought if I spat twenty-two times, I'd get a reward in the twenty-second century." The jester said earnestly.

"The twenty-second century."

Ahriman murmured the term—why did this phrase sound to Aeldari like the Golden Throne?

He leveled his staff at the three Aeldari and lowered his voice:

"Before you reach this so-called twenty-second century, you will suffer unimaginable torment."

"If you tell me the truth about that Death God, I will grant you one—"

"Aha ha ha ha ha!!!"

Before Ahriman could finish, a shrill laugh erupted suddenly,

not from the jester, but from the two Dark Aeldari who had joined the Death Guard,

"Sorry, sorry, I just can't help it!"

one Dark Aeldari laughed until tears streamed from his eyes:

"You mean to torture an Aeldari? A Dark Aeldari? Do you even know what you're saying?"

"Come on, I haven't had fun since I joined the Death Guard! Do it!"

"Fucking idiot," said the other Dark Aeldari simply and bluntly: "When your mom was still a virgin, I fucked her with a tank cannon."

"Just lubricate your Red Throng and the ash of Prospero, then shove your brother's shoulder pauldron into my—"

BOOM!!!

BOOM!!!!

BOOM!!!!!

Psychic flame erupted continuously from the tip of Ahriman's black staff, exploding like shells through the Webway, reducing the foulest Dark Aeldari's upper body to shreds,

Ahriman panted, standing on the still-intact lower half of the Dark Aeldari's corpse, his entire frame trembling like a Flesh Eater King seized by the Butcher's Nail.

"Saint Dora, have I atoned?"

Ahriman faintly seemed to hear the Dark Aeldari's soul whispering, but he could not grasp it,

as if some powerful presence was shielding the souls of these Death Guard,

how could this Death God be so strong?!

"I'd forgotten—he had a brother, didn't he?"

the jester, seeing someone die before him, seemed anxious and said:

"I remember now—your brother was also a Thousand Son, and died from flesh mutation."

"How pitiful—those psychic monkey variants with unstable genes always end up like this."

"We, lawful subhumans of the Empire with stable genes, never suffer such troubles—"

BOOM!!!

Ahriman swept his black staff— the jester vanished instantly into ash.

The last remaining Dark Aeldari looked left, then right, realizing he was alone.

"Tell me what you know about that Death God," Ahriman hissed. "I'll spare your life."

"Are you insane?"

the Dark Aeldari asked earnestly:

"First, I am a Dark Aeldari—I have strong perception of souls."

"I can confirm your power did not bind my comrades' souls, nor did they pass to the Hungering Lord."

"The Laughing God and the Death God didn't lie—there really is a twenty-second century. Why should I care about your rules? Just kill me!"

Ahriman's fury seemed to bleed through his mask; his trembling arm raised the staff toward the Dark Aeldari.

"I've urinated on the ash of the Red Throng alongside the Space Wolves," the Dark Aeldari said calmly.

BOOM!

BOOM!!!!

BOOM!!!!!

In the Webway, the three flagship vessels of the Lost Sons Warband hovered in midair,

their masters all the exiled Ahriman—since the two Red Throng events, Magnus had banished him, forcing him to wander among the stars, and the Lost Sons Warband and these three ships were his home,

gripping his staff tightly, Ahriman landed on the Flame Lord, one of the three sisters, and entered his flagship through the tower,

the Flame Lord carried a faint scent of home, calming Ahriman's rage-wracked soul slightly,

he knew these three ships as well as he knew his own sisters, his soul resonated with their machine spirits as if they were brothers sharing his blood,

yet today, after stepping onto the Flame Lord just a few paces, Ahriman felt something strange,

the Lost Sons' flagships were usually silent—most of the warriors were mindless Red Throng, only a few sorcerers moved about, and human servants and horned beasts dared not make a sound before Ahriman,

but now it was quieter than ever, as if every visible and invisible thing aboard the Flame Lord trembled in fear.

Ahriman noticed translucent, semi-transparent crystal scarabs watching him from every corner of the Flame Lord.

"It's him." Ahriman's heart leapt to his throat, his voice thick with complexity and bitterness.

(End of Chapter)