'That we do, Marius,' agreed Fulgrim. 'The work we do is vital, Julius, that is why Horus has entrusted it to us. Only the Emperor's Children bring the perfection required to ensure that this phase of the Warmaster's plan plays out as ordained.'
'This work is fit only for the workers of the Mechanicum and perhaps the dour Iron Warriors of Perturabo's Legion. For it to be foisted upon the Emperor's Children is demeaning,' said Julius, unrepentant in his defiance. 'We are being punished for our failure.'
Though Fulgrim had been devastated at his exclusion from the battles raging on Isstvan III following the disastrous mission to bring over Ferrus Manus, he had nevertheless thrown himself into the preparations for Horus's triumphant arrival like a man possessed.
The Legions of the Emperor were massing to destroy them and soon the battle that might very well determine the fate of the Imperium would be fought on this desolate plain.
'Maybe so,' growled Fulgrim, 'but it will be done.'
With the destruction of the last surviving warriors on Isstvan III, the Legions of Horus made their way to Isstvan V, a flotilla of powerful warships and carriers bearing the martial pride of four Legions, their ranks fully comprised of those whose loyalty was to Horus and Horus alone.
Mass conveyers of Lord Commander Fayle's Army units brought millions of armed men and their tanks and artillery pieces. Bloated Mechanicum transports bore the Legio Mortis to Isstvan V, dark priests of the Machine ministering to the Dies Irae and its sister Titans as they prepared to unleash the unimaginable power of these land battleships once more.
Final victory on Isstvan III had been bought with many lives, but in its wake the Legions were tempered in the crucible of combat to do what must be done to save the Imperium. The process had been long and bloody, but the Warmaster's army was ready and eager to fight its brothers, where the lackeys of the Emperor would find their readiness to strike down their kith and kin untested.
Such mercy would be their undoing, promised Horus.
The atmosphere in La Venice was tense and ripe with potential. Thousands packed its stalls and boxes, the vividness of the art, sculpture and colours overwhelming the senses with their extravagance. Nearly three thousand Astartes warriors had returned to the Pride of the Emperor from the surface of Isstvan V, and some six thousand remembrancers and ship's crew jammed themselves between the warriors wherever a space could be found. The excited hubbub of conversation filled the theatre.
For tonight would see the unveiling of Bequa Kynska's long-awaited Maraviglia.
The auditorium was painted in a riot of colours with gold trim throughout, and ornamental plaster-work and mouldings divided the wall areas into large, well-proportioned panels decorated with all manner of splendidly overwrought artworks. In magnitude, La Venice had few superiors, even in the largest and most urbane of the Terran hives, and was finished in a style that had clearly involved the most lavish expenditure of resources.
Parquet spread from the front of the stage in wide, concentric arcs, the mosaic floor invisible beneath the sandals of the thousands who had come to see this most magnificent spectacle. Semi-circular niches to the side of the parquet accommodated busts of renowned impresarios of Terra and other, more exotic, statues of hedonistic libertines. Amongst these sculptures were other, less recognisable statues of mightily muscled androgynous figures with bulls' heads and bejewelled horns.
To the rear of this area, six mighty columns of solid marble supported the dress circle, and the front of the balcony was decorated with exquisite plaster applique.
Brass cages containing brightly coloured songbirds were suspended from the base of the balcony and their frantic music added to the din of the orchestra and audience. A sweet scented musk drifted from hanging incense burners and the air was almost unbearably humid. The sense of fevered anticipation was palpable as scores of musicians tuned their instruments in the bow shaped orchestra pit before the stage. Each instrument was a monstrous contraption of pipes, bellows and crackling electrical generators, which in turn were hooked to towering stacks of mighty amplifiers, created specifically for this performance, and designed to replicate the magical music of the Laer temple.
Coloured lights and strategically placed prisms filled La Venice with blinding rainbows and cast beams of a million different hues to every corner of the theatre. An army of seamstresses had worked tirelessly to create the stage curtain, and the glaring footlights illuminated the vividness of the red velvet and the wondrously embroidered images of decadent legends, cavorting nudes, animals and scenes of battle.
On the vast pediment above the stage, illuminated by a single spotlight, was the late Serena d'Angelus's painting of the Emperor's Children's primarch. Its terrible aspect, unendurable finish, and the passion of its outlandish colours rendered those who saw it dumb, and robbed them of coherent thought.
More of Serena's work could be seen on the vaulted ceiling of the theatre, a colossal, multi-coloured mural of serpents and ancient beasts of legend, which sported with naked humans and beasts of all description.
The sheer bulk of the Astartes filled much of the enormous theatre, even though they were stripped of their armour and wore only simple training robes. Those remembrancers that found themselves behind one of the giant warriors danced from foot to foot as they sought to obtain a better view of the stage.
The captains of the Legion sat in the comfort of the boxes, arranged in two tiers on either side of the stage. The boxes overlooked the proscenium with an unobstructed view, and their facades were of a classical design with fluted pilasters to either side.
The box with the most perfect viewpoint was known as the Phoenician's Nest, its interior painted with frescoes of gold and silver, and decorated with yellow satin draperies that overhung lace curtains. Over it all, a valance of gold silk shimmered in the light of hundreds of candles fixed upon a great chandelier above the centre of the stage.
A movement in the Phoenician's Nest drew the gaze of the gathered audience and soon every eye was fixed upon the magnificent warrior standing there. Dressed in his finest toga of regal purple, Fulgrim raised his hand to the crowd and basked in the adoration displayed by his Legion as thunderous applause built and shook the rafters with its volume.
His senior commanders accompanied the primarch, and as he took his seat the lights began to dim. A brilliant spotlight shone on the stage as the great velvet curtain parted and Bequa Kynska made her entrance.
Julius watched with barely contained excitement as the blue haired composer crossed the stage and descended into the orchestra pit to take her place on her conductor's podium. Dressed in a scandalously translucent dress of gold and crimson, the gossamer thin material hung with precious stones that glittered like stars. The cut of her dress plunged from her shoulders to her pelvis, the swell of her breasts and the hairlessness of her flesh clearly visible beneath.
'Magnificent!' cried Fulgrim, clapping furiously with the audience at Bequa's appearance, and Julius was amazed to see tears in his eyes.
Julius nodded, and though he had no real memory of feminine splendour or any frame of reference against which to compare her, the composer's curves and obvious womanhood stole away his breath. Julius had felt such stirrings of emotion when he gazed upon his primarch, heard a particularly inspiring piece of music or went into battle, but to feel his senses aroused by a mortal woman was a new experience for him.
Thick silence enveloped the audience as they waited for the magic to happen, the collective breath of nearly ten thousand throats held fast as the moment of anticipation stretched to breaking point. Bequa selected a mnemo-baton and tapped it on the libretto stand before launching into the opening bars of the Maraviglia's overture.
Tremendous noise erupted from the orchestra pit as the first notes blared from the newly conceived musical devices, the sound reaching to every corner of La Venice with its wonderful instrumentation, romantic beauty and hints of themes yet to come. Julius felt himself carried on a journey of the senses as
the music rose and fell, emotions he had never experienced plucked from the depths of his soul and brought joyously to the fore as the crashing beats and wild, skirling tunes wound their way through the audience.
He wanted to laugh and then cry, and then he felt a terrible anger build, before it bled away and a great melancholy settled upon him. Within moments the music had torn that loose, and a soaring elation asserted itself with the utmost lucidity and force, as though all that had gone before was merely the prelude to some grand design yet to be unveiled.
Bequa Kynska thrashed like a lunatic atop her conductor's podium, jabbing and slashing the air with her baton, her hair a wild comet of blue as it whipped around her head. Julius tore his eyes from the magnificent sight of her and looked out over the audience to witness its reaction to this sublime, raucous music.
He saw faces rapt in stunned disbelief, eyes wide as the power and majesty of the dissonant sounds penetrated every skull and spoke to every soul of the sensations evoked. But not every member of the audience appeared to appreciate the wonder of what they were privileged to witness, and Julius saw many with their hands clamped over their ears in the throes of agony as the music swelled once more. Julius caught sight of the slender figure of Evander Tobias in the audience, and his anger grew as he watched the ungrateful wretch lead a group of his fellow scriveners through the crowd towards the exit.
Scuffles broke out and the recalcitrant archivist and his fellows were attacked, fists pummelling them to the ground where they were kicked and beaten. Without pause, the audience returned its attention to the stage, and Julius felt a fierce pride swell in his breast as he watched a heavy boot crunch down on Tobias's skull. None remarked upon the sudden, bloody violence, as if it had been the most natural reaction, but Julius could see the bloodlust spread throughout the audience like a virus or the Shockwave of a detonation.
The music swept onwards, rising and sweeping around La Fenice like a whirlwind, until at last it reached the thunderous crescendo of its climax, whereupon the curtain rose in a flurry of dramatic and spectacular sensations.
Julius rose to his feet as the peals of music drove ever onward, the overture continuing in an unbroken melody of sounds, and the sheer visceral emotions that filled him on seeing what lay beyond was like a punch to the guts.
The interior of the Laer temple had been recreated in painstaking detail, its eye-watering colours and dimensions faithfully recreated by the artists and sculptors who had walked within its magnificence.
Vivid lights flashed around the theatre, and Julius felt a momentary disorientation as more music blasted from the orchestra, a new piece with darker overtones and an aching sense of imminent tragedy. The waves of sound and harmony flowed outwards from the stage and over the audience, immersing them in the power and sensations he had first felt when he had followed Fulgrim into the temple.
The effect was immediately obvious, and a shudder of pleasure rippled through the audience as the powerful notes flowed into and through them. Dizzying colours flashed through the air, and as the music built to yet another high, a second spotlight stabbed onto the stage. The slender form of Coraline Aseneca, the prima donna of the Maraviglia, appeared.
Julius had never heard Coraline's voice before and was unprepared for the sheer virtuosity and power of her singing. Her tone was in perfect, discordant harmony with Bequa's music, reaching heights no human voice could possibly attain. Yet attain them she did, the energy of her soprano's voice reaching beyond the realms of the five senses, all of which were being stimulated it seemed to Julius.
He leaned forwards, laughing uncontrollably as an intoxicating rush of emotions seized him, and he clasped his hands to his head at such overstimulation. A chorus joined Coraline Aseneca on stage, though Julius hardly noticed them, their intermingled voices allowing the soprano's voice to swoop through even more unfeasible notes, which reached into the very hindbrain to pluck at sensory apparatus Julius was not even aware he possessed.
Julius forced himself to look away from the stage, enthralled and terrified by what he was seeing and hearing. What manner of being could hear music of such terrible power and retain his sanity? Man was not meant to listen to this, the birthing cry of a beautiful and terrible god as it forced its way into existence.
Eidolon and Marius were as ensnared by the spectacle of the Maraviglia as he was, pinned to their seats in rapture. The jaws of both warriors were locked open as though they entertained the idea of joining with Coraline Aseneca in song, but there was panic in their eyes as their mouths stretched wide in silent screams, bones cracking as they distended like a snake about to devour its prey. Hideous, soundless shrieks issued from their throats, and Julius forced himself to look at Fulgrim for fear that he might strike down his friends in his fugue state.
Fulgrim gripped the edge of the Phoenician's Nest, leaning forward as though forcing passage through a powerful wind. His hair writhed around his head and his dark eyes burned with a violet fire as he revelled in the cacophony.
'What is happening?' cried Julius, his voice swept up and becoming part of the music. Fulgrim turned his dark eyes upon him, and Julius cried out as he saw an age of darkness within them, galaxies and stars wheeling in their depths as unknown power flowed through him.
'It's beautiful,' said Fulgrim, his voice barely above a whisper, but sounding deafening to Julius as he propelled himself from his seat and fell to his knees at the edge of the box. 'Horus spoke of power, but I never imagined…'
Julius watched in wonder, realising the he could actually see the soprano's music as it reached out into the audience and slithered amongst them like a living thing. Their shrieks and cries penetrated the fog of music that writhed in his brain, and he saw all manner of horrors enacted throughout the audience, as friends turned and fought each other with fists and teeth. Some audience members fell upon one another with carnal lust, and the heaving crowd soon resembled a great wounded beast, convulsing in agonised throes of death and desire.
Nor was it simply mortals who were affected. The Astartes too were swept up in the surging power generated by the Maraviglia. Blood was spilled as the emotions of the Astartes were overloaded with sensational excess, and were vented in the only way men bred as warriors knew how. An orgy of killing spread from the stage, blood running in rivers as the power of the music thundered through La Venice.
Julius heard a great buzzing, creaking sound, like a great sheet of sailcloth being ripped to shreds, and he turned to see the mighty portrait of Fulgrim writhing and stretching at the canvas as though its painted subject fought to be free of the constraints of the frame. Fires blazed in its eyes and a howling shriek that sounded as though it echoed down an impossibly long tunnel filled his skull with a monstrous thirst and the promise of horrific splendours.
Lights blazed around the theatre, flowing from the orchestra pit like liquid, the greasy, electrical fire lifting from the bizarre instruments and achieving physicality as they became liquid serpents of myriad colours. Madness and excess followed the light, and all those it touched gave themselves over to the wildest, darkest delights of their inner psyches.
The orchestra played as though their limbs were not their own, their faces twisted in horrified rictus masks and their hands frenziedly dancing across their instruments with violent life. The music held them in its grip and was not about to let any weakness on the part of its creators deny its existence.
Julius heard notes of agony enter Coraline Aseneca's voice, and managed to lift his eyes to the stage, where the prima donna danced in a wild, exuberant ballet as the choristers screamed in unnatural counterpoint. Her limbs snapped and twisted in a manner no human limb was designed to, and he could hear the cracking of her bones as it became part of the million melodies filling the theatre. He could see that she was dead, her eyes lifeless. Every bone in her body turned to powder, and yet the song poured from her still.
The madness and frenzy engulfing La Venice soared to new heights of excess as all flesh was
infected with the maelstrom of sights and sounds coming from the stage. Julius watched as Astartes clubbed mortals to death with their fists and drank their blood or ate their flesh, scarring their skin with the broken bones and draping the torn skin of their victims about them like grisly shawls.
Vast orgies of mortals shuddered on the blood slick parquet as the living and the dead became vessels for the dark energies pouring into the world, every violation imaginable willingly inflicted.
At the centre of the madness, Bequa Kynska conducted the chaos with a delirious smile of triumph plastered across her face. Julius saw the knowledge that this was her greatest work in the light of her eyes as she stared in rapt adoration at Fulgrim.
Then, without warning, a terrifying scream cut through the crescendo of noise, and Julius saw the abused form of Coraline Aseneca twist into the air, her limbs spread-eagled as some unknown power seized the broken meat and gristle of her body and warped it into some new, hideous form. Her shattered limbs straightened, becoming lithe and graceful once again, the flesh taking on a pale lilac hue. Where before Coraline had been clad in a shimmering dress of blue silk, the fabric transformed into a harness of gleaming black leather that revealed the supple beauty of the soft flesh formed from the ruin of her corpse.
A horrific wet sucking noise engulfed the prima donna and whatever force had previously held her aloft released her. The thing Coraline Aseneca had become landed with supple grace in the centre of the stage.
Julius had never seen anything so simultaneously beautiful and repellent, a naked female creature that evoked both a potent loathing, and a perverse sensuality that gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Hair like needle horns swept back from her oval face, with its green, saucer-like eyes, fanged mouth and luscious lips. Her body was sculpted perfection, lithe and sensuous, but with only a single breast, and her skin was loathsomely tattooed and pierced. Each of her arms terminated in a long crab-like claw of glistening red chitin and moist flesh. Despite the lethal claws, the creature was disturbingly seductive, and Julius felt moved in a way he had not been since he had been elevated to the ranks of the Astartes.
Fulgrim: Visions of Treachery whh-5 Page 36
