Chapter Text
The air felt dense around him.
It was suffocating him.
The rattling of chains so distant and close at the same time.
Incessant guttural whisper thirsting for blood, for sacrifice.
Sacrifice of the mind for knowledge.
Sacrifice of the body for power.
They uttered constantly, their hushed voices languidly rose to a choir of daemonic cacophony.
Who could have expected doom to come in steel painted scarlet?
Memories flooded the once peaceful nothingness. In those moments he was forced to relive the last things he witnessed before he was dragged away and violently put to a chemically induced coma.
Has the worst case scenario come to pass? Impossible Aeonid Thiel tried to reassure himself.
He saw with his own two eyes his primarch clutch the tainted wound caused by Kor Phaeron’s dagger. A wound that only grew deeper refusing to mend.
Refusing to end.
Soon he was surrounded by enemies, he could no longer witness first hand what happened to Lord Guilliman but he heard. Oh he heard everything loud and clear.
A guttural scream and the violent snapping of bones, his lord's suffering to the hands of mad gods.
Embrace this they uttered.
Embrace this and you shall be reborn anew.
After that the events seem to blur together into a stew of unintelligible sounds and images. The moment he was under the influence of whatever cursed substance he was given caused him to lose all contact with reality. Was this the result of an anesthetic being shot into his bloodstream or maybe an attack from one of those horrid beings of the warp the Word Bearers have summoned? He could not be sure.
The effect of nascosis pulled back bringing him to reality, he couldn’t move his arms. They felt heavy, unbearably so to the point of shifting them to any direction was a tall order. His eyes blinked open and made an attempt to adjust to the pitch blackness of the room.
His scleras dark adapted within seconds allowing him to take in all the details of the grim situation he was currently facing.
He was imprisoned in a cell. His arms were bound to the wall with chains and his armor’s power pack has been ripped out.
Aeonid tried to pull the iron restraints from the walls, trying to see if they would budge. But they stubbornly remained bolted in their place. Unflinching and unmoving, those things were specially made to hold space marines imprisoned. He could feel the wall against his back rumbling, the district sense of a voidcraft currently sailing through space. The vessel’s prison gave little information to what legion might hold him captive. Steel walls and iron floors, one entrance and one exit. The architectural standard for any ship’s low decks.
The sergeant took a deep breath and stood in silence waiting, wondering.
Was he kidnapped by the Word Bearers? Was he a prisoner of war? It’s the most rational explanation he could think of. Lord Guilliman would most certainly fought against the tainted steel. The battle of Calth was definitely still very much underway and he needs to find a way to escape so he can rejoin the fray. To find his battle brothers in the front lines.
The steel reinforced door to the prison hissed opened and a Word Bearer entered the room. Adorned with skulls and burning runes that glowed like brimstone against his armor. Markings to prove his loyalty to his new god, no doubt. He was holding sturdy chains and a black bag.
Aeonid chose not to speak a word instead stayed put, this was his chance to escape and he needed to play his cards right.
The traitor came closer and warned him.
“The Lord asked to be brought before him.”
The Lord? Lorgar? What could he possibly ever want from him. Thiel nodded and responded.
“Understood. It wouldn’t be wise to fight you Word Bearer. Only a madman would engage in a battle so heavily stacked against him.”
The traitor space marine moved closer to unlock one of the two cuffs keeping him in place. His words must have reassured him a bit, eased him into thinking he wasn’t a threat. The moment the click was heard and he had one hand free he steadied himself.
He made his palm into a fist and brought it down upon the traitor. Causing him to stumble backwards. With this small window of freedom he moved to rip out the second one. He struggled to bend and break the steel but with a loud grund and a huff he was freed. Once no longer tied down he made a move to rush his opponent, to close the distance and hopefully land another strike before his enemy had a chance to retaliate.
But his plans of escape were short-lived the moment another astartes dashed in because of the commotion he caused.
Aeonid was left speechless at seeing his own battle brother point a gun at him. An ultramarine from the team he once led through the halls of Macragge's Honor was now marked with the same cursed symbols the Word Bearers had on their armors and flesh. Crimson against cobalt.
“Halt!”
The ultramarine uttered and the barrel of his bolter firmly pointed at Aeonid’s head. The Word Bearer regained his footing and went for the chains, staring down at Thiel with eyes filled with bitter hatred as he forcefully tied him to his new bonds.
Impossible he thought.
This isn’t real.
He was still sleeping.
This is a nightmare, a horrid vision.
Shock gave its way to anger and Aeonid snapped as he glared with bitter hatred at the burning red visor of his former battle brother’s expressionless helmet.
“How dare you join them?! Where is your honor?!”
The ultramarine responded.
“I did not join them. I joined our Lord.”
“Our lord?”
Thiel questioned, it was impossible to hide the dread in his voice. Had Lord Guilliman fallen? Was he cursed to serve the damned gods beyond the veil, was he crowned with the horns of daemonhood?
“Impossible.”
He said and a black bag was placed over his head, stripping him of one of his five senses.
The word bearer whispered to him in a mocking tone, glee and smug pride.
“And yet it is possible, sergeant.”
He was dragged out of the room and led through the corridors of the still unknown vessel. The atmosphere slowly altered as they moved up the decks. More commotion could be heard from all directions, people speaking, cargo being moved around and weapons being sharpened.
A pair of large wooden doors opened before them, he was sure of their nature. The creaking of the wood against the rusted hinges has a very distinct sound to it. They entered what he presumed to be their destination. He could hear a war room filled with voices.
Familiar voices.
It was Lord Guilliman speaking, Lorgar’s voice could be distinguished as well.
No…
He felt a hand on top of his temple ready to pull the hood from his head.
To return him the ability to see the world with his own two blue eyes.
He did not want it.
Not now.
He wasn’t prepared.
Thiel was kicked on the back on his knees forcing him to kneel. The hood was pulled and he witnessed what his gut had warned from ever since he saw that blade pierce his Lord’s flesh. Guilliman stood as a daemon primarch. Horns have grown out of his temples and the bay laurel that once adorned his blonde hair was replaced with black thorns. Surrounded by darkness, an opalescent cloak of midnight, fire was running through his veins. Even in this form of his he hasn’t lost his graceful presence. He was, were and will be a child of the cosmos with lustrous moondust in his eyes sitting upon his golden throne in the war council table. Like an angel from above, fallen from grace.
“You will stay away from the realm of Ultramar!”
Bowled Guilliman to the vox holographic presentations of the Warmaster and Lorgar. Both of them altered, corrupted by the ruinous powers. The marks of their new allegiance proudly carved upon their armors, their eyes emanating an infernal glow.
The Lord of Ultramar brought down his voice and continued, trying to compose himself as much as he could.
“I will be the one to reclaim my worlds. They were my responsibility once and they remain as such.”
Lorgar stepped in, his eyes gleamed like a dying star and a mocking grin was stretched across his face.
“I find your priorities misplaced brother. If I stood at your current position I wouldn't trouble myself with plans of such a grand conquest. Especially knowing how many of your sons still are on the wrong side of history.”
“My champions have already joined my side without hesitation, might I add. This miniscule issue you bring up Lorgar is a thing that is currently being taken care of.”
Guilliman stood up, his tone returned to his normal collected, cold and calculated nature.
“With all the respect I am given brother I don’t believe you should be the one giving me suggestions on how to rule my legion. I might be by your side but that doesn’t mean I have forgotten your plan to exterminate my legacy. You attacked me when I was unprepared, the sneaky move of a coward who deep inside him knows that he would have never won if the scales were equally balanced for both sides.
Lorgar snarled back.
“You are mistaken Roboute. I could have easily won even without the element of surprise.”
“I would be most pleased to see it.”
“Restrain thyselves.” Horus intervened.
“Infighting distracts from the greater goal at hand. Roboute, why are you so adamant on reclaiming your former realm? Wouldn’t it be a distraction to our primary goal?”
Lorgar coming back in to add another comment dripping with vitriol.
“You will have to fight a war on two fronts. Do you truly believe you can sustain both? Give both of the crusades the same care and attention? Or will you crumble under the pressure.?”
Guilliman did not hesitate to respond in the same tone the questions were uttered to him.
“Some of us can multitask brother, not everyone is like you when it comes to crusades. Struggling and failing to keep the line has been your expertise lately, hasn’t it?”
Lorgar glaring daggers at his brother, even in a holographic display his anger could not be hidden. His communication line went silent and the vox channel shut down. Horus witnessing everything with mild curiosity, more entertained than frustrated by the whole ordeal.
“I will keep the rest of the forces away from the realm of Ultramar. You will be solely responsible for bringing them under our control once again.”
“Thank you Warmaster.”
Horus seemed ready to leave the meeting but paused to look at the place where Lorgar’s holographic display once projected and added.
“You should be careful when it comes to your arrogant brother. If someone is going to be your downfall it's him.”
Guilliman exhaled deeply.
“I can’t deny that I still stand bitter and resentful when it comes to Lorgar. He burned Calth to the ground, killed countless of my forces and crippled my fleet. I don’t feel particularly driven to forgive and forget just yet.”
“Him destroying one planet isn’t the reason you Roboute are so hostile towards him.”
Horus paused to take a sip from his goblet letting his words seep in before he continued.
“You have hundreds more, an entire realm at your disposal. Your issue is that your pride has been deeply wounded. It’s the fact that everyone knows that he lost to Lorgar, defeat is one thing but it’s a completely different beast when it comes to falling by the hands of someone you were once sent to discipline.”
Guilliman averted to meet his brother eye to eye, instead turning away to face the people that were freshly brought inside the room. Between them Thiel could only look and witness the conversation taking place before him. Unable to find the right way to react, no training or hypothetical scenarios have prepared him for a day like this.
“I wish for this meeting to be dismissed.”
The warmaster looked to the side as a holographic dataflow emerged.
“You are dismissed, future tyrant, but don’t you think for a second this conversation is nowhere near finished.”
The vox channel shut down and the pale green glow of the giant monitors turned itself off when the signal was lost, only the soft candleglow was left to light the room. The yellow flames made the room hazy, dream-like where the contrast between light and shadow felt deeper. More intense. And in the middle stood Guilliman in all his accursed glory, his brooding brow filled with worries. Under the warm flames he seemed as if he was made from alabaster, a statue of porcelain perfection.
Thiel could not help but admire him, even in this form. This single thought made his hearts sink, his stomach turning itself into a knot, a part of him wanted to be by his side. He should not be adoring him, not at a time like this. Not when he plans to raze his former home-world to the ground in the name of his new masters.
Another ultramarine was dragged into the room and forced to kneel before the traitor primarch.
The black hood was yanked off his head to reveal Chapter Master Antoli underneath. His face was covered with meticulously placed scars that have clotted but haven’t managed to heal completely just yet. Their placement too calculated to be the sad reward of a battle gone awry.
Antoli quickly surveyed his new surroundings but paused at the sight of their primarch’s presence. Thiel could see that he wasn’t the only one ignorant of their gene sire’s new form.
“Chapter Master!”
He called out trying to divert his superior’s attention from the worst case scenario given flesh before them. A successful attempt as Antoli turned almost instantly to meet his gaze. Both of them looked at each other's similar fates. Both in chains and both were brought here, the reason was unknown any hypothetical made was in vain. Aeonid tried to stand up, a hopeless endeavor as sturdy chains and an iron grip kept him kneeling, forced to show respect to his traitor primarch.
Guilliman found the scene entertaining and signaled to his newly turned traitor ultramarines with a nod. With calculated and methodic hands they started removing Antoli’s chest plate and cut through the steel muscle fiber suit underneath until his flesh was exposed standing bare. A Word Bearer emerged from the back, he begun unraveling a cloth bundle. From within it he pulled a perfectly sharpened ritual dagger, a similar one to what was used to turn their primarch. A faint purple glow emanated from the runes.
Thiel was pushed forward as the chains that kept him in place snapped open and caused him to land directly before his primarch’s feet but he did not look up, he turned his attention at his chapter master, the knife was put in place and landed directly on the captive ultramarine’s left heart. The effects of the bane wes instant, the blood turned black and the tissue around the wound opening wider. Embracing the end. He was free from his bonds and above him the booming voice of Guilliman drowned out Antoli’s screams of pain.
“Isn’t it beautiful?
I thought you might want to witness the second to last member of your chapter to receive their sacred blessings.”
“It’s horrid.”
Thiel turned to face the hulking daemon primarch above him, his hands instinctively going for his utility belt hoping to find a knife but no such luck would grace him today. His anger got the better of him and he snapped looking Guilliman directly in the eyes, protocol was a thing of the past.
“Traitor! How dare you join their side, they slaughtered your people, tortured and crusified your loyal soldiers for entertainment! They summoned creatures and foul beasts from the distant cosmos to devour us alive, and you do nothing but stand back and watch!”
Without warning Guilliman grabed Aeonid by the throat and brought him down against the war room’s ebony table. The daemon primarch’s new claws grazed the astartes soft neck causing tiny droplets of blood to form. Instinctively the sergeant took hold of Guilliman’s arm trying in vain to loosen his grip around his trachea. His voice was low and his tone calm, he held Thiel down without exerting too much energy, and the sergeant could understand that he was at the utter mercy of his primarch’s hands.
“I understand your frustration, sergeant. Trust me. I empathize better than anyone else in this room. But you turning to my side is only a matter of time. You will eventually see the terrible truth of the imperium for yourself.”
“Never.”
Thiel responded conviction in his tone and murder in his eyes.
Guilliman raised his second hand and tapped upon Thiel’s damandium chestplate. His claw scratched a bit of the paint off and he continued.
“Always a troublemaker. You must be aware that Lorgar expects you of all people to either be turned to our side or executed. You have been a great nuisance to him during Clath.”
“I shall accept death with grace if that’s the case. It’s the most honorable of the two.”
Guilliman’s lips curl into a devious smile.
“If death was what I have chosen, you wouldn’t be here right now. You will join me sergeant, you will stand by my side not because of a spell or a binding but out of your own free will. I will break you, mind and body alike.”
Aeonid glowered back at his primarch, unable to come up with a suitable response. Violent frustration gave its way to worry, to confusion. His body tensed up, he felt utterly incapable of fighting back. Not only in body but in spirit alike. In his hearts of hearts, in the deepest darkest parts of his soul he wanted to be by Guilliman’s side. He liked the feeling of helplessness underneath Roboute’s colossal figure.
“The meeting is dismissed.”
Said Guilliman, his eyes glued on Thiel.
A Word Bearer moved and picked up the chains that restrained the sergeant and moved closer to the war room’s round table but stopped dead in his tracks when the primarchs ordered with conviction.
“I will personally take care of Sergeant Aeonid, you may take your leave.”
Antoli’s unconscious body was dragged out of the room and everyone followed suit. Leaving the two alone with an unbearable silence setting in.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………
“Shall we begin?”
Said Guilliman his voice dripping with a mocking thirst. The tone of a beast ready to savage its prey. His hands traveled across the sergeant's armor, softly tapping the battle worn steel and leaving tiny scratches behind until it reached the power armor’s gorget.
With the might of a god he dug his fingers deep into the steel and the metal fiber muscle underneath. He ripped it open and exposed Thiel’s toned chiseled body. Aeonid was shellshocked; he couldn't do anything but look back as his primarch ripped his armor with his bare hands and discarded the twisted chunks of metal to the side.
“I was thinking of this moment for a long time, Aeonid. Ever since I met you in my armory for the first time. I wanted to lay your flat against my office table, you are a rascal and a troublemaker and I will love every second of disciplining you.”
When no metal was left to cover his frame Thiel tried to swallow, still held down by the throat and his body exposed with only a loincloth remaining to hide his pelvis from the outside world.
Guilliman let go of his bruised throat and unfastened his own suit, the pieces falling with a clunking sound on the metallic floor. He did so until he was completely bare before the sergeant using his massive thighs to separate the astartes muscular legs. He traced his arms across Aeonid’s body until he reached his hips. He took steady hold of him and brought him closer. Close enough for the primarch’s hardened manhood tucked inside his own loincloth to graze Thiel’s buttocks.
Primarchs were huge, no doubt about that, and in this unexpected situation he felt excitement. Thrill and a creeping worry. Will he be able to take it? He would have never ingrained his first time to be here, in a place like this and with his lord taking the lead.
With expert hands Guilliman started caressing the sergeant’s inner thighs and moved closer to his rapidly hardened manhood. Aeonid adjusted his hands in a desperate attempt to hide his own excitement from his primarch. He shouldn't like it. This was the thing constantly being repeated in his mind. He shouldn't like it and yet he did. With every caress his lord gave him, the feeling of flesh against flesh with only a thin fabric separated him from his primarch’s intimate areas, it was sadistically teasing. He felt he wanted to give in, to promise everything and the universe if it meant his thirst would be satiated. But honor and pride stopped him. His tone was nervous, no higher than a whisper.
"No, my primarch… this… this is-"
"Wrong, a taboo? Under the new stars those old dogmas are no longer in force."
Answered Guilliman while he painfully slowly removed Thiel's loincloth. The sight pleased him to no end.
The sergeant was completely erect, his manhood became damp on the tip and his inner legs burning hot.
"Your mind says no Thiel, but your body tells me a different story."
He took hold of Aeonid's manhood in his hand and slowly methodically jerked him. The sensation made the sergeant buckle under his primarchs touch.
Thiel moved his head back biting his lower lip hard. He started getting flustered and each stroke made him want to start moaning, but he would not give him that victory. He wouldn't let him break his spirit.
Guilliman removed the other hand from the sergeant’s throat and moved it closer to his own lips. With his mouth and own saliva he lubricated his index finger before he positioned it to caress the sergeant's pulsating entrance. He was tight, incredibly so this might be an issue for the space marine. He needed to prep his little brat before his main punishment commenced.
He took that one digit and slowly started pushing inside. The sensation sent shivers down Thiel's spine and a shocked gasp as he felt himself being touched from within for the first time. He tried in vain to back away from his primarch, to back away from his touch. The touch that made him swiftly lose all his reason, that made him crave more.
Guilliman started moving his lubricated finger in and out of the sergeant, feeling around his warm insides and teasing his sensitive entrance with the middle one. Playfully caressing the edge.
Thiel instinctively spread his legs further apart, his breath was heavy and erratic, softly he muttered.
“Stop.”
Those words he uttered not only for the man on top of him currently teaching him the pleasures of the flesh but to himself as well. For with every move of his lords hand across his manhood every time he entered inside of him he felt himself harder to resist. He sealed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, he gathered all his remaining willpower and repeated his statement. He hid his pleasure behind a thin fake veil of anger.
“Stop!”
And to his surprise Guilliman halted, he stopped jerking him and slowly pulled out of him. His rear ached from the sudden intrusion but the cold table below him helped subdue the pain. After a short minute he decided to open his eyes slowly, ever so slightly.
Without warning he was taken hold of by the throat once again and pulled upwards from the table, his lips met his primarchs. A kiss that went from a simple meeting of lips to a passionate dance of tongues filled with longing. Eyes wide open from surprise he saw his lord closer than ever before, backing away from him was impossible. So he tried to avert his eyes, to close his mouth; his body’s temperature started to rise and his manhood started hurting from the lack of attention. The mouths were only separated when Guilliman pushed two fingers inside Aeonid, making him gasp from the sharp strain placed in his insides. His eyes became watery and his legs trembled ever so slightly.
The primarch chuckled and whispered to his ear.
“Never raise your voice when you speak to me, brat.”
He started moving his fingers again, massaging the warm, wet insides of the sergeant. Scissoring in and out while he went knuckle deep. Thiel gripped the table as he laid flat once again, he tensed up as his prostate was stimulated for the first time in his life. His face was flustered and fought hard against himself, drowning and swallowing down every moan that tried to escape his mouth.
“Surrender to me. Surrender and scream my name Aeonid.”
Thiel didn’t look at his primarch as he spoke, he refused to behold his gene-sire directly. For he seemed even more heavenly every passing second, his flesh was weak and his hearts even weaker, slowly getting the better of him. Behind gritted teeth he responded.
“I shall never surrender to a tyrant whose crown will soon be decorated by the heads of the innocents.”
“The key word in your sentence, Aeonid, is yet. You will not surrender yet…”
Guilliman pulled his fingers out of the space marine under him, no longer able to contain his own desire. His own manhood dripped, and aching for attention, aching to be inserted in the pliant space marine below him. He pulled the sergeant in place by the waist and aligned himself with his entrance. Aeonid felt him hot against his hole he didn’t feel ready for what would come next but he wanted it. His primarch lit a fire between his loins and he was desperate to find his own release, but he had to resist. He turned to face his superior, anxious, unable to find the perfect words, the perfect excuse to become an undesirable candidate for his lord’s affection.
“My lord, I don't think I can take it. I lack the experience needed.”
“It’s painfully apparent you lack experience; Aeonid, but don’t you bother your mind with such trivial concerns. I will show you everything in due time.”
The sergeant swallowed hard and took a deep breath, the candle soot from the candle flames made the air musky, cozy. It reminded him of the libraries he would spend many nights reading, studying for upcoming wars and incomplete crusades. It helped him relax ever so slightly, there was no way to escape so he had to endure.
Guilliman made his initial push inside the still sergeant. And with that Aeonid’s body tensed up, clamping around his Primarch as he entered. He used one of his palms to close his mouth, to prevent any unwanted moans to escape him. His Primarch felt massive, pushing half of his manhood inside him and used his middle finger to tease the tip of his penis.
“You are so tight Sergeant.”
Thiel was struggling to accommodate Guilliman inside of him, causing him to slightly tremble. THe daemon primarch started moving his hips, creating friction between them too. He breathed heavily and Thiel’s body betrayed his pride. He begun moaning the sound only slightly muffled by his own hand, loving the pain and the pleasure inside of him. Bucking his hips wishing for his primarch to start jerking him once again.
“This is wrong.”
He muttered his voice feeble and desperate. Guiliman moved his hand around the Aeonid’s manhood that has now became harder and picked up the pace. Finding a rhythm between the two actions. Causing Thiel to arch his back, he was approaching rapidly his own release. He wanted more, he wanted Guilliman to go deeper. The feeling of him raw inside of him made him lightheaded. He wes drunk in unrestrained lust in defiance of everything and everyone they once held sacred.
The sergeant's body started glistening from the sweat, compared to Guilliman’s perfectly carved physique who seemed to not have been drained out by the activity in the slightest. The primarch was erotically grunting and when he heard the sergeant’s first weak moans he made the final push inside.
There was no burning sensation anymore, Aeonid’s pain receptors had grown numb and his mind only focused on the pleasure. His prostate being poked by his primarch with his precum lubricating his inside making the friction between the two smoother and more enjoyable with each hip thrust.
Thiel moved his head to the side and his muscles became hard as steel. He couldn't form words, only weak, held back throaty moans came out of his lips as he found his own release inside his primarch’s soft palm. Pushing his hips against Guiliman’s grip. This sent the primarch into overdrive, friercly moving in and out of the astartes below him. Not able to recover from the rush of pleasure Thiel continued moaning, more weakly this time his voice fading and the world around him becoming blurry.
He was starting to lose his senses, his strength giving up on him as the exhaustion catched up. He was a breathless mess when Guilliman grabbed him by the waist with both hands and pounded him to his hearts content. His eyes burning with satisfaction and a spark of delight.
Aeonid’s head became light and his vision darkened at the corners of his eyes. The last thing he saw before the world was swallowed by darkness was Guilliman smiling knowing he won this battle, for this time he had thoroughly claimed him as his own. He saw those blue eyes, glimmering. Those infinite blue oceans now belonged to the dark gods. He adored every detail of his face and in those moments he knew he had fallen in love. A twisted depraved love for his superior and lord.
He passed out in the arms of his Primarch who was still hard as a metal rod inside of him. His words echoing in his mind.
He wasn’t going to surrender to chaos.
At least not yet.