Graham McNeill - Fulgrim - Visions of Treachery

Scorched tanks rumbled alongside the Astartes, their ammunition expended and their hulls battered by the impact of shot and shell.

Unanswered vox hails requested medical aid and supply, but the line of Astartes at the top of the north ridge was grimly silent as the exhausted warriors of the Raven Guard and Salamanders came to within a hundred metres of their allies.

A lone flare shot skyward from inside the black fortress where Horus had made his lair, exploding in a hellish red glow that lit the battlefield below like a madman's vision of the end of the world.

And the fire of betrayal roared from the barrels of a thousand guns.

Fulgrim laughed at the stunned look on Ferrus's face as the forces of his ''allies'' opened fire upon the Salamanders and Raven Guard. Hundreds died in the fury of the first moments, hundreds more in the seconds following, as volley after volley of bolter fire and missiles scythed through their unsuspecting ranks. Explosions flashed to life in their midst, vaporising warriors and tearing through tanks as the force of four Legions ripped the beating heart from the first wave of loyalists.

Ferrus Manus watched in mute horror as he saw a storm of fire engulf Corax, and a titanic explosion mushroom skyward from where Vulkan stood in astonished outrage at what was happening.

Even as terrifying carnage was being wreaked upon the loyalists below, the retreating forces of the Warmaster turned and brought their weapons to bear on the enemy warriors within their midst. Hundreds of World Eaters, Sons of Horus and the Death Guard fell upon the veteran companies of the Iron Hands, and though the warriors of the X Legion continued to fight gallantly, they were hopelessly outnumbered and would soon be hacked to pieces.

Ferrus Manus turned to face Fulgrim, and the Primarch of the Emperor's Children could see the despair etched into his brother's features, his silver eyes dull and lifeless. To have so great a victory snatched away in an instant must be the most sublime sensation. Fulgrim almost wished to switch places with his brother just to taste that feeling for himself.

'Only dismal defeat and death await you, Ferrus,' said Fulgrim. 'Horus has commanded your death, but for the sake of our past friendship I shall plead your case to him if you throw down your arms. You have to surrender, Ferrus. There is no escape.'

Ferrus Manus tore his eyes from the slaughter of the loyalist forces, his teeth bared with the volcanic fury of his home world.

'Maybe not, traitor, but only dishonour holds any terror for me,' spat Ferrus. 'The Emperor's loyal warriors will not surrender to you, not now, not ever. You will have to kill every last one of us!'

'So be it,' said Fulgrim, launching himself towards Ferrus Manus, swinging his mighty warhammer. The primarchs' weapons, forged in brotherhood, but wielded in vengeance, met in a blazing plume of energy, and the battlefield was illuminated for hundreds of metres by their ferocious energies.

The two primarchs traded blows with their monstrously powerful weapons, the strength to defeat armies and topple mountains unleashed as they fought like gods forced to end their dispute in the realm of mortals. Ferrus Manus wielded his flaming blade in fiery slashes, his every blow defeated by the ebony hafted hammer he had borne in countless campaigns.

Fulgrim swung his hammer in great, looping arcs, its heavy head powerful enough to crush the armour of a Titan to paste. Both warriors fought with the hatred only brothers divided can muster, their armour dented, torn and blackened by the fury of their conflict.

To fight an opponent of such magnificence was a privilege, and Fulgrim savoured every clash of hammer and sword, every fiery line cut across his flesh and every grunt of pain torn from his brother's mouth as Forgebreaker glanced his armour. They circled in the midst of cries of pain and roaring savage glee, the Morlocks of Ferrus Manus slain, but for a last few desperate heroes.

Ferrus cut the shoulder guard from Fulgrim's armour and spun inside his guard to deliver a lethal thrust towards his groin. Fulgrim stepped to meet the blow, batting aside the tip of the fiery sword with the haft of Forgebreaker, and hammering the warham-mer's head towards Ferrus's skull.

The Primarch of the Iron Hands took the blow, dropping to one knee and lashing out with his blade as blood streamed from the terrible wound in his temple. The sword's fiery tip cut across Fulgrim's stomach, opening his armour and tearing through his flesh. The pain was indescribable, and Fulgrim fell back, dropping his hammer as his hands sought to stem the blood pouring from his body.

Both primarchs faced each other on their knees through a haze of pain and blood, and Fulgrim once again felt an ache of sadness well within him. The pain of his wounds, and the sight of his brother's broken skull coated in blood, tore a window into his mind. The sensation was like a powerful gust of fresh mountain air, clearing away the fog that had wrapped him in a suffocating embrace for so long that he no longer noticed it until it was gone.

'My brother,' he whispered, 'my friend.'

'You have long since lost the right to call me friend,' snarled Ferrus, pushing himself to his feet and staggering towards Fulgrim with Fireblade raised to smite him.

Fulgrim cried out, and his hand leapt unbidden to his waist as the flaming blade carved a burning path towards his neck. Silver steel flashed as he drew the sword he had taken from the Laer temple and blocked the descending weapon. Ferrus's sword hissed and spat as it bit into the silver blade, the Primarch of the Iron Hands' strength forcing the blazing metal, centimetre by centimetre, towards Fulgrim's face.

'No!' cried Fulgrim. 'This is not right!'

The amethyst stone at the hilt of Fulgrim's sword pulsed with an evil light, bathing Ferrus Manus's face in a leering purple glare. Energy streamed from the blade, and musky smoke billowed around them, deadening sounds and obscuring sight. Fulgrim felt a monstrous presence swell around him, its power and nameless essence more intoxicating and dreadful than anything he could ever have imagined.

Diabolical strength flooded his limbs and he pushed against the power of Ferrus Manus, feeling his brother's surprise at his resistance. With a cry of animal rage, he surged to his feet and hurled Ferrus Manus back, spinning and lashing out with his sword.

The silver edge bit deep into the breastplate of his brother's armour, and the Primarch of the Iron Hands cried out, falling to his knees once again as the blade's flaring energies parted his dark armour like a fingernail through cold grease. Hot blood sprayed from the wound and Fireblade slid from Ferrus's hand as he gasped in fierce agony.

Finish him! Kill him! the voice screamed, and to Fulgrim it seemed as though it echoed across time and space as well as within his skull. He staggered with the blunt force of its imperative, lurching as though his limbs were not his to control.

His normal grace and elan were forsaken as he falteringly raised the silver sword in preparation of delivering the deathblow to Ferrus Manus. Unknown energies coruscated along the notched blade and down the length of his arms into the meat and bone of his wounded body.

Fulgrim was wreathed in purple fire. Crackling arcs of lightning caressed him with a lover's tenderness, seeking out his open wounds and licking them with balefire as they sought entry to his flesh.

Fulgrim stood above Ferrus Manus, his chest heaving convulsively as his entire body shook with the violence of the power that sought to claim him.

He must die! Otherwise he will kill you!

Fulgrim looked down at his defeated opponent and saw his own reflection in the mirrors of Ferrus's eyes.