Nareth's hand closed around the Dionysian Spear, and golden light erupted in a dazzling surge.
The people of Terra saw the light piercing the sky and let out thunderous cheers.
But Nareth showed no joy. His brows were tightly furrowed, and the spear in his hand filled him with loathing.
It felt worse than grasping the slick body of a venomous serpent, worse than touching some vile, poisonous insect.
The discomfort made him want to fling it away, as far as possible.
He knew this was the manifestation of the Emperor's aspect of Sight.
The Cursed One.
Ferrus Manus, Leman Russ, and Hannibal had their eyes fixed on Nareth the entire time.
The moment his hand grasped the spear, they immediately sensed something strange.
Within the dazzling golden light it emitted lurked a power that was unsettling and repulsive.
Russ's eyes locked onto Nareth. Sorcerous corruption swirled around him, hateful and vile beyond any moment before.
Nareth's gaze flickered coldly toward Russ, their eyes clashing for an instant, before another figure appeared to stand between them.
Nareth withdrew his gaze, turning back to the spear.
'When Russ received the Dionysian Spear, did it shine like this?'
He pondered but found no memory of such.
What he did recall was that when Russ dreamed of Fenris of two wolves meeting, a dream foretelling his fated strike against Horus, the spear had flared with golden light.
As Nareth's thoughts flowed, the spear's golden glow slowly dimmed.
He could sense that the nauseating aura had lessened slightly, and thought to himself:
'The curse of the Spear cannot affect me, not while I wield the "Kingdom of Disorder."'
'The Emperor infused part of his power into it… Could he, as in the future Burning of Nurgle's Realm channel himself through the Emperor's Sword into Guilliman, also use this spear to possess me?'
'Hmm… unlikely. He probably lacks that power for now. And given that I possess a Seffiroth, it is nearly impossible for him to take me over.'
'But perhaps, through his link to the spear, he could still spy upon me.'
'From now on, whenever I enter the Kingdom of Disorder, or undertake anything that must remain secret, I'll discard the spear first.'
Nareth knew, however, that the spear could never truly be discarded. The Wolf King had tried countless times to "lose" or "forget" it.
No matter the method, the relic, also called Gungnir, would always return to its master.
'At least it takes time for the spear to "find its way back." Enough time for me to do what I must.'
This thought eased his revulsion somewhat. He turned to the Emperor.
But the Emperor acted as if he had not noticed Nareth's disgust. Without waiting for a word, he simply turned away.
Nareth frowned inwardly. 'He didn't wait for my response…'
'Of course. He knows full well that anyone who receives the Dionysian Spear will reject it.'
'So he never waits for a reply.'
Staring at the Emperor's back, Nareth listened as he declared to the audience:
"The celebration is concluded."
He turned and left immediately.
Nareth watched Malcador follow close behind, his eyes narrowing.
'As expected. That's the kind of man the Emperor is, if he decides something must be done, he will do it.'
'Even knowing the recipient of the spear would feel dread, he still handed it over, waiting for its utility to manifest.'
'Once given to the chosen one, he considered the matter finished. Whether with Russ or now with me, he never even offered an explanation.'
Nareth's mind drifted to earlier times, moments when his dealings with the Emperor had been more agreeable, when he had been given valuable gifts.
'He only believed those things were most suitable for me.'
'When I lacked ships, he gave me relic-grade warships. Later vessels were granted because he recognized my victories, believing my Legion deserved them.'
'I had painted myself as someone who cherished peculiar things. To keep me motivated, he supplied them.'
His gaze cooled, his expression smoothing to calm neutrality.
'Though I foresaw this, though I expected nothing else… this so-called "reward," given with no thought to my feelings, still chills the heart.'
'And yet, I lack the power to resist him. For now, I must accept it.'
'If I were free of such compulsion, I must rise higher, grow stronger.'
'When I have the strength, I will remake the Dionysian Spear myself.'
Nareth steadied his thoughts and walked over to Manus, raising the spear.
"Manus, as you can see, my armor needs a proper mount for this weapon."
Unlike Russ, who had hidden the spear away, Nareth had no intention of wasting it.
Since he now bore it, he would make full use of it. His beyond ability made the spear perfect for him.
If he hurled it, he wouldn't even need to retrieve it; it would always return. And if it didn't, he wouldn't mourn it. Though that was impossible.
Nareth sensed a mysterious bond tying him to the spear. It resembled his ability to forge links, but was far less defined.
"Its…"
Manus frowned at the weapon, uneasy. He wanted to caution Nareth against using something so tainted, but this was a gift from their father.
At last, he only said: "I understand."
The four Primarchs then descended the dais and walked toward their villas.
As they passed through the Plaza of Heroes, Nareth saw four statues standing tall.
Curious, he studied his own. It stood upon a marble base, the figure carved from obsidian, its black sheen under lamplight radiating mystery and cold majesty.
The statue's lifelike features faithfully reflected his own face.
Its eyes were made of crystal, gleaming with light.
The high, smooth nose was fashioned of black onyx.
…
He turned his gaze to the other statues. Horus's was pearl-white, exuding grandeur. Russ stood upon a base where he and his companions, Freki and Geri were captured mid-roar.
Hannibal's was crafted from amber, elegant like the man himself.
Manus, meanwhile, examined the statues mathematically, evaluating each line, each angle.
Russ noted: 'Nareth has changed much; he now bears golden wings at his back.'
He calculated Nareth's power increase with the wings and spear. As distasteful as the spear was, its strength was undeniable.
Nareth noticed Russ's stare and thought:
'I recall that aside from the shard that powers the Silent King's throne, there is another fragment of the Burning One within the Fenris system, on Midgardia.'
'Then Trazyn discovered it, struck, and seized the shard.'
'When the time is right, I'll claim it myself.'
At that moment, Hannibal, who had long lacked an opening, asked curiously:
"Nareth, why do you now have golden mechanical wings upon your back?"
Nareth's gaze slid to Manus's silver hands as he replied:
"I accompanied the Emperor to Medusa. There, I encountered a golden mechanical eagle. When I defeated it, I claimed its wings."
Hannibal, following his gaze, asked the silver-handed Primarch:
"Manus, is that how you gained your hands?"
"Indeed," Manus's heavy voice rumbled. "I slew a silver, wyrn."
"They were beings of immense power, difficult even for a Primarch to kill."
Recalling the battle, he added, "The golden Garuda Nareth slew was stronger still."
The four Primarchs spoke further as they walked on, until they came to a radiant circular plaza by the Cold Lake.
From there extended twenty residences, prepared by the Emperor for his sons.
Never since their construction had so many of them been occupied at once.
The Primarchs parted ways. Nareth followed the lakeside path into a courtyard of pale stone.
The next day, he attended a string of events arranged by Malcador for propaganda.
At the final event, Malcador approached him.
"Tonight at eleven, your father will await you in the Grand Observatory."
.....
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