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Konvet Sketarvius stared upon the streets below, the mass of figures below were a rainbow of color. Beaming hot cores with nearly frigid extremities unless they were covered. None of them caught his eye though.. mostly. Some made themselves future targets by mere existence, ripe for future punishment.
Of course, they weren’t what he was here for. One of few much smaller forms darted in and out the crowd. Occasionally dipping below in the sewers when spotted before popping up minutes or hours later. A meager runt. Thin and emaciated like all the rest. Even the most hopeful of his brothers would shake their heads at the one he chose.
The boy was smaller than any he had seen before, no doubt from either genetics or because of poor nourishment, or even both. Previously mentioned poor feeding wasn’t help with how he clearly was infested with whatever parasites resided in the grimy water he had to consume on more than one occasion. His health, for now, did not bother Konvet. In fact, it lead even further to his intrigue. The boy he chose was patient, and showed that now. Crouched in the shadows between an occupied shack and a wall, the boy studied the surging crowd before moving.
Quickly darting towards a woman, hands adeptly dipping into her pocket before running away just as she snarled her anger in having a meal stolen. A dog eat dog world. Yet the boy could not escape her semi-mutated son as he roared his anger and grabbed him by his mange ridden hair. Shrieking and flailing, the boy snatched out a crude knife as he clawed away and slashed. The mutant son wasn’t having it. Some of the crowd watching the commotion while many ignored it. Another annoyance in their violence and crime ridden life.
Konvet chose that moment to drop from his upside-down perch. Slamming into the ground with a resounding slam. It was then the people stopped in silence, before the mother screamed and ran when she quickly pieced how he only stared upon the three of them. Her son dumbly staring after, fearful tears prickling in his eyes before he dropped his chosen target and ran. Following after was a scant few of the crowd as he gave a swooping, yet quick, glance.
He could smell the fear. Even taste it in the air as they beheld his artificed armor. Unknowingly to most, if not all, his armor was different to many Night Lords. His black-blue armor having depictions of thorny flower vines erupting from decaying corpses. Sharp-toothed winged maws drooling as if they craved the flavor of human and xeno flesh. Even macabre winged skeletons ripping human and xeno apart limb from limb. None of the sparse lighting reflected off the matte paint. Truly, it was a show of gore-filled art.
For a moment, the boy stared with wide eyes. Staring up towards the silent Astartes. Konvet paused, did this calculating little warrior freeze in the sight of him? Had he chosen wrong, simply enjoying the thought of bringing an unexpected runt only for him to rise above the rest? Yet at the first twitch of his finger, he was a bit surprised at the boy running towards him.. and right past him? Clever.
Turning, the Night Lord let the boy run for a few seconds. Finding amusement in how more of the crowd scattered out of their freeze of terror before lunging and snatching the boy by a fragile, thin leg. To his satisfaction, the little warrior-to-be let out a feral scream, twisting in the moment Konvet let him go to manhandle him in a better way to carry him. Slashing out with his sharp scrap-metal knife. Not just generally either, but stabbing for the joints of his suit. Not that it would do much anyways.
It was clear he either didn’t know how to speak or simply refused to as he cracked his voice performing his noisy bellows. Eventually his primal shrieks grew into frantic wails as he thrashed and twisted even as Konvet traveled as quickly as he could.
“What.. is that?” Konvet bristled at the question as he stood against the wall of the Apothecarion, watching the boy he had captured from before was tranquilized so that they could asses his health and begin to treat the various parasites and wounds he had earned through fighting him and the environment he lived in.
Turning his head, he glared into a pair of black eyes that held the smallest hint of brown, surrounded by a pale face that looked like a much greyer version of their very own Primarch. If the Night Haunter’s face was marred by deep scars and a robotic electric blue eye.
“He is my initiate, Mortas, and you would do well enough to watch that insulting tone of yours you always seem to have.” said Mortas scoffed and nodded to a much bulkier boy with stylized scars covering his face and arms. Furious grey eyes skittering as he tried to fight the apothecary with his own gibberish words.
“At least I know mine will live without food for a day.” Mortas hissed, watching as Konvet crossed his arms.
“You’re right.” he paused at the smug look the other Astartes gave “Though the boy I chose is a runt, I have seen him go without for much longer than a day.”
Growling, Mortas turned towards him properly. Leaning closer and closer with arched eyebrows.
Before the slightest of a snarling face broke through as he leaned away.
He swore the man never learned what a proper smile was, nor would he ever know even if someone hit him with a dictionary. Clapping Mortas on the back, the two shared a chuckle at their rivalry as they returned their gaze to their chosen neophytes. For many, like Mortas’s ‘Yuller’, Konvet’s own nameless boy, and Hravid’s Ha’vrik would need a short time of recuperation. For them get healthier and, in some cases like his own and his two closest battle-brothers, teach them to properly speak before they could even get their first organs.
It was going to be an arduous venture. Especially since these were their own first neophytes. Well.. mostly. Hravid was the only one to have had a neophyte before them, having had brought up Hekron into a respectable, if not destructive, battle-brother. Even if he somehow had the knack of finding all ones with names beginning with an H. Something he picked up from Hargin.
Of course, time would pass. And the boy Konvet chose, who was revealed to have been named Akki. At least, they assumed his name was Akki, for it was essentially the main noise he made and responded to. At first, Akki was resistant to anything he or anyone else would do, well-meaning intentions or not. Prone to uselessly fighting until exhaustion. Though Konvet relished challenge, it was an annoyance to wrestle Akki into submission to do anything. Though he was glad to find out that similar to a common animal, Akki was convinced with food.
A lot better than Mortas’s Yuller and his tendency to strip naked in order to fight anything. Something that would be passable for the World Eaters, perhaps, but not the Night Lords. Which was how Konvet ended up crouching beside the boy as he knawed on his meal, a simple humble ration bar. Another surprising thing was how the boy tended to prefer blander foods even if they all had hearty, large meals. As befitting their status as Adeptus Astartes and Night Lords.
Konvet wasn’t wearing much other than idle robes. His armor left behind temporarily as he looked down to Akki. Once he was a minute runt with not an ounce of health to him. Withering quickly away despite all his fighting. Now, he had grown. Stronger of body and mind and yet he was to get stronger and smarter still. Raising his hand, he patted the much smaller, still baseline, child on his shoulder and earned a reflexive growl. Part of him was impressed with the sounds he could conjure, a good skill to use as a future weapon.
“Akki, tomorrow you are getting your first organs.” he felt a surge of pride at the wide-eyed excitement as he quickly finished the morsel he chewed upon. His battle-brothers didn’t wait this long to tell their charges of their days to get the surgery. And he was glad they managed to get them to be silent about the time they would get their organs. Or at least they left it a mystery to him.
“I am, sir?” Akki’s voice was boyish and squeaky with youth. Slowly, Konvet nodded with the barest of smiles. A rarity.
“You are. Not only that, but you will get a proper name, befitting of the Night Lords-”
“Just like how Brother Vorkalth got his name?”
“Not exactly, but yes. Soon you will no longer be the runt of your future brothers, but a comrade beside them, Kraver. And remember to not interrupt.”
“Yes sir, but, I thought-” stopping mid-sentence, the newly named Kraver’s face drifted from scolded confusion to excitement in seconds. Lunging up, Konvet was surprised by the boy hugging his lithe arms about his neck.
Konvet reluctantly patted his back before pulling him away with a chuckle.
Years passed and Konvet never lost the pride he felt when Kraver was a minuscule scrap who never even spoke words, but communicated in animalistic growls and snarls. When he grew from a feral runt to a tall, lean warrior. His once youthful features now vaguely reminiscent of their Primarchs.
Standing beside him was Mortis, the elder Astartes watching their younger brothers spar and test their mettle.
“What is that?” Mortis snorted at an elaborate trick Kraver performed, effectively duping Ha’vrik into a charge and throwing him into Vorkalth.
“He was my charge, and your tone never changes.” Konvet spoke, staring straight ahead even as he saw Mortis move in the corner of his vision.
“Even if it doesn’t, at least my charge is first in a fight.”
The two faced each other, staring before breaking into their own types of grins and clasping arms in a friendly shake.
“Remember when we thought they’d all end up as feral animals like Kraver?” Mortis spoke as his hand tightened around Konvet’s in a mimicry of an arm wrestling game.
“At least he didn’t run naked in every fight like Vorkalth.” grunted Konvet as he leaned his weight into the hold.
“In all fairness, he was very hard to grab in a fight.” the other Astartes hissed, focused on their little contest.
“But, they’ve both learned how to fight right, unlike you.”
Confusion crossed Mortis’s face before Konvet let go and swept his legs out from underneath him. With Mortis making a startled snarl just as Kraver and Vorkalth ended their sparring match to watch their former teachers begin their own.