Chapter Text
The world was so shockingly silent, so incredibly quiet, after the shot. It seemed wrong. it felt as if things should have erupted into chaos, but the truth was, not a single soul cared.
Time appeared frozen, the only non-static thing being Lorgar himself.
Trembling hands tightened around the pistol. It was warm, a stark contrast to the frigid air that seemed intent on eating him alive.
I shouldn't have done that, Lorgar mused calmly, staring anywhere but in front of him, why don't I care?
Intellectually, he knew he should care. There was a dead man laying on the cold, unforgiving ground, and he didn't feel a thing.
So Lorgar did what he always did when things went south and he was out of his depth.
Shaky fingers typed in his phone password, failing once, twice, three times before getting it right.
He waited, starting to grow anxious, as the dial-up rang for an eternity.
Finally, the somewhat sleepy, concerned voice of Horus answered. "Lorgar? What is it? It's... like two am. Are you okay?"
"I need help," Lorgar breathed, looking finally at the body. He nearly gagged. "And some bleach. Maybe some hydrogen peroxide, too."
.
Sanguinius, despite his general cheer, did not find shopping for bleach and scrub brushes at two in the morning to be enjoyable.
But alas, he was the only one who was anywhere near a good standing in the community, and thus usually got assigned the tasks that required even the most basic of human interaction (this involved existing in a public space with them).
To make things worse, his company was of the tall, dark and gloomy kind, and kept threatening to shoot out the fluorescent lights. Konrad was not a fan of the lights. Or people, actually, so it was a mystery as to why they decided to tag along. And they hadn't given Sanguinius any say in the matter.
In fact, Sanuinius had been unaware that Konrad had been with him at all until he was already in the store.
"Konrad," Sanguinius said, smiling, after Konrad hissed at another poor underpaid worker, "why don't you look at the carpet samples?"
There shouldn't be anyone shopping for carpet this early in the morning.
"I don't like carpet," Konrad said, staring murderously across the isle at something that might have been a person. It was hard to tell in that lighting.
"Go grab some bleach, then." Sanguinius was as casual as could be, not looking anywhere near Konrad as he perused the scrub brush selection. Konrad didn't like being looked at.
A tic worked its way across Konrad's face, ending at their grim, unsmiling mouth. "Sure," they said, turning away, "I can do that."
Sanguinius knew that there was a high chance of at least one more grave being dug before the night was over.
.
"What I don't understand," Perturabo said, face twisted into an unpleasant grimance, "is why I'm always the one who has to dig the graves. Leman even volunteers, and I still have to do it."
"It is because," Dorn said, leaning heavily on his own shovel, "you are always in isolated, empty fields when the need for graves arises."
That was true. Perturabo just liked looking at the sky at odd times of the night in places where the light pollution was low.
Perturabo looked between the slowly developing grave, his shovel, and Dorn, and back to the grave. Immediately, he discarded the impulse. Too messy.
"What I understand even less," he continued, as if Dorn hadn't interjected, "is why you're here. Isn't this work below you?"
"I like holes," Dorn said simply, resuming his digging.
"Then fucking dig it yourself. I'm going to bed." Perturabo stormed off, not bothering to grab his shovel. It would be burned by Vulkan later, anyway.
.
Khan wasn't quite sure why he always ended up dragging the corpses away. It wasn't like his motorbike was very efficient for it.
He was tempted to just call one of his men, have them sort out the mess.
But in the end, he determined this was a family matter and he didn't want to wake up poor Giyahun again, who threatened half jokingly to block him the last time he had done so.
Khan had the foresight to bring a disposable poncho. There was quite a bit of blood, and he didn't exactly want any to get on him.
As for his motorbike, well, Horus just owed him.
A lot.
.
Magnus was fast asleep when Horus called, underneath a dog pile of at least five people.
Dungeon and Dragons could drag on for some time, and Magnus was nowhere near cruel enough to send his men off into the unforgiving night.
Khayon stirred slightly at the ringtone, but continued to snore gently.
Magnus shoved Ahriman's dark arm out of his face, causing the man to jerk awake.
"Go back to sleep," Magnus whispered, "unless you're the one whose leg is digging into my bladder. In which case, move it."
Ahriman just blinked sleepily and flopped down face first on the mattress.
Magnus was pretty sure it was him whose leg was causing him such discomfort. "Asshole."
Horus cleared his throat impatiently, reminding Magnus that he existed.
"What is it?" He didn't bother keeping the irritation out of his voice.
"Magnus, my dear brother Magnus, you don't mind doing damage control?"
Magnus hung up.
.
"Oh, dear," Fulgrim said with a sigh as fake as the perfectly manufactored concern on his face, "don't think about it. We've all killed people."
Lorgar was seated miserably on Fulgrim's loveseat, feeling very out of place in an environment that no living person naturely thrived in. "I haven't," he said quietly, "not until now."
The lights above were so bright. There was a mirror on every wall. Lorgar wasn't sure how anyone could live like this.
Fulgrim sipped delicately at some vintage wine. "Don't fret about it. You did what you needed to. You always have, and this time..." he gestured vaguely. "This time it required some blood to be spilled."
"This isn't who I want to be."
Fulgrim laughed lightly. "Oh, silly. Do you think anyone is?"