Chapter 17: The Seed of Ambition
Segment Transmission: Shadow Codex Entry | Unmarked Source
Date: M31.001
Location: Unknown – Probable Astartes vessel of the Emperor's Children
Third-Person Viewpoint
The Emperor's Children were proud, vain, and driven by the pursuit of perfection — in battle, in art, in devotion to their Primarch Fulgrim. They were paragons of beauty, warriors sculpted in the Emperor's ideal. But beneath that flawless veneer, cracks had begun to form.
The ship Amaranthine drifted through the void, its halls echoing with music so flawless it bordered on unnatural. Instruments built into the architecture played symphonies guided by cogitators. The scent of incense and burning oils lingered in every corridor. Each marine that walked the deck was a knight carved from ivory and gold.
But in the deepest levels of the ship, where even the officers rarely tread, a visitor stood cloaked in shadows.
Griffith.
He wore no power armor, no sigils of the Legions, yet the guards let him pass. His white hair shimmered faintly in the artificial light, and the air around him seemed to distort with restrained majesty. His presence was not forced — it was invited.
"You honor us, Lord Griffith," said Captain Salien, bowing with a reverence that bordered on religious.
Griffith offered only a soft smile. "I come only to speak truth. To offer a vision."
They entered the shrine to the Primarch, a chamber filled with portraits and busts of Fulgrim in battle, in repose, in triumph. The pride of the Legion was etched in marble and goldleaf.
"I have seen him," Griffith whispered, fingers tracing a sculpture's edge. "Fulgrim. The Angel of Pursuit. But do you see how trapped he is?"
Salien blinked. "Trapped?"
"In the Emperor's shadow," Griffith said calmly. "He is a god caged by mortal loyalty."
Griffith's Inner Monologue
They were ready.
The moment I walked among them, I saw it. They long for beauty. For supremacy. For something more than the silent commands of a god who refuses to be worshipped.
Fulgrim was their mirror. And like all mirrors, he could be cracked.
The Warp had shown me truths. Khorne's fire, Tzeentch's designs — both burned in my veins. They did not command me. No. I walked their roads, but I carved my own. That was the gift of Chaos: power for those with vision.
And my vision?
To remake perfection. To turn loyalty into dominion.
Third-Person Viewpoint
Over the following weeks, Griffith became a silent guest aboard the Amaranthine. He watched the training of the Astartes, observed their rituals, and spoke in hushed tones with officers and librarians alike.
He introduced new philosophies. Not demands — questions.
"Is perfection obedience?" he would ask.
Or, "Does Fulgrim serve the Emperor, or does the Emperor bind Fulgrim?"
One by one, seeds took root.
Captain Lytheron began painting scenes not of Terra, but of Fulgrim ascending beyond humanity. Apothecary Dresk modified combat stimulants to heighten sensory perception — beyond what regulations allowed. Even Chaplain Vass became curious, asking what sins could be committed in pursuit of ultimate beauty.
Scene: The Mirror Room
It was here that Griffith's corruption truly bloomed.
A hidden chamber deep in the vessel. Walls lined with ever-shifting reflective surfaces — warp-tainted mirrors that showed not only the self, but the self desired.
Griffith brought Fulgrim's closest attendants there. One by one. Silent. Patient.
"Look," he would whisper.
And they did.
In those mirrors, they saw not Astartes… but gods.
Radiant. Beautiful. Worshipped.
"I offer nothing but truth," Griffith would murmur. "Perfection is not obedience. It is ascendancy."
Griffith's Final Report (Mental Record)
They will fall. Not in one motion — but gradually.
I do not command them. I do not need to. I've lit the fire. The rest is inertia.
Fulgrim himself may resist — at first. But once the vision takes him… once he sees…
He will embrace it.
Not because I demand it. Because it is his nature.
The Emperor created sons to be more than men, but denied them their divinity. That hypocrisy will break them.
I am not their master. I am the whisper in their soul.
And when the War begins… the Emperor's Children will already be mine.
Epilogue Scene: A Voice in the Warp
In the silent cathedral of his mind, Griffith stood before a ripple in the void. A voice emerged — Tzeentch, amused and serpentine:
"Well played, little Hawk of Dreams."
And beside it, Khorne's grating thunder:
"Let them seek perfection. They will find war."
Griffith bowed slightly. Not in servitude, but in acknowledgment.
The game was just beginning.