Chapter 30: Jaghatai Khan and Corvus Corax
Alpharius observed from the periphery with evident distaste. The casual disregard these Legions showed toward baseline humanity was staggering, yet he could not voice his censure. This was simply how other Legion commanders prosecuted war.
Typhon, meanwhile, remained intoxicated by the artistry of death itself, seemingly convinced that Omega possessed no means of retaliation.
Omega's expression grew peculiar as he turned to address the Death Guard commander directly.
"Don't you concern yourself with collateral casualties? Your gases are indiscriminate weapons. Death Guard operatives may possess remarkable durability, but absolute immunity is hardly universal. What happens when your own toxins claim your soldiers?"
Typhon's reaction was immediate, surprise flickering across his features before erupting into genuine laughter.
"Hahahaha! To fall by one's own design only demonstrates weakness of character. Such a one has no place upon the field of war. That realm belongs to true warriors!"
He gestured expansively, his massive form seeming to fill the space around him.
"The warriors of Barbarus are forged in poison from childhood. They are born to command their toxins, to thrive where all others perish. This is our heritage!"
Typhon's gaze fixed upon Omega with something approaching genuine interest.
"You possess potential, young one. I extend my offer with earnest intent, join the Death Guard. I shall gift you a form resistant to all poisons, that you might comprehend the sublime artistry of mortality itself!"
Alpharius immediately reacted, radiating from every line of his bearing. Typhon, however, merely shrugged off the protest. Omega, cutting through the tension with characteristic directness, offered his response.
"The study of stratagem and doctrine benefits all commanders. Most Legions pursue such knowledge for evident reasons, do they not?"
Typhon laughed again, a sound like grinding stone.
"Very well, brother. I shall have samples of our gaseous arsenal delivered to the Alpha Legion. Observe their efficacy for yourself. Should you wish to discuss further, you only need to ask. Hahahaha!"
With that, the Death Guard commander departed, his laughter echoing in his wake.
Just then, Omega noticed someone approaching them.
The newcomer approached with the bearing of a hawk in flight, broad-shouldered, moving through his armor with the fluid grace of a born warrior. He laughed before he even came to rest before them, the sound rich and unguarded.
"Hahahaha! Why not pursue deeper discourse with that one about your so-called strategies? Perhaps you might yet convince the architect of death himself to reconsider!"
Omega shrugged with ease. "The task exceeds my capacity. I lack the Emperor's transcendent charisma to reshape the convictions of Primarchs. We merely exchanged perspectives."
He paused, studying the man before him, the distinctive ponytail, the easy confidence, the way he wore his strength like a garment. "The Fifth Legion's reputation precedes them—White Scars, riding forth like eagles with curved blades. You must be one of Chogoris's commanders?"
The warrior's eyes brightened with amusement.
"Ohh! What makes you so certain?" He glanced down at himself, running a hand across his ornate armor, then laughed again. "Ha-Ha, Go on, then. Who do you think stands before you?"
Omega studied him, the raw nobility of his bearing, the unforced authority that radiated from him like heat from a forge. "Heroic. Commanding. Radiating an aura that transcends the merely martial. Only an officer of considerable rank would carry such presence so naturally. A company commander? Perhaps one of the Khans?"
Alpharius turned away sharply, a subtle shake of his helmeted head the only outward sign of his amusement. This was no mere commander.
The warrior's expression transformed, joy flooding across his features as he clasped Omega firmly on the shoulder.
"Ha-Ha-Ha, Brother, you truly understand us! This...this is how a true son of the White Scars s should be., Ha-Ha-Ha. His laughter was unrestrained, genuine. "Men of Chogoris stand as eagles above the grasslands. We are not bound to the earth."
Omega felt a rare surge of admiration for this figure—unbridled vitality, his refusal to be diminished by pretense or protocol.
"I apologize," Omega said carefully, "but I confess I misspoke your rank."
Alpharius could not entirely contain his reaction beneath his helm. Only after the briefest pause did he grasp what had transpired. This Primarch was genuinely delighted by Omega's honesty, by the attempt itself rather than its accuracy.
The warrior grinned, untroubled.
"Then you understand what I truly am, that the blood of Chogoris breeds extraordinary men, warriors who soar where others merely stand."
"And I accept your question as the compliment it was intended to be, Brother of Alpharius. Ha-Ha"
Where Typhon's discourse had saturated every moment with the suffocating weight of mortality, this Primarch embodied something vital: the resilience of life itself, undimmed and deeply approachable.
Omega found himself relaxing naturally, drawn into genuine conversation with an ease that had been absent before.
They discovered common ground swiftly. Both understood the intricacies of mobility-based warfare, of striking decisively before an enemy could mount a coherent response. The White Scars' tactics, though they eschewed void combat, mirrored many principles the Alpha Legion employed. They delegated their orbital operations entirely to the Imperial Navy, a pragmatic division of labor.
An hour dissolved into conversation without effort.
When Jaghatai Khan—for such was his name, the very progenitor of his gene-line—began recounting tales of the grassland wines of Chogoris, of delicacies that would shame most other worlds, Omega found himself genuinely engaged.
To the surprise of those present, Omega proved to be a connoisseur in his own right, with a cultivated appreciation for rare vintages and exotic fare.
Alpharius observed his brother's unexpected passion with quiet amazement.
Jaghatai Khan, clearly delighted, extended his invitation without hesitation.
"Brother, you must come to the White Scars' enclave! I shall show you what a true warrior of the grasslands truly is!"
Alpharius moved with decisive speed, cutting off Omega's evident interest in accepting.
"We have pressing obligations elsewhere. Perhaps another time," he said firmly. The risk of extended proximity to a Primarch was unacceptable; one never knew what might slip free, what truth might become compromised through casual familiarity.
Omega accepted the refusal with a nod, though disappointment flickered across his features.
Jaghatai Khan, perceptive enough to notice the deflection, smiled with surprising understanding. When he spoke again, his tone carried the weight of genuine hospitality.
"No matter, brother. I, too, appreciate fine sustenance and pleasure in its company. I shall arrange for wines and delicacies from Chogoris to be sent to your quarters. Return when you have sampled them all, come as often as your appetite demands. There is no shame in it."
He paused, his gaze lingering on Omega with something that might have been recognition.
"And should the Ghost Legion ever prove insufferable, you would find welcome among the White Scars. Any warrior of true courage and commanding presence belongs in our ranks. You have my word on this."
With that, and a final thunderous laugh, Jaghatai Khan departed, leaving his invitation hanging in the air like incense.
Alpharius felt a familiar frustration building. "Damn them both," he muttered once the Primarch had gone. "What do they take the Alpha Legion for?"
Yet the reality remained: any response would require revealing his true nature, something the mission forbade absolutely. A Primarch's authority could hardly be invoked without compromising everything.
Omega, recognizing his companion's irritation, offered what comfort he could.
The two were preparing to depart when the space itself seemed to thin, and a figure materialized from the shadows as though he had always stood there, merely waiting to be perceived.
It was a striking figure draped in black robes adorned with raven feathers. Dark-haired, handsome in an austere manner, his very presence seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
His gaze fell upon them both with neither warmth nor hostility, merely an absolute certainty of being.
When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of profound authority.
"I am Corvus Corax, the Nineteenth Primarch. I greet you with the courtesy such a meeting demands."
The revelation hung in the air. Corax, another of the returned Primarchs, emerged from whatever distant realm had held him. What was more unsettling was the manner of his arrival; neither Omega nor Alpharius had detected his presence until he chose revelation. His stealth exceeded even their Legion's considerable expertise.
'Protocol, we must make a protocol for this one, absolutely,' Omega offered a formal acknowledgment.
"Greetings, Lord Corax. I am Omega, a reconnaissance specialist of the Alpha Legion. Your arrival has surprised us both."
Alpharius felt a rare irritation kindle at the display, at Omega's immediate deference, offering courtesy. He remained silent, but his displeasure was evident in the stiffness of his posture.
Corax's smile suggested he found the dynamic between them worth noting. He turned his full attention to Omega, his tone carrying genuine interest.
"I observed your recent discourse with Jaghatai Khan, the Fifth gene progenitor. I am surprised you did not anticipate that he was merely a company commander from among his own ranks. How remarkably... deceptive he is, isn't he?"
The revelation struck Omega with genuine force. "That man was a Primarch? That would certainly explain his bearing."
Alpharius turned deliberately away, though not before a flicker of amusement crossed his demeanor.
Corax studied them both with obvious interest before posing his question.
"And what, pray tell, is your assessment of me?"
Omega recognized the peculiarity at once; these Primarchs seemed genuinely curious about how others perceived them. After a careful moment of observation, he answered.
"A quiet man, handsome in bearing, with a subtle sense of humor beneath the surface. I understand the Primarchs were scattered across different worlds during the diaspora."
"Each world shaped its progenitor uniquely. Based on what I observe, interstellar warfare would suit your particular strengths most naturally, conflicts where adaptability and strategic precision determine the outcome."
Corax accepted this assessment with a measured nod, his expression revealing nothing more than quiet satisfaction.
[End of Chapter]