The Composer

PART TWO

He did not sleep that night. Next morning, the retinues of the Third were destined to land at Istvaan III, to throw down the rebellion there. The Composer smiled as he saw a few of his bitter enemies in the mass. The swordsman Lucius, one he actually looked up to, was one of them. Now the only men left on the ships of the Legion were the genetically-enhanced maniacs. The same ones, the proud and loyal warriors gone, the Legion now was free to indulge themselves in their desires. But the newborn Composer had other plans, as he made his way to the quarters of the remembrancer Bequa Kynska. She was sitting at her desk, her arms horribly mutilated, her hair ripped out at some parts of her head. Clearly, she was composing the piece he saw on the first glance.

"You? What are you doing here? Leave! I need to work..."
The Composer smiled, stepping near to the beautiful woman. "Mind if I help you?" He asked, took the pencil out of her hand and began writing the first line of notes. As he continued, he saw the eyes of Kynska widen. "What is this? How can any instrument play this?!"
"None of the existing can. Stand up and kneel in the middle of the room. I'll show you what I've seen. That is the only way you can find the missing inspiration. Only through me..."
Bequa stood up, with eyes full of fear she knelt in the middle of the room, the Composer followed her and stood before her. Placing his right palm on her head he sent his visions of the last night. The effects on Bequa were the same it had on him, she screamed, laughed, sung and cried. Moments later it was over, Bequa stood up, now a fire filled her eyes.

"This is it! I'll call it the Maraviglia!"

The inspiration completely took over her body, as she ran to the desk and began viciously scribbling notes. The Composer watched over her shoulder as new notes were invented, some of them already known to him. It was a circle, a straight line going out from the top right side. The line was interrupted in the middle by a great arch, and ended in an half circle.
They composed for days and nights. When the first sketches of the Maraviglia were finished, they realised - it was true no instrument would be able to play this. In a need to create new ones, they gathered up the materials: Golden plates, tubes, sound amplifiers and much more. But the most important one was instruments. They took every instrument on the ship they could find.

Shortly after, the quarters of Miss Kynska became a makeshift workshop. It sounded and looked like a proper workspace: Drills revved, hammers struck, and the gathered materials were shaped into new forms and dimensions. They fused together music instruments of all sorts, creating magnificent and, somewhat terrifying new instruments. While Bequa was giving the Composition its last highlights, the Composer searched around the ship for fitting musicians. Only the insane and outcasts were collected. He gave them the instruments and some notes to practice, as well as locations where they would be left alone, to exercise, and, most importantly - he told them when and where they were needed.

Another evening, he sat in "La Fenice" , grinning at what he had accomplished over the last few weeks. His joy grew even further as he looked around. "La Fenice" now resembled much more what he always wanted it to be. With the events of Istvaan III noted down, the Emperor's Children were assigned to Istvaan V. They should be digging trenches and setting up fortifications, as Fulgrim told them. Making little sense of this, the Composer was frustrated, as his shovel was viciously beating the red sand of Istvaan. As told, he dug trenches, but his mind was elsewhere. And, when realising that this day is the day of the Maraviglia, he snickered in anticipation. With these thoughts in mind, the night came fast. After he cleaned his armour off and prepared some equipment to take to the battle tomorrow, he made his way to the flagship of the Legion, and was filled with joy, noting that everyone was venturing to "La Fenice" : Legionnaires, soldiers and remembrancers alike. There was just one thing for him to do before going there, himself. Once again, he ventured to the quarters of Bequa Kynska.

"Bequa, our work is marvellous. But, before I can let you act tonight - I'll need you to kneel down again." As told, and without any doubts, Bequa stepped to the middle of the room and knelt, as the Composer, yet again, placed his hand on her head and opened his own mind to the song. The voices screamed in anticipation. They knew what would be happening tonight. And they all screamed one name, the only word the Composer was able to understand. Slaanesh... Slaanesh... Slaanesh! Bequa heard them, too, and the Composer took her body, making her lay down on the floor. He took a ritual knife from her desk, and began carving a sign in her back. First, a circle, then - a line, two half-circles in addition to that. As the blood streamed out of her body, the mark began to pulsate, and thus - he knew he did it right. This beautiful mamzel now was marked. The Composer gave her a special sign, the sign of the true god of theirs. He marked Miss Kynska with the Mark of Slaanesh. Now she was touched, and his tool to spread the touch of the God to everyone hearing the music tonight was ready. Together, they made their way to "La Fenice" . They used a secret entrance, leading to the backstage. Everyone was here: The mad musicians, the deranged singers and the mutinous chorus. Every little detail was carefully prepared just for this. With a last view on the crowd and the orchestra, he made sure everything was right, before making his way into the special lodge at the right wall of the opera. Besides his captain and two other comrades, they awaited the Maraviglia.

It began. The crowd cheered, and the Composer smiled down from his lodge, as other lodges were occupied by captains and their followers, high-ranking officers and other elites of the Legion. But, one of them drew his attention in a very special way. The one of his Primarch. He knew much changed in the Legion, and so did their father. Before taking a closer look, he realised the stage was opened.

Miss Bequa Kynska stepped out of the shadow and the crowd cheered in bliss. 'They have no idea,' the Composer thought. As Bequa began playing, everything was fine. The first few parts of this composition were recognizable, but the new parts, drawing the attention of everyone in "La Fenice", were entirely mesmerizing in their self. Soon after, in the sixth half of the sixth part, the first custom-created instrument began screaming. Its first tunes sounded like a bell, mixing in with the sounds of filthy rats, and a drum. With this the other invented instruments starting to emerge in the overture, the sounds like nothing else rang through the Opera. And he already saw the effects it had on its listeners. Some of them began to scream, holding their ears and turning their backs to the stage, slowly making their way to leave "La Fenice". Knowing that he must forbid this, the Composer stood up. "None may leave now! This is something we all have to hear! Stop them!" He screamed from his lodge. Others joined him, but unable, to get them to stay with words - the crowd used violence, throwing them to the floor and forcing some to listen. The Composer now focused on his composition, as he saw that the effects of his god already took their influence. The singers' voices twisted into ear-bursting screams while they tried to keep up with the wild gesturing of Miss Kynska, who directed the orchestra. The newly-invented instruments overwhelmed the classic ones in volume and effect by a thousand per cent. 'Any minute now,' he thought, 'soon it begins...'

Just as he finished his thought, the main singer twisted her limbs. Her body deformed, her bones cracked and got reassembled in new locations, her eyes rolled into her head as she spit blood on the stage whilst still singing. The Composer realised - this is a possession. Excited for the transformation, he did not realise that most of the Captains and Legionnaires on the lodges either butchered each other, or got down into the crowd, which just became a slaughter of the weak, at this point. As the main singer finally collapsed into a violet smoke, the Composer knew that these were the final moments of everyone on the stage. Out of the smoke stepped a mirror of the singing woman in his mind. She sung too, not with the same tunes and perfection, but close enough. He knew, this was a daemonette. As she started to attack everyone in her reach, the Maraviglia eventually came to a stop, no one alive to play the instruments anymore. It was now that the Legionnaires stepped onto the stage, taking the instruments and suddenly figuring how to exactly play every single note laid out before them.

The Composer grinned. This was all going as planned. Months of preparation and careful placement of each element in its place, like a puzzle, paid off.

It was done. His Legion under the blessings of the true god, the Composer readied himself for battle: With a sword, a bolter and a lasgun, he would be sitting way behind the lines and support his company with sniper fire. On the planet, the last commands were given, and he searched for a position. Just a few metres left from the ruined palace he placed himself, occupying a comfortable hole, to peek out and kill. The battle has begun, and he saw the destruction first-hand, the enemy storming towards the unbreakable fortress and trenches the Third built over the last weeks. He already glanced at his first targets. Specializing on lasguns, heavily-armoured beings like Terminators or smaller vehicles were his eventual goals. Each shot took out a Morlock terminator from the Iron Hands legion, as the Composer himself found this task to be rather uncomplicated.

Back here, he had all the time in the world, placing each shot carefully, always looking for the next target that'd be vulnerable enough. The battle went on, the fights raged around, as he heard the screams of the dying, the fire of the bolters and the explosion of masses of artillery. It was terrifying. Hell. But the Composer didn't hear the brutal sounds of war - he heard a song.

After gunning another Morlock down from afar, his need for action overtook him. Leaving the lasgun behind, he charged towards the front. As he approached, the music grew louder, the screams sounded more intense, and every explosion shivered his bones. Climbing atop a small hill, the whole battlefield laid open before him.

He took a little metal piece from the ground and held it high in the air, beginning to slowly swing it from side to side, in harmony with the artillery fire at his back. He got into the rhythm and began swinging the piece for each shot he heard, furiously thrashing a little metal piece around, on a small hill in the middle of Istvaan V. He did not realise in what danger he was. As if directing whole musicals at once, he stood there, making the signs for each soldier down there, feeling like they were all musicians and he was their director. The music in his own head did add to this, too. He looked like a maniac, a space marine in full battle armour swinging around a little piece of metal. But he laughed, for the Composer had the best time in all his presence. He was happy about this, though, he made a wrong step and fell of his hill... And rolled right into action.

At first, there was dust everywhere. After swiping his visor, he saw the battle first-hand, marines tearing each other up in terrifying melee attacks, close-range bolter fire split up an Iron Hands Legionnaire just a few inches before him. But the worst were the melta-guns: Unleashed at such close range, they completely destroyed their targets, blasting them into a spray of blood and burning flesh. And he, the Composer, definitely needed one.

He stood up and looked around, drawing his swords he readied himself for another Iron Hand that was just about to get up himself. Charging at him the Composer laughed, feeling this powerful emotions was overwhelming. He got the enemy, burying his sword deep between the shoulders and pinning him to the ground. He took the meltagun of his belt and readied the shot, aiming right at the struggling Legionnaire at the floor, slowly pulling the trigger and enjoying every moment of it, it seemed like every second took an hour to pass.

The charge came with unbelievable force almost throwing the meltagun out of the Composer's hand. But also was its effect so powerful, the Legionnaire on the vanished, leaving behind just his lower body, the rest was terribly melted.
Happy about this kill the Composer picked up his sword and looked around, fighting everywhere. He saw some fellow thirds fighting against a bunch of morlock and charged to help them, one shot aimed and pulled the trigger of the melta. The shock blew it away this time, but also did it melt the Morlock.

Suddenly, something slammed into the Composer, throwing him to the ground. Two other Legionnaires fell the same way, the musician buried under them. Unable to move or hear, the Composer listened. There was someone, a being of pure power with some cold and unimposing music. It was Ferrus, he realised. Ferrus himself must have hit him! He thought the battle was lost now. They were told Fulgrim wouldn't appear on the battleground, himself, but he could hear him. The imposing musical of his soul sounded louder than anything else in the Composer's mind. He knew Flgrim was here!

Just a moment after this, a sonic burst rushed over him, throwing him and the two bodies around. He flew multiple meters through before donning a hard landing. The Composer got up and looked around, just noticing the dropsite massacre from afar. He couldn't enjoy that beautiful bore long enough, because another Morlock was charging at him, helmed, with a giant Siegehammer in his hands. Unable to find a weapon fast enough, the Composer avoided the swing, ducking under it and running around the terminator. He took the mag-locked bolter from his belt and began firing into the exhaust system on the back of the Terminator. But the Morlock turned around with another huge swing, and the musical genius ducked under it and rolled back, getting up just to aim a blow of bolts into the Terminator's helmet, blasting it away and revealing the quite young Legionnaire inside. The Composer grinned and took his helmet off too. His white hair flew around in the wind, and his deep, blue eyes fixated at the enemy. The Morlock charged for him, but, yet again, the Composer avoided the charge and the powerful swing following it, as he now jumped onto the Terminator and pressed him to the ground. The Morlock lost grip of the Hammer, and the Emperor's Children took it, beginning to smash it down onto the poor soul under him. Just a few hits, and the Terminator's head was reduced to a ruined mass of blood and gore. Now able to look around again, he saw his brethren killing and getting killed by the force of the Iron Hands. He looked up to his Primarch, just to witness how Fulgrim landed the final blow against Ferrus, decapitating him with a single swing.

Moments after the killing of Ferrus were the most interesting part of this battle for the Composer. He witnessed a possession first-hand, and saw Fulgrim get overtaken by the daemon that was encased in his sword for so long. After this, the battle ended in the swiftest manner possible, and he got assigned to his captain - to find and kill the fleeing Loyalists.