a fan fiction by Daniel Trump aka Dalton Lewis
I don’t own the characters, etc.
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This is fan fiction and therefore includes violence, sex, gay stuff, nudity, etc. so be warned.
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I, Typhus, am a hideous, terrifying monster.
I’m a fat young man in America.
They call me a fuckup and a failure.
I sat there, in English class, at Old Liberty High School, with the class telling me that I couldn’t be a space marine, ever, because they didn’t think I could lose the weight. They apologized but said that I could help in technical fields.
Horus stood up and stood on his desk.
“I believe that Typhus would make a great space marine today,” he said.
“Don’t,” I said.
“Why?” Horus asked.
“I’m three hundred pounds,” I said.
“You have armor that can teleport you around and a gun,” Horus said. “And the armor helps you to run faster and farther. You are henceforth a space marine in my employ.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Horus was the only person I talk to most days.
This was going to go badly – but I wanted to try it. I wanted to give this a chance.
Later.
I sat in my room, looking at the computer. My food – that I had ordered from Ubereats – was on its way. Double cheeseburger and seasoned fries from Denny’s meant a thousand calories or more – it meant I wouldn’t lose any weight today. I hated myself so badly for ordering it and yet I ordered it.
Horus knocked on the door to my room.
“I have an opportunity,” he said. He walked into my room. He was young, skinny, and striking in appearance, with an unforgettable face and sandy blond hair. He looked like he was brooding over something devastating. He wore black pants and a white dress shirt. “It’s a good opportunity for you. You get to do a mission, be a marine, help me out.”
“What’s up?” I asked. “What’s the mission?”
“I need you to talk to someone,” Horus said. “He’s like you, someone young and upset and hating life and overweight and a geek and all that. You might like him.”
“Okay,” I said. “How do we know him?”
“He might be a space marine,” Horus said. “There’s a theory that the government made some of us to be space marines, in a lab, in some tests.”
“Oh,” I said.
“He might have been in some of those tests,” Horus said. “I’d really like some more information about that lab and those tests and who they tested on.”
“Good,” I said.
“He’s at this location, at this hotel, the Eternal Springs Hotel, in room 404. He’s staying there for the next few days.”
“Thanks for letting me help out,” I said.
“You are welcome,” Horus said. “Go to the hotel. See what he needs, what’s wrong with him. See what the situation is.”
I walked out of my bedroom and got into my car. I canceled my Ubereats. I went over to the hotel indicated, driving through Old Liberty and over to the hotel. It was a big, spacious hotel, a nice place with a swanky entry wallway.
The hotel’s entryway opened into a palace-like place – somewhere for the rich and famous to hang out. The red drapes covered huge windows. Huge chandeliers lit up the room. Expansive couches and chairs filled the room, with rich and famous people sitting around drinking coffee and wine and discussing their important business activities.
I took the elevator up to the fourth floor. Three large black men got into the elevator with me. They started to talk about a play they were going to see with their wives. I got out after a moment and smiled.
I knocked on room 404.
“Yes?” a slow and delicate voice asked.
“Can I come in?” I asked.
“Yes,” someone said. He walked over to the door and opened it.
The door opened to a nice, standard hotel room. I sat him then. He was overweight but different: he had bulging pustules on his face. His body was deformed and massive. He was eight feet tall and had wings, strange wings which were leathery and looked ugly and terrifying. He smelled like a dead person combined with a sewer.
“Yes?” he asked.
“You are?” I asked.
“My name is Mortarion,” he said.
“I’d like to know about you,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why?” I asked.
“I’m a hideous freak,” Mortarion said. “No one wants anything to do with me.”
“I do,” I said. “I want to know who you are, how you are like this, if you wanted to look like this.”
“No one wants to look like this, young man,” Mortarion said.
“No, sir,” I said. “How old are you?”
“One,” Mortarion said. “One. I was created in a lab a year ago.”
“You busted out?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “We were separated and flown to random locations with no money or possessions or evidence or contacts. We had to make it on the streets.”
“Jesus,” I said. “Who did this to you?”
“I don’t know,” Mortarion said. “I just know that I make power sources and make enough money to stay here and eat fast food and watch movies and television and stay in my room.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a life,” I said.
“Better than life out there,” he said. “Getting screamed at, shot at, having people say that I’m invading, that I’m a monster, that they will stop me.”
“Oh,” I said.
“I don’t want to hurt any of them,” he said.
“I’d like to know something about this lab,” I said. “Do you know where it was?”
“No,” he said. “I just know that it was secret, off the books, American government, making space marines. Only some of us came out wrong. Me and Angron and Curze. The freaks. We turned out wrong.”
“Oh,” I said. “I know someone who will want to talk to you. His name’s Horus. He will want to talk to you about this program.”
“Okay,” he said. “I can agree to talk to him.”
There was a knocking at the door. I turned to see six men in suits and sunglasses, carrying handguns. They looked at us and pointed their guns at us.
“Down on the ground now, freaks!” the first one said.
“You don’t understand,” I said.
“You don’t want this,” Mortarion said. He started to get down. “You don’t want this.”
“Get on the ground!” the man with the sunglasses said.
We lay there, on the ground.
“Hands on your head!” he said.
“What is happening?” I asked.
“We are being wrongfully arrested,” Mortarion said.
“Should we fight back?” I asked.
“Do you want to?” Mortarion asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Are you innocent?” Mortarion asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“So am I,” Mortarion said.
“Let’s fight back,” I said.
I looked up. Six men in suits with FBI badges pointed guns at us.
“You’ll never win,” the lead FBI agent said.
I pressed a button with my mind, and my Death Guard armor appeared on me and my helmet appeared on my head. Mortarion grinned. He waved his hand, and the six FBI agents flew backwards, slamming into the wall in the hallway. One of them shot Mortarion, quickly, three times, and blood flew from Mortarion’s chest. Two of them shot me but didn’t penetrate the armor – yet.
I pulled my bolter and fired at the lead FBI agent. His chest exploded from the firepower of the bolter – the advanced space marine gun. He collapsed onto the ground, dead. The other five tried to scramble to pick up their guns and aim them at us again.
Mortarion chopped one’s head off with a scythe that had appeared out of nowhere.
The other four looked at each other. One of them drew a knife. Another shot at us, over and over, without effect. The third turned to run away. The fourth grabbed for his phone and tried to dial someone.
I punched the FBI agent with the knife in the head, but he stayed upright and tried to stab me in the chest. I blocked and knocked him backwards towards the bed. He pivoted and stood in the corner in between the bed and the wall. He smiled, holding the knife, looking at me. I tried to punch him again, and he stabbed me in the arm. I fell back, feeling an intense pain in my right arm. I tried to shoot him with my bolter in my left arm and he punched it out of my left arm.
Tough bastard.
He shoved me backwards, and I fell to the ground. I lay there, on the ground, looking at him, and he tried to stab me in the chest, and I kicked him. He fell backwards onto the bed. I grabbed my gun again and tried to shoot him.
Bam.
I shot him in the arm. He fell backwards, again, and threw his knife at my head. I blocked it with my right arm – which took a second deep gash. I grimaced. I looked to the right. The remaining four FBI agents were dead – minus the one who had run away. Mortarion chopped the head off of the one with whom I had been fighting.
I stood up. I had lost a lot of blood.
“I’ve lost blood,” I said.
“Relax,” he said. He gestured, and the wounds sealed themselves. I felt better immediately. I was healed by his psychic powers.
“I barely knew psychic powers were real,” I said.
“Yes,” Mortarion said. “They are real.”
I looked at a phone from one of the FBI agents. I sat on the bed, stunned, when I saw the picture there.
They had been looking for me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “These men were looking for me.”
“So?” Mortarion asked. “I was glad to help you. I’m glad to help an innocent in need.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But this place isn’t safe.”
“I know,” he said. “I have to go outside.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I can go outside,” he said.
We walked out of the room with all the bodies and the blood and everything. I texted Horus: 911 got attacked by the FBI help please respond.
No response.
I walked down the stairs with Mortarion. We walked past an old lady who stared at Mortarion but didn’t say anything. We made it down to the first floor and walked out into the lobby. There weren’t any police there yet. We walked out the front door to the hotel and into my car. Mortarion barely fit in the backseat by leaning over.
“Hey,” I said. “Sorry it’s a tight fit.”
“No problem,” he said. “I have lots of problems, that’s not one.”
“Good,” I said.
We started to drive away from the hotel and then I realized that I didn’t know where to go.
“Where do we go?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Horus hasn’t answered,” I said.
“Oh,” Mortarion said. “Maybe he isn’t such a friend after all.”
“He’s a friend,” I said. “We can trust Horus.”
“Let’s hope so,” Mortarion said.
“Where do we go?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Mortarion said.
We sat there, in my car, for a few moments.
“We could go to the school,” I said.
“They would hate me,” Mortarion said. “And turn you in.”
“Oh,” I said. “Maybe we can ask around? See if someone can help?”
“Yes,” Mortarion said.
I called Robbie G.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“The FBI wrongfully attacked us,” I said.
“You should go to them and talk it over,” he said. “Bring a lawyer.”
“No,” I said.
“No,” Mortarion said.
“Okay,” Robbie G said. “What did you do, Typhus?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Okay,” Robbie G said.
“Goodbye,” I said.
I hung up on him.
We laughed.
“I don’t know what to-”
Then an explosion rocked the area behind us. The hotel exploded in flames. Several tanks roared nearby, their weapons expelling terrible firepower. We saw them using Lemann Russ tanks with battle cannon and side sponson heavy bolters. They were destroying the hotel and everything near the hotel.
“Please tell me they’re not doing that just to target me,” I said.
“We need to find a grunt and question him,” Mortarion said. “And evaluate what they are doing, and for whom.”
“I agree,” I said. We drove towards the tanks. As we closed we saw half a dozen infantry men in a tent with autoguns and one of them with a vox caster – a communications device for the modern era.
We got out of the car – after I stopped the car – and pulled into the tent. Then we looked at the soldiers there. They looked like normal humans with guns.
“The fuck?” one asked.
“You recognize me?” I asked.
One looked at me. “Nah,” he said. “Who are you?”
“I’m Typhus, asshole, space marine,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“Boss says take down this hotel and look through it to make sure to kill a group of villains inside. Someone who killed half a dozen FBI agents. They are in the area and considered very dangerous. If you see…wait a second. You didn’t kill the FBI agents did you?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We’re innocent.”
“Kill them on sight,” the man with the vox said. “The emperor is clear. Kill all the tainted ones. Kill all allied with the demons. Kill the tainted one and the marine who dared meet with him and work with him.”
“Fuck,” I said.
“Yes,’ Mortarion said. “We are tainted. We have a demonic taint. You will kill us for that?”
They drew their autoguns and tried to fire. Mortarion drew his scythe and chopped one’s head off while avoiding most of the fire from the other soldiers. I pulled my bolter and shot one in the face. His body collapsed to the ground as his face dissipated from the damage from the weapon.
The other four shot at us but couldn’t do much damage to us. They unloaded their clips into us but our armor and health boosts held up to that level of firepower. Then a problem happened. The vox caster began to speak.
“Lemann Russes, fire at the two demon worshipers near my location,” the vox caster holding soldier said.
I looked at Mortarion. “Problem,” I said.
“It’s been grand,” Mortarion said.
The tanks turned to look at us – their turret’s main gun focused on our direction. I shot my bolter at the tank. It bounced off the tank’s formidable armor. Mortarion threw an energy ball at it and did some damage but not enough. The tank shot at us, killing one of the guard soldiers but also ripping me into the air and flying five meters back and onto the ground. I looked at my body. I was bleeding. I tried to stand but couldn’t.
“Don’t kill us,” Mortarion said. “We surrender, we surrender.”
A dozen soldiers pointed guns at us. Three tanks pointed their battle cannons at us.
“We surrender,” I said. “God, that tank is awesome.”
I blacked out then.
I woke up in a cell. Mortarion sat in the middle of the cell. He looked at me with kind eyes. He looked bedraggled.
“I’m worried,” he said. “This isn’t good.”
“I know,” I said. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “They have tanks and airplanes and mortar and mechs.”
“Oh,” I said. “What do we have against that? We have guns that don’t do much to any of that. We have a few guys with missile launchers.”
“That’s not enough,” Mortarion said.
“I know,” I said. “We need to develop more anti-armor technology soon.”
“Good,” Mortarion said. “That sounds good. Right when we get out of here, we’ll start testing weapons.”
Someone walked up to the entrance to the cell and smiled.
“Typhus, it’s your time to talk to the boss,” he said. “The boss very much wants to talk to you. Believe me, it won’t be pleasant.”
I was dragged out of the cell and walked out of the prison’s cells and over into an area that was a series of offices. They seemed to be processing a lot of evidence and going over data on their computers; I couldn’t tell what they were investigating. They took me to a conference room.
In the conference room sat me – barely able to stand and handcuffed – and a colonel, a colonel in the American military. He smiled.
“I’m Colonel Marsh,” he said. “I’m here waiting for backup.”
“Backup?” I asked.
“The Grey Knights are on their way,” he said. “They specialize in your sort of thing. You know, demons, demonic possession, that sort of thing. In the meantime, my men of the Imperial Guard – the Astra Militarum – will do just fine holding you here while we smoke out your friends. We already have a meetup scheduled with Horus. He’ll lead us to the others in your terror cell. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Fuck you,” I said.
Someone walked into the room – the most beautiful teenage girl I had ever seen or would ever see. She had long blonde hair and angelic, tender features but held a sword at her waist. She was rail-thin skinny. She was an angel of God, I was certain. She smiled.
“I’m Celestine,” she said.
“The legendary Saint C, in the flesh,” I said.
She wore a t-shirt and some jeans shorts. She sat down at the conference table. “We just want to help you, Typhus,” she said.
“No,” I said. “You want to kill some fucking ugly, scary demons.”
“No,” Celestine said. “We want to help you. You’re confused, scared.”
“Demons seem ugly, hideous, like me,” I said. “Hated and feared and considered the worst people, like me. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“No,” Celestine said. “You’re not wrong in that, Typhus. But there’s a reason for that hate, that fear. Demons are bad guys. They are trying to corrupt us and take us over, hurt us, destroy us. We need to fight back and stop them. This Mortarion, he’s a bad dude.”
“Uh huh,” I said. “He’s been nothing but nice to me.”
“That’s a front,” Celestine said. “He wants to kill, to take over.”
“From a hotel room?” I asked.
“Yes,” Celestine said. “So that he can hide.”
“Oh,” I said. “So that you can’t find him.”
“Correct,” Celestine said. “He’s a freak, a villain.”
“Ah,” I said. “We can’t have those outsider freaks.”
“You know that I don’t just round up people and kill them. We’re in a situation here, trying to stop these guys, evaluate what they’re doing, what they can do.”
“They can be my friends,” I said.
“They can use you as a soldier,” Celestine said. “Take advantage of you.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Yes,” Celestine said.
“This is fucking stupid,” I said.
Someone knocked on the door. Celestine smiled.
“Welcome, come on in,” she said. Then someone walked into the room. It was the last person I expected to enter this room with me. The Emperor, the leader of the Galactic Empire in the year 30,000 – he appeared in the room, alive and healthy. He was known to be the most powerful psychic and greatest warrior in living memory.
“Hey,” the Emperor said. He walked into the room, appearing to be a young man, not more old than a teenager. “You’re Typhus. You know who I am.”
“Hey,” I said.
“I would very much like to talk to you and your friend,” the Emperor said.
They dragged Mortarion into the room. Mortarion walked into the room and sat down.
“Dad,” Mortarion said.
“Don’t call me that,” the Emperor said.
“You’re my father,” Mortarion said. “Your DNA created me, and your experiment turned me into a monster.”
“Your worship of demons did that to you,” the Emperor said. “I didn’t turn you into a monster. You did that to yourself.”
I turned to Mortarion. “Is this true? Did demons make you different?”
“Yes,” Mortarion said.
“Oh,” I said.
“Still want to be a demon?” Celestine asked. “That’s what they’re talking about, turning you into a monster, Typhus.”
“You already think that of me,” I said.
“I don’t,” the Emperor said. “I think, if you lost some weight, you could be a quality marine. I think that you could shape up and become a quality young man, a gentleman, a good person who can look in the mirror and be proud of himself. Do you want that, Typhus?”
“I don’t want to be one of the masses, doing whatever you say,” I said.
“I don’t want blind following,” the Emperor said. “I want my followers to do the research, to know that I’m the best candidate. I want people to know that I’m a good person who will save the most lives if elected to office or given a certain assignment.”
“I don’t want to be one of your human heroes, helping human interests, fighting the demons and the aliens and trying to take over,” I said.
“But you’re human!” the Emperor said. “You have to stand up for your people. It’s what every race needs to do. Except certain members of our race want to help the enemy because, stupidity and liberalism.”
“I’m learning from demons,” I said.
“I just want to worship a demon, Dad,” Mortarion said. “That’s all I wanted.”
“No,” the Emperor said.
“I want to worship a demon,” Mortarion said. “Are you going to kill me? Your own son?”
“You’re a lab experiment,” he said.
“Made with your DNA,” Mortarion said.
“Technically,” the Emperor said. “You’re a failed experiment.”
“How is he a failure?” I asked. “Have you seen him fight? He is exactly what you would want from a super-soldier program.”
The Emperor looked at Celestine. “Find the others. All twenty of them. Get them to me. They work for me, as soon as possible, okay?” He looked at us. “I’m giving both of you nice apartments and your freedom, but I don’t want you to kill my soldiers or betray me without discussing why you’re on the other side. Okay?”
I nodded.
“Thank you,” Mortarion said.
Celestine nodded. “Follow me,” she said. She uncuffed both of us and took us through the offices and out to an open area. We turned out to be in New York City, in the middle of it. She walked us to a large skyscraper and walked into a swanky entry area.
“This building houses a lot of the Emperor’s top people,” Celestine said. “Liselle will show you to your apartments. You will be given credit cards and phones and tablets and laptops. If you need anything, anything else, you let us know.”
I smiled. “Nothing right now,” I said.
We walked to the elevator and took it up to the fortieth floor. We each had huge apartments on the 40th floor – we had huge open areas, large screen televisions, and large balconies with an amazing view of New York City’s swankiest area – the upper east side.
Liselle walked up to me. “Hello, there, sir, I’m your ad mech help. The first mission you will be given, now, is to find and extract another troubled son of the Emperor, Konrad Curze, from whatever problem he has found himself in. Do you understand your assignment?” She had dark straight hair and an impossibly skinny body and looked about twenty.
“Find and rescue Curze, got it,” I said. “Can Mortarion help?”
She nodded. “That would be best,” she said.
I grabbed my armor and my bolter and my sword and got ready to leave. I then realized that I needed to find Curze. I looked at Mortarion’s room.
“I’ll see if Mortarion can find him,” I said.
“Horus knows where he is,” Liselle said. “You know Horus. Ask Horus.”
I called Horus again. He answered this time.
“Hey,” Horus said.
“Hey,” I said. “Where’s Curze? They want to help him, talk everything out. Make everyone learn how to get along.”
“Sounds fine,” Horus said. “He’s in a small house in rural Pennsylvania. I’ll give you the address.”
“What’s he doing there?” I asked.
“Hiding from your types,” Horus said.
“We’re not all bad,” I said.
“They say you sold out,” Horus said.
“No,” I said. “We’re waiting it out, giving the Emperor a chance, trying to find the super soldiers and talk it over.”
“I’m in,” Horus said. “Let’s assemble all twenty of us. Start with Curze. He’s troubled.”
“I’m on it,” I said.
We got a van so that Mortarion could hang out in back and not be seen and could spread out. I drove out of New York City and through the state south to get to Pennsylvania. Mortarion and I chatted about life and everything as we rode through the highway.
We made it to Pennsylvania and the rural place mentioned after several hours of driving. We stopped off of the highway and rode over to a smallish house in the middle of nowhere. We walked out of our van and looked at it.
“No trespassing!” someone yelled from inside.
“I’m your brother!” Mortarion yelled.
“Oh!” someone yelled. “Come on in, then. Both of you.”
We walked up to the steps to the door and walked on in. Konrad Curze wore shorts and a filthy t-shirt. He didn’t wear socks. He looked like he hadn’t showered in days. He had unkempt brown hair and stood six foot two and was clearly in excellent shape.
“What are you doing here?” Mortarion asked.
“Looking for someone,” Curze said.
“Who?” I asked.
“The giant eagle,” Curze said.
“A giant eagle? An alien?” I asked.
Curze nodded.
“A demon?” Mortarion asked.
Curze nodded.
“Oh,” I said. “And your lead?”
“Penny Farrell,” Curze said. “Saw him twice, in this neighborhood.”
“Oh,” I said.
“I can find him, I can sense him,” Mortarion said. “This way.” We walked out the front door and walked down the road a ways and then turned down a side path. We had trees on both sides of us and went to a large building in the middle of nowhere. I looked at it and saw a guard outside – a very particular guard: the Grey Knights.
They were huge and wore grey armor and wore spears and swords and guns and walked around the building in formation.
Curze smiled. “They have him in there,” he said.
“We should report this to the Emperor,” I said.
“Or we could rescue him,” Curze said.
“I agree,” Mortarion said. “We could rescue this demon.”
“Fine,” I said. “We’ll rescue him. I hate myself so badly. We should at least check in with the Emperor’s people.”
“We’ll apologize after,” Curze said.
Curze suddenly wore dark blue armor and jumped behind two Grey Knights, backstabbing one of them in the heart and then punching the other one, knocking him to the ground. I shot that second one over and over until he died. Then we heard it: a sound. The sound came from the building – and a huge area opened to reveal a gigantic mech: a Dreadknight.
A Dreadknight was a twelve foot tall mech with a human piloting it – it carried a huge gun and a bigger sword. It looked at us, its driver looked at us, and then he winked. He pointed his psycannon at us and started to fire like crazy at us. Mortarion sent warp energy to smite him, and he countered with his mind, blocking the blow.
Curze shot at the Dreadknight, doing damage to the armor but not close to destroying it. I grabbed my sword and stabbed at his left leg, slamming my sword into the metal but not breaking the leg. The pilot swung its sword at me, and I backed away while parrying, still knocked backwards by the power of the blow. I staggered.
Curze leaped up onto the back of the Dreadknight and started to stab it with his lightning claws, rending at it and trying to wreck its systems. The weapons weren’t designed to hurt a mech, though, and didn’t finish off the dreadknight. I stabbed its leg again, and this time I broke the left leg, making the Dreadknight stagger and fall to one knee. Mortarion then sliced the pilot’s head off with his scythe, melting the cockpit’s protective covering like it wasn’t even there.
The Dreadknight collapsed. Six Grey Knights looked at us. “How did you do that?” one asked.
“We’re space marines,” Curze said.
“Oh,” the Grey Knight said. “So are we, or we’re supposed to be.”
“Go away,” I said. “Walk away.”
“We can’t,” a Grey Knight said. “You can’t rescue him. The demon.”
“Why?” I asked.
“You’d hear him speak, and listen, and like him. We can’t have that. We can’t admit the existence of a sympathetic demon. He has to be contained.”
“Jesus,” I said. “Leave.”
They charged at us. I slammed my sword into the sword of one of the Grey Knights as several of them used a psychic power to make their weapons more powerful. Curze disappeared and reappeared behind them. He backstabbed one of them, his lightning claws slamming into a chest and killing a Grey Knight. Mortarion picked one up and squashed his head in his hands. The remaining Grey Knights turned and ran away, screaming in fear. They sounded more like teenagers than anything else.
We walked down into the building and saw him. They had burnt him, stabbed him, and tortured him. He was about fifteen feet tall and avian – he was birdlike, and he had a staff and looked at us with quiet, kind eyes.
“Are you here to torture me?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Mortarion said. “We wanted to know who you are.”
“I am Kairos Fateweaver, a demon of the God Tzeentch. I want to spread the good word that Tzeentch is a benevolent deity who doesn’t hate or fear humans. I wanted to show up on Earth to convince people that humans and demons can learn to coexist.”
“And they locked you up,” Curze said. “They couldn’t have you say that. They needed the war. Anything for the war.”
“I’m sorry,” Fateweaver said. “The actions of a few don’t prove the guilt of the many. There are plenty of humans who don’t hate me, or fear me, and who might learn to get along with me and my kind, if we just give them a chance.”
“I agree,” Mortarion said. “Where should you go? To the Emperor?”
Fateweaver nodded. “I should talk to him,” he said. “We should see what he says, about a real demon, a good one.”
Control: Life with Mental Illness 