Lord of War

Kidumesh, recording his podcast.
Art I commissioned, by Morningstar Sigma

Kidumesh's smile waned the moment High Magister Ishtaria left his office. Walking back to his desk, he was disappointed to find he didn't even have any recaf left. Khorne take vengeance but this was turning out to be quite the afternoon, and it wasn't even nearly over! It's not like he disliked Ishtaria, far from it. But the old priestess was, shall we say, keenly aware of the Church's prerogatives, and wasn't about to let their near-century of friendship get in the way of vigorously claiming them.

He turned to his aide, a logistician specially sequestered from The Office for Ceremonial Calculations.

"Šar Ḫumpar Apil-bī, see to it Ishtaria gets Pactmen assigned to assist with Trials on worlds currently being liberated. Reassign them from whatever front has the worst MPM performance, and schedule a meeting with whichever failing demigaur-kisiri takes the hit so I can look them in the eye and explain how this represents my vote of confidence in their command ability."

"Yes, High Demigaur. In the meantime, your next meeting is with the representative from the Qarnu Anšar. I believe he's waiting outside -- shall I invite Ṣul-Kaššim in?"

"Ah, can I get five? I feel like I need a dip in the blood saunas after that."

"Of course, revered one. But in that case we shall need a fresh supply of stress-slaves; Ṣul-Kaššim has already killed 17 in his impatience, and it's starting to strain the office supply."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kidumesh gestured for Ṣul-Kaššim to be let in immediately after all. He fixed the smile back on his face and prepared to meet the most honoured ambassador of the Qarnu Anšar.

Opulence was never the style in the Sanguinary Utnapishtim; but, still, this was the office of one of the most important men in the Empire, and the space was designed clearly to convey as much. Generally, things were designed to look impressive without being showy, the whole tenor of the room was one of self-confident power. Large as these things go, but built on human-scale; its rounded interior mainly designed for comfortable lounging while affairs of state were being discussed among the kind of people important enough to be in here. The only more utilitarian feature was its more rectangular bureau area furthest from the door, but even there Kidumesh's grand old oak desk preserved a sense of ceremonial significance. Even the office doors themselves were huge and thick, their ogee arch design swinging inwards in a stately fashion -- or, at least, that's how they opened when not having been directly kicked by a super-soldier in service to the god of war and murder. As it stands they flew open at mach speeds, and it was only by grace of Khorne and his years of logistical training that Šar Ḫumpar Apil-bī was able to gracefully side-step and avoid being crushed.

Ṣul-Kaššim barged in bellowing something or another about what an indignity it was he'd been kept waiting. The 8 foot tall super soldier was dressed in near rags, as was typical for his kind when out of power-armour. His deathly pale skin, evidently untouched by any sun since so rarely out of armour, was covered in scars. And he had a ginormous chain-axe strapped across his back. Normally, when hosting a guest Kidumesh would have left his desk to sit with a guest in the shallow-inset pillowed area that made up the bulk central circle; indeed, that had been where most of his meeting with Ishtaria had taken place. But in this case he thought he may as well stay behind the desk; Kidumesh somewhat got the impression that this chap would not be one for pillow lounging.

Still, Kidumesh stood up from his desk chair and gave a wide armed, open palmed, gesture of welcome, saying

"Ṣul-Kaššim, Mighty one! It fills me with rage to see you, how have things been going for the Puratem suppression?"

But to this friendly overture Ṣul-Kaššim replied:

"DO NOT DELAY ME FURTHER, MORTAL! YOU KNOW WHY I AM HERE! IN THE NAME OF THE BLOOD GOD GIVE ME WHAT I COME FOR OR I SHALL STRIKE YOU DOWN HERE AND NOW"

It is difficult to adequately describe the effect of a post-human berserker of Khorne screaming at you in rage, but suffice it to say it is not an entirely pleasant experience. Despite his years in service to the Sanguinary Utnapishtim, for instance, Šar Ḫumpar Apil-bī had been unable to stop himself physically collapsing, and was now gibbering in terror while holding a pillow over his ears. If Ṣul-Kaššim had been more observant he perhaps would have paused at the fact that Kidumesh was utterly unfazed.

Without losing that pict-star smile of his, Kidumesh continued:

"Ah yes, straight down to warfare with no cutting around the artery - I respect that, a man after my own heart! If I recall correctly, your Centurian requested an increase in ceramite production? Well, I'm afraid to say the Etogaur and I have discussed that and it's a hard no-can-do, Mighty warrior. Changing the 8 Year Plan at this stage would just interfere with vital logistician pencil production to an unacceptable degree. I know that wasn't what you wanted to hear -- but look, rather than seeing it as a set-back I think of this as an opportunity for some blue-skies thinking, so I was hoping that today we might find some common grou--"

But, before Kidumesh could finish his sentence, Ṣul-Kaššim had recovered himself from his shock at being denied. With post-human speed he rushed across what remained of the room to Kidumesh's desk and punched clean through the dry wall inches from the Demigaur's head, his impossibly-muscled arms easily extending across the width of the thing. Behind them, Šar Ḫumpar Apil-bī had recovered himself and raised an eyebrow, part-quizzically and part-in-alarm, at Kidumesh. Likewise, Kidumesh's loxatl bodyguard who had been nonchalantly lounging on the ceiling (nobody ever looked up -- why does nobody ever look up?), briefly stirred and prepared to pounce. But Kidumesh reassured both with a subtle shake of his head, and instead tapped his empty mug. The loxatl returned to his idle state, while Šar Ḫumpar Apil-bī, understanding the signal, slipped out of the room to gather the necessary supplies.

Kidumesh's bodyguard. (Source.)

Meanwhile, Ṣul-Kaššim continued in a low growl at Kidumesh between pants of breath:

"You would dare deny the Blood Lord's mightiest warriors our armour in favour of pencils!? What say I tear you asunder right here, mortal, and see if your replacement might better know his place?!"

Kidumesh calmly took a step back, brushing some of the dry-wall flakes off his shoulders almost absent minded as he did so, before responding

"Sully, you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

Ṣul-Kaššim began his furious rejection of the diminutive but Kidumesh simply spoke over him.

"You're new here, aren't you Sully? Centurian Izdubar's last ambassador, Ašgandu, we had a good working relationship. I miss Ašgandu - his eyes upon the river aeternal. Do you want to know why we had a good working relationship? He knew how to play the game, when to push and when to cede. And some advice? Right now, comrade, Sully, after Mot? You're better off ceding. Trust me, I'm on your side here, I've long been a proponent of the special relationship between the Sherden Pact and the Qarnu Anšar. And there are sceptics out there, believe me. But myself? I want to make this work. I want to make us work. So why don't we try and make this work? Together. Help me help you."

Ṣul-Kaššim was at this point only held back from ultra-violence by his confusion. This was not how he envisioned this conversation going; indeed, this was not how any conversation with a mortal had ever gone for him in all three centuries of his post-human life. Admittedly, most of his conversations with mortals consisted of him screaming hate at them and them responding with vague gurgling sounds as their throats were torn out. But even the longer fare were typically marked by a bit more deference on the mortal side. Gathering himself, Ṣul-Kaššim was thus able to reply in acid tones:

"You amuse me, mortal. So I shall give you this last chance before I simply cleave you in twain and have done with it. For the greater glory of his Qarnu Anšar, Izdubar expects me to come out of this conversation with a pledge for 12 percent increase in ceramite production. I shall not fail him, which means you shall not fail me. Find a way to make it happen or I will see to it your skull is shattered into so many pieces it cannot possibly adorn His throne!"

Staring him dead in the eye, Kidumesh responded with all apparent sincerity:

"I hear what you're saying, and I want to be absolutely clear that I will always hold our brave warriors of the Qarnu Anšar in the highest respect. No one respects Khorne's Astartes more than I do. But sometimes respect means saying "no", and that is what I'm here to tell you today."

"HOW DARE YOU!?"

Alas, Ṣul-Kaššim was back to screaming. Kidumesh suspected he was not really suited to the role of ambassador. Kidumesh inwardly sighed: he really did miss Ašgandu. In any case, Ṣul-Kaššim went on at similar volume:

"HOW DARE YOU DENY US?!? I WILL TEAR OFF YOUR ARM OFF AND BEAT YOU TO DEATH WITH IT, I WILL..."

There were more threats in a similar vein, but Kidumesh was barely paying attention now as he saw Šar Ḫumpar Apil-bī had just returned with the recaf he'd requested. So, he tried to bring the meeting to a close, idly responding to Ṣul-Kaššim as he walked around the desk to meet his aide.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh. I hear you buddy, really I do. But, look, I'm afraid I really have turn to other pressing matters now, I'm sure you know how it is. We'll meet again next week, how about that? Can I get you anything else before you head back to the voidport?"

Ṣul-Kaššim didn't even bother replying, incensed at the disrespect and intending to kill the old bureaucrat to drive home his point. The space marine literally leapt over Kidumesh to seize Šar Ḫumpar Apil-bī by the neck, effortlessly raising him in one arm as the feeble logistician struggled to hold on to the fresh recaf pot while the air left his body. Not liking where this was going, Kidumesh tried to talk Ṣul-Kaššim down before events became tragic:

"Sully, really, I am sure we can work this out. Why don't you put down Šar Ḫumpar Apil-bī and we can talk more about this -- how about I move that meeting up from next week to tomorrow? Two days from now, tops."

This at least did cause Ṣul-Kaššim to cast Šar Ḫumpar Apil-bī aside, throwing hm down so roughly that the pot of recaf thrown clean across the room and smashed on the far wall. But only because, diplomacy be damned, Ṣul-Kaššim was rounding on Kidumesh himself. Walking back towards the High Demigaur now, like a predator approaching prey it knows to be wounded and intending to savour the kill, the mighty Qarnu Anšar slowly and deliberately intoned:

"Mortal, I have slain monsters, wrestled angels of the false Emperor, contended with xenos horrors your mind could scarce comprehend. In one on one combat I cut down the mighty Shophet with my own chainaxe! So believe me when I say that, as satisfying as I shall find this, I will scarce remember slaying you a century from now, you are nothing to a warrior such as me."

As if to punctuate Ṣul-Kaššim's point, Kidumesh's antique wall clock struck, letting out 4 blood curdling screams to signify the hour. It was here Kidumesh's calm façade broke for the first time:

"Shoot! Now I'm going to be late for my 4pm!"

He looked round Ṣul-Kaššim (having to lean quite considerably given his bulk) to the spluttering logistician who was just about recovered enough to raise from the floor, and said

"Šar Ḫumpar Apil-bī please go and let the Requisition Committee know I will be right over, we'll have this wrapped up here shortly."

At this last insult Sul-Kaššim lunged, the speed of an Astartes again seeming nigh impossible given their bulk. He went to wrap one hand around Kidumesh's throat, and with the other he unholstered his chain-axe. But, before his lunge into Kidumesh was even complete, the mighty Astartes roared in pain and gaped at his hand. All of his fingers had broke at once, and Ṣul-Kaššim was shocked to find his now-disfigured hand was held in a vice-like grip by one of Kidumesh's. When he sought to bring the chain axe round into Kidumesh, the wily politician effortlessly dodged the blow, moving so quickly that Ṣul-Kaššim's advanced senses could barely perceive him.

Kidumesh's eyes were now glowing red.

"Those little slap-fights you described? They sound cute, Sully; really, they do. But, and I say this with the utmost respect, they also evince the problem with our honoured allies in the Qarnu Anšar. In fact, and don't think I don't see the irony, but this is exactly what your enemies in the Requisition Committee always bring up! You guys think in terms of fights, you kill people in duels. Me? I operate on a grander scale."

An unnatural darkness was forming behind and around and, somehow, within, Kidumesh. Emanating from that darkness were distant roars and screams and the rolling thunder of cannon fire. Kidumesh didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't feel any need to acknowledge any of this. Ṣul-Kaššim found himself unable to move. Without releasing his hand, indeed casually breaking Ṣul-Kaššim's arm, he stepped closer to loom over the now kneeling space marine. Kidumesh went on:

"I earned the Blood God's favour by sacrificing sectors to Him. I don't think I could tell you the name of anyone I killed; after all, the time I spent learning their names would have been time wasted! I have far more, shall we say, productive, ways to spend my time. That requisition meeting you're delaying? By steering that room in the right direction this afternoon I'll see more skulls reaped for the Throne than you'll manage if you eke out another 5 centuries of your petty skirmishes. And those pencils you think so unimportant? They're for calculating the dead, ensuring we can keep count so as to work out just how much POWER...

(for a brief moment Kidumesh's voice became something else, something distorted, something Other - of the warp - terrifying and ancient and louder than anything Ṣul-Kaššim had ever heard, without actually generating any sound at all)

"... we have generated by and through and for our glorious Blood Lord. Because once you get into the billions, the trillions?" Kidumesh chuckled, "Let me tell you Sully, the ritual calculations start needing the kinda mathematics that goes far over my head."

Tendrils of blood were emerging from the blackness around Kidumesh, whose form by this point could only be scarcely made out as a silhouette - indeed his glowing red eyes were the only thing Ṣul-Kaššim could clearly see at all. The blood tendrils, meanwhile were snaking around Ṣul-Kaššim's body; they were icy on his skin, the liquid somehow utterly rigid and impossibly heavy. The blood, the foul unclean blood, got into his eyes and under his nails and into his mouth, and where it made contact with the surface of his skin it began to cut into him. For the first time in three centuries Ṣul-Kaššim wanted to scream in terror, but his throat was far too constricted for that.

Kidumesh kept talking.

"Now don't get the wrong idea, Sully, I'm about more than just running the numbers! I am, always, a father and an Urukite. I am a patriot who loves his Empire, and a loyal servant of the Blood God. I know that behind every skull is a story, and that every massacre has a meaning. And that matters to me, really it does. But, still, in my heart of hearts? I'm an administrator."

Somehow, impossibly in this enclosed space, lightning struck when Kidumesh uttered that last word, and great beasts could be heard to howl in blood-crazed anguish from the enveloping darkness.

Kidumesh went on.

"I see to it that people and tools are used most effectively. Securing the greatest slaughter of the greatest number isn't just a slogan to me, it's a passion. And I'm good at it! It's why Khorne has shown me favour, why the Etogaur, 8 fold blessings upon him, keeps me around. And you? You can be a good tool for me too, if you know your place. Certainly it would be a real shame to waste such a useful little tool all because of a simple misunderstanding like this. Hey, it's your first day, you're new at this! We've all been there, don't think I don't know it! So I'm going to give you another shot. You're a smart guy, I'm sure you can work out some way to explain to Centurian Izdubar why he doesn't need that ceramite after all. Or maybe you can find some other way to explain to him how a mere mortal like me reduced you to... this."

Kidumesh dropped Ṣul-Kaššim's arm, and the High Demigaur's eyes flashed red so bright as to be near blinding. Such was the glare's intensity that without thought Ṣul-Kaššim attempted to raise his broken arm to shield his own vision, resulting in a groan of pain from the broken Astartes.

Kidumesh continued.

"I'll leave that to you, delegation as we call it in the management business. It's your call, champ! But I will tell you one more thing. Some free advice. If you ever, EVER, spill my recaf again? I will rip your fucking head off and use your skull as a chalice for my least favourite wine, you hear me?"

The darkness faded in an instant. Kidumesh's eyes were normal again, and he had that same winning smile that had convinced oh so many requisition committees to divert resources to his chosen projects. From his prone position Ṣul-Kaššim could now see Kidumesh's loxatl bodyguard hanging from the ceiling; its saurine xenos expression somehow gave the impression of snickering. In any case, though the pain was great, Ṣul-Kaššim found he could move again, and with a gentle cough Šar Ḫumpar Apil-bī drew attention to the fact that he was pointedly holding the office door open and inviting the Astartes to leave.

Kidumesh called out to Ṣul-Kaššim as he made his way out:

"Hey Sully, let's circle back to this, okay? I'll have my people talk to your people, maybe we can pencil you in next week?"

Dazed and confused, Ṣul-Kaššim missed the pun; Kidumesh chuckled at his own joke.