The Stormbird charged into the storm.
The raging wind season of the Orchis Valley was the most infamous spectacle on the Dawn Star. Whenever this world was intensely illuminated by its orbiting star in the Northern Hemisphere, vast amounts of hot and cold air would move around with changes in temperature. Most of them would eventually undergo the most violent and prolonged collision and fusion in the wide Orchis Valley, forming a raging wind season that, at its largest scale, could sweep across half the world.
This phenomenon was so famous that every year, tourists from other worlds would come to witness it, adding anywhere from a dozen to a hundred new foreign deaths to the Dawn Star's annual tally.
"All our navigators have completely lost control, my Lord. Data shows the electromagnetic overload rate here has reached at least 400%! No instrument can withstand that number!"
Barban Falk's panicked voice dissipated in the violent wind outside the reinforced glass. Perturabo, however, ignored his son's discomposure. At this moment, the Primarch stared intently at the control panel before him, where dozens of instruments were neatly arranged, but they had all lost their function, leaving only the ticking and banging sounds caused by their frantically swinging needles.
The Stormbird, belonging to the Primarch of the Iron Warriors Legion, was naturally custom-made. Perturabo personally forged his aerial mount into a celestial fortress capable of soaring through Legion-level firepower. Not even the most violent hurricane could cause his creation to disintegrate.
And even if anti-aircraft fire did unfortunately shoot down this iron eagle, the dozen or so elite Astartes deployed on it, or even the Primarch himself, would make the shooter regret their overly explosive luck.
But the Primarch and his servants now faced another problem: the continuous days of storms in the valley had severely disrupted the magnetic field here. They were trapped at the very center of the gale, unable to even distinguish simple directions like north, south, east, and west, let alone maintain a consistent direction to break through the storm.
Falk's gaze lingered in the dark gray roar. He could even see the crashed or shredded aircraft scattered on the surface, strewn in all directions. Some still had fresh paint, while others were already pure, decaying scrap metal.
Clearly, they weren't the only unfortunates trapped here. Some of them quickly became fragments in the wind along with their unstable vehicles, while others were even less fortunate: their sturdy aircraft temporarily saved them from the storm, allowing these trapped beasts to slowly watch their fuel drain, desperately calculating how much longer they had until they plummeted to the ground.
But Falk had no time to mourn them, for he and his gene-father were now following in their footsteps. Perturabo gripped his trident, trying to remain calm. After a fruitless moment of thought, he turned his gaze to his father.
Perhaps to others, Perturabo of Olympia was a neurotic tyrant, a completely unreasonable madman. But the Iron Warriors did not think so.
Despite encountering the most terrifying greeting in the galaxy, a large number of Iron Warriors still regarded their gene-father as a slayer of monsters, a victor of war, a creator of fortresses—a powerful father, like a god, yet infinitely distant from them due to various Primarchs.
Falk was one of them. When everything seemed hopeless, he almost naturally turned his gaze to his gene-father—not just him, every Iron Warrior present was doing the same.
Bathed in the expectant gazes of his sons, Perturabo merely looked up at the sky.
After a long time, he uttered a clear command.
——————
From the moment he gained memory, Perturabo never liked looking up at the sky.
Because he always saw it.
He always saw that eye, that incredibly vast eye in the starry sky.
It had no white and no pupil; it simply stood there, hollowly scanning everything around it, as if it would suck them all in.
Perturabo feared it, an instinctive fear.
When he finally reunited with his father, when he finally returned to the Imperium, he began to understand the truth of the stars and the galaxy, and he knew the identity of that eye: the Imperium's people called it Cygnus X-1.
Among the Emperor's subjects, some believed it was merely an exceptionally rare celestial body, others thought it was a unique black hole, while historians referred to it as the lost capital of some ancient empire.
But Perturabo did not believe these claims. He gave this eye a name:
The Eye of Terror.
He could always see it, and even when he couldn't, he could feel it, no matter where he was in the galaxy.
And now, as always, when Perturabo looked up at the starry sky, even though his vision was obscured by endless storms, he could still instinctively pinpoint the location of the Eye of Terror.
According to its bearing, the Primarch began his navigation. He commanded the Stormbird's operators with calculations and verbal orders. After repeated failures and attempts, when the relentless passage of time caused even the most steadfast Iron Warriors to feel anxious, they finally broke through.
"...Oh my god."
The moment he burst out of the storm, Falk almost involuntarily exclaimed. He was both marveling at his gene-father's power and at what lay beyond the storm.
It seemed Perturabo didn't need to search at all, because what he was looking for was right behind the storm, visible to anyone at a glance.
Not because it was conspicuous, but because it was huge, truly massive.
The entire Orchis Valley had been completely transformed. It was now a purely gigantic artificial platform, covered with all sorts of machinery and automated robots. The Lord of Iron could tell at a glance the purpose of this giant machine: it was driving its drills and instruments deep into the ground, fundamentally shaking the Dawn Star's tectonic plates. Perturabo couldn't determine exactly how it achieved this, because he saw countless machines on that platform that he didn't even recognize. Perhaps it was an ancient artifact from the Golden Age.
The Lord of Iron tried to make his Stormbird approach, but the almost ceaseless anti-aircraft fire above the platform dissuaded him. After much hesitation, Perturabo still made a decision.
"Falk, connect me to the orbital fleet."
——————
Orchis was burning.
Based on the coordinates provided by the Primarch, the fleet loyal to the Imperium quickly found their prey. Although the valley's strong winds were enough to resist most outsiders, these natural defenses were still pale and weak in the face of the Imperial fleet's firepower.
Perturabo witnessed the bombs and high-temperature rays descending from the sky, little by little destroying this gigantic machine. But his face did not light up with joy as all this happened, because the Lord of Iron could clearly feel that despite the machine being destroyed, the Dawn Star's crust was still operating at an excessively violent speed.
Clearly, this machine had completed its mission.
The end of the Dawn Star was inevitable.
Falk held his breath. He watched his father's face darken little by little. On the surface, Perturabo was still giving orders normally. The Stormbird, under his command and navigation, successfully broke out of the storm and began to fly back to Carena City.
But privately, based on his own experience, Trident could determine that countless dark clouds were swirling in his gene-father's heart. He was unsure if those dark clouds stemmed from the destruction of the Dawn Star, or the helplessness of having to order the destruction of a relic artifact.
And with the communication from Pholix, the Lord of Iron's dark clouds reached their peak.
"Carena City has been attacked, my Lord."
Pholix's voice was calm and orderly. Falk could hear the communicator filled with cries for help and orders to clear the battlefield.
"Is it resolved?"
"Yes, my Lord. Magnus also rescued the Imperial Governor, who was a follower of [Sith Lord]. He used his authority to open [Salimavis]'s defensive field, aiding the mob's attack."
"But Lord Magnus returned in time, and under his command and direction, the rebellion has been suppressed."
"Very good."
Perturabo's praise had barely settled when he heard his brother snatch the communicator.
"Perturabo, can you hear me? It's Magnus."
"Yes, my brother, of course I can hear you."
"Alright... I have something to tell you."
"Speak."
"I think we need to withdraw our forces. I mean—your Legion and my Legion, both withdraw, back to the orbital fleet."
"..."
"Now is not the time for jokes, Magnus."
"I am not joking."
"Withdraw? Magnus, my brother, you speak so easily, but what about the refugees? There are at least several million people still on the Dawn Star who haven't been evacuated. Do you want me to abandon them?!"
The Lord of Iron's roar made the swiftly flying Stormbird tremble three times.
"This is what I have to tell you, brother."
On the other end of the communicator, Magnus seemed to take a deep breath.
"I know this is hard to accept, but..."
"Perturabo, we need to kill them."
"Who? Kill who?"
"The people of Dawn Star, all the people of Dawn Star. We need to kill all of them."
"..."
"..."
"...Do you know what you're saying, Magnus?!"
"I know, and I understand."
"And I can also tell you, Perturabo, my brother."
"All of this is for them."
"All of this is for the Imperium."
There were some family matters today, so the update is a bit weak. I apologize here.
As for Perturabo and the Eye of Terror, Perturabo could indeed see the Eye of Terror from a young age, and it was he who named the Eye of Terror. Perhaps this counts as a special ability?
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