Lorgar's voice, like a quenched sharp blade, pierced the air in the Throne Room that had frozen due to the truth of the Warp.
His questioning was not only out of shock at the collapse of the Imperial Truth, but also stemmed from a long-suppressed, nearly desperate craving for faith.
Ever since the ashes of Monarchia, the Perfect City, cooled beneath his feet, his soul had been searching for a new shrine.
At this moment, the 'Loki' revealed on the screen was both a terrifying nightmare and a kind of twisted gospel to him.
It proved that there truly were existences in the Universe that transcended the mundane and were worthy of worship.
Most of the Primarchs present cast complex gazes at Lorgar's nearly indecorous behavior.
There was incomprehension, there was contempt, but more so, a shared sense of bewilderment.
They had fought for two hundred years, striving for a pure, rational Universe without gods or demons.
And now, this foundation was shaken.
The Emperor sat upon the Golden Throne, his deep gaze passing through the halo of psychic energy to fall upon Lorgar's face—the one most similar to his own, yet filled with fanaticism and pain.
An unspeakable sense of fatigue welled up in his heart.
He could conquer stars and create demigods, but he could not truly reshape a heart that had already become paranoid.
"Lorgar, my child, words have the power to shape reality."
The Emperor's voice was low and firm, without a trace of emotional fluctuation, yet as indisputable as the laws of the Universe.
"To bestow the name of 'god' upon the energy parasites of the Warp is to hand over the most powerful weapon in the Universe—faith."
"What you see are not deities, but twisted reflections of universal emotions and beliefs, predators that grow strong by feeding on the souls of sentient life."
The Emperor paused, his voice becoming even colder.
"The existence of the Imperial Truth was not to deny their objective existence, but aimed at fundamentally severing their foundations."
"We starve these greedy Beasts by denying their divinity. Lorgar, you crave truth, but you must understand that some truths are traps in themselves."
"To acknowledge them as gods is the first step in kneeling and surrendering to them."
This explanation was full of cold pragmatism; it did not soothe Lorgar's soul, but instead provided new scriptures for his soon-to-be-twisted faith.
The fire in Lorgar's eyes did not extinguish; instead, it burned even more fiercely.
He slowly sat down, murmuring to himself as if constructing an entirely new theological system.
"There is a proverb on Chogoris: 'Mankind makes two great mistakes—one is pretending the path to heaven does not exist, and the other is blindly worshipping it.'"
Jaghatai Khan's calm and clear voice suddenly rang out, like a breeze blowing away the oppressive atmosphere in the Throne Room.
His gaze first swept over the pensive Lorgar, then looked unblinkingly at the Emperor on the throne.
"Father, you and my brother have already committed both of these mistakes."
The Emperor did not directly respond to the Khan's razor-sharp assessment. He simply took a deep breath and waved his hand, signaling everyone to continue watching.
For he knew that what was about to be revealed next was a truth even more capable of shaking the resolve of his sons than the existence of 'gods.'
The images on the screen switched again, pulling everyone's attention back.
This time, the footage unfolded before everyone like scenes from a bloody epic.
The Emperor's figure gradually became clear on the screen; he was no longer the God-Emperor sitting upon the throne, but the Unifier walking among the ruins of Terra.
The footage showed how he, with unparalleled decisiveness and power, created the first generation of gene-enhanced warriors—the Thunder Warriors.
Those giants clad in crude power armor followed in the Emperor's footsteps, using fire and sword to reunify the fractured and war-torn Terra under the banner of the Imperium.
They were heroes, the founders of the Imperium; their loyalty and bravery could still sear the hearts of every Primarch present through the screen.
However, the scene immediately shifted to the summit of Mount Ararat.
When the last battle of the Unification Wars ended, those loyal and brave Thunder Warriors were met with a heartless purge from behind.
The executioners were none other than the gold-armored Custodes whom they trusted most.
Scenes of bloody slaughter played out before the eyes of all the Primarchs.
There were no honorable duels, only efficient, cold, and systematic extermination.
Although the Primarchs knew more or less about the tragic fate of the Thunder Warriors through various channels.
But seeing this cruel truth with their own eyes, a monstrous wave of emotion still surged uncontrollably in everyone's heart.
Their thoughts instantly drifted to the missing Second and Eleventh Legions, erased from the Imperial records—those former brothers who now could only gather dust in the annals of the Imperium's history.
"Ha... Hahahaha!" Angron's suppressed laughter, like a broken bellows, rang out.
He stood up abruptly, the Butcher's Nails churning frantically in his skull, causing his scar-covered face to become extremely distorted.
"Look! Look, my brothers! This is the 'glory' we fight for! This is our father's 'mercy'! Tools that have been used up should be thrown into the furnace without hesitation!"
His roar echoed in the hall, filled with bone-deep hatred and self-mockery.
He seemed to see his gladiator brothers who died on Nuceria in those Thunder Warriors, seeing his own destined tragic fate.
Just as Angron's fury was about to ignite the entire room, a cold voice filled with calculation and suspicion spoke first.
"Lion." Perturabo spoke slowly, his deep-set eyes like two bottomless wells, staring intently at the Primarch of the Dark Angels.
"The First Legion fought alongside the Custodes during the dark ages of Terra. Regarding this 'purge,' regarding the truth of Mount Ararat, it's impossible for you to know nothing."
His voice wasn't loud, but it struck the heart of every Primarch like a battering ram.
"You never mentioned this to us."
"Was it Father's prohibition, or is it that in the eyes of you who followed him first, we latecomers are also just... consumables like the Thunder Warriors?"
The lord of iron's questioning instantly redirected the conflict from the Emperor to the eldest Primarch.
All eyes were focused on Lion ElJonson.
Lion ElJonson slowly turned his head, his handsome yet expressionless face showing eyes like the deepest cold pools of Caliban, reflecting no emotion.
"My Legion fulfills its duty to the Emperor, Perturabo."
The Lion El'Jonson's voice was cold and devoid of warmth, as if stating a foregone conclusion.
"My duty does not include explaining to you, nor does it require your trust. Mind your walls and soldiers, maintain your loyalty. That is enough."
This arrogant and contemptuous response was like an invisible slap across Perturabo's face.
The lord of iron's breathing instantly became heavy, and his fists beneath his power armor creaked.
But he eventually did not lash out, only slowly sat back down, his gloomy face showing no expression.
But the aura of isolation and betrayal radiating from him made the surrounding air freeze.
"Father," Sanguinius's voice, like heavenly music, rang out softly, breaking this suffocating stillness.
His angelic face was filled with an unshakeable worry, and his long golden hair floated slightly under the psychic radiance.
"We were born for war; we are the sharpest swords in your hand."
"But when the Great Crusade ends, when the galaxy welcomes peace... at that time, what kind of end will a weapon meet in an era that no longer needs it?"
This question was heavier than a direct interrogation; it touched upon the fundamental meaning of all the Primarchs' existence and voiced their deepest fears.
The Emperor's gaze swept over Sanguinius, a rare flash of softness appearing in his eyes.
"My son, you are far more than just weapons."
The Emperor's voice rang out with a soothing power, echoing in every corner of the Throne Room.
"You are extensions of my will, the pillars of humanity's future. The end of the war is merely a transition of your mission, not its conclusion."
"You will become builders, Guardians, and leaders. Guilliman, you will establish an empire that will endure for ten thousand generations;"
"Fulgrim, you will revive humanity's most brilliant arts;"
"Magnus, you will lead humanity onto the correct psychic path... Each of you has a mission far grander than war. You will lead humanity toward an unprecedented golden age."
The Emperor added in his heart:
They only see the end of this crusade, but cannot glimpse that truly eternal war hidden deep within the Warp.
I will never abandon them, for they are my only hope against that ultimate darkness.
This is a... truth they are not yet prepared to bear.
I give them hope so that they can better face the despair of the future.*
The Emperor's words elicited different reactions from the Primarchs present. Guilliman nodded thoughtfully, as if already beginning to conceive the administrative blueprint for the Imperium's future.
Fulgrim's eyes sparkled with a longing for a new era of art and culture;
While Mortarion only let out a disdainful snort, clearly regarding all of this as another empty promise to stave off hunger.
Angron's face was filled with irritability; to him, a future without war was meaningless, and that so-called peace would only make the Butcher's Nails in his head more painful.
In this delicate atmosphere, the light on the screen shifted again, and a new image was about to play, interrupting the Primarchs' complex thoughts.
The image did not, as they expected, continue to play the history of the Great Crusade, but abruptly switched to a massive underground laboratory filled with petri dishes and life-support pods.
Several cold words appeared on the screen: [Primarch Project], [The Lost Sons].
At this moment, the hearts of all the Primarchs tightened suddenly.
The viewing continued.
And this time, what it was about to reveal was the darkest and most core secret of their origins.