Chapter 50 The Enemy Who Slayed His Father
"Tsk… so similar. So very similar."
The gathered Primarchs studied their newly arrived brother from a distance, each wearing a different expression.
Chemoth
Chemoth was a mining world in the Eastern Fringe.
Warp storms had isolated it for centuries.
Its mineral wealth, once vast, had been stripped bare. What remained of civilization retreated into colossal factory-fortresses, each ruled by industrial dynasties that controlled the last resources of the planet.
Workers labored endlessly for ration scraps.
Art, music, and leisure had become myths.
Survival was the only culture left.
The Child in the Ash District
The Primarch's capsule fell into a civilian slum.
Three workers found the child.
One wanted to kill it — fearing mutation, curse, or reprisal.
Two defended the infant.
The man who raised his hand against the child died in the struggle.
The baby lived.
They named him Vograim.
Rise of the Perfect Worker
Vograim grew rapidly.
Even as a child he could:
repair complex industrial systems
redesign inefficient machinery
optimize production output
perform the labor of multiple workers
He ate little.
Worked endlessly.
Never complained.
Factory overseers took notice.
Promotion followed promotion.
Under his improvements:
productivity soared
rations stabilized
living conditions improved
energy consumption decreased
maintenance failures vanished
But Vograim did something no overseer had done:
He restored culture.
Music.
Murals.
Performance.
Beauty.
Hope.
The people began to believe again.
Lord of Chemoth
Through diplomacy, industrial alliances, and strategic marriages between fortress dynasties, Vograim unified Chemoth without civil war.
To the people, one truth was clear:
Under Vograim, the future existed.
The Emperor Arrives
When the Imperial fleet entered orbit, panic spread.
But Vograim declared:
"They are allies."
No shots were fired.
The teleportation light faded.
The Emperor stood at its center.
Yuki beside him.
Custodian Guard behind them.
When Vograim beheld the Emperor, he saw perfection beyond even his own ideals.
A being more complete than himself.
And he understood.
He knelt.
"I am yours, Father."
The Emperor glanced smugly at Yuki.
"Another effortless reunion. Who said I lack emotional intelligence?"
Yuki snorted and turned away.
"She's still angry, you know."
The Emperor said nothing.
Since Proxima Centauri, she had not looked at him kindly.
He had even asked Malcador for advice.
"Apologize."
Absurd.
Lower himself?
…was he that kind of man?
(Oll Persson would have laughed.)
But political reality was clear:
If the Emperor and the Vice-Emperor appeared divided, the Imperium itself could fracture.
He nudged Vograim.
"This is your sister, Yuki. She will escort you to Terra."
Yuki raised an eyebrow.
The Emperor… personally escorting a Primarch?
Suspicious.
Vograim lifted his head and smiled — a radiant, almost inhumanly perfect smile.
"Sister. It is an honor."
Yuki helped him up warmly.
"The ground is cold. Honestly, this is all Dad's fault."
The Emperor: ?
Mediation in Transit
While Yuki and Vograim whispered conspiratorially nearby, the Emperor spoke with Malcador through psychic relay.
Malcador rubbed his temples on Terra.
"You were reckless."
When he learned of Proxima Centauri, cold sweat had soaked his robes.
The vortex weapons had been capable of killing the Emperor's physical form.
That alone was not the true danger.
The true danger was the Astronomican.
At that very moment, the Emperor's psychic will sustained the beacon guiding humanity's warp travel.
If he had fallen—
Even briefly—
Every Imperial fleet navigating the warp could have been lost.
Malcador exhaled.
"She has every right to be furious."
Privately, he almost hoped she would remain angry.
But politically, that was untenable.
"Apologize," he said.
"…Very well."
The Emperor sighed.
Why did pride still matter after millennia?
He turned.
Vograim was nodding earnestly while Yuki animatedly told a story.
He listened.
"Romulus and Remus felt their mother's warmth from the she-wolf and vowed never to betray her…"
"But sister," Vograim asked, "what can a wolf expect in return?"
"Of course— Ouch!"
Yuki clutched her forehead.
She spun toward the Emperor.
"You're finished, Dad! Fifty flicks! Fifty!"
The Emperor calmly restrained her flailing hands.
If she stopped talking, she would be perfect.
Why must she possess such an infuriating mouth?
Terra Prepares
Terra buzzed with anticipation.
The Emperor had returned personally with a Primarch.
That alone was extraordinary.
Even Horus rushed back after completing operations.
But before the ceremony, he intercepted Malcador.
"Prime Minister. We must speak."
Mordecai Threxion quietly advised, "Brother, after the welcome."
"I will be brief."
Malcador sighed.
He had hoped to avoid this.
Fate disagreed.
Horus vs Malcador
Inside the chamber, Horus spoke with controlled intensity.
"My father trusts you beyond measure. Turn back while you can. Do so, and I will still honor you as his friend.
Persist… and I will remove this cancer from the Imperium."
Malcador watched him silently.
Yuki's earlier words echoed in his mind.
If he cannot see the truth… he will be the one who suffers.
He nearly smiled.
Horus saw the expression.
Fury ignited.
"Very well. If you refuse reason, I will expose you."
He stormed out.
The Arrival
At Terra Port, citizens gathered in ecstatic anticipation.
The shuttle descended.
The hatch opened.
Light spilled outward.
Not reflected light.
Radiance.
When the figure stepped forward, the crowd fell silent.
Perfect symmetry.
Immaculate bearing.
Beauty refined to impossible precision.
Then the silence shattered into thunder:
"Gold! Gold has appeared!"
Even the Primarchs paused.
Yes.
He resembled them.
Yet he did not.
Where they were warlords…
he was perfection given form.
And somewhere, deep beneath admiration and pride,
lay the seed of something dangerous:
the desire to become flawless.