"So then — where would you like me to start?"
"The imprisonment of the Emperor? Or something else?"
Deep beneath the Terran Palace, at the Webway construction site, Perturabo sat on the steps of the Golden Throne, facing the assembled Primarchs and a pitiful, tear-streaked Emperor, presiding over a small meeting that would determine the future direction of Imperial policy.
Not long before, the Primarchs had followed Dorn's suggestion and returned to Terra — arriving just in time to encounter Perturabo, who had come back from Olympia.
But when they saw Lorgar and Curze already beaten unconscious, and Fulgrim and Vulkan trailing behind Perturabo like a pair of obedient attendants, the Primarchs — already desperate for answers and their minds in complete chaos — abandoned all rational thought instantly. Weapons came up, and they charged.
"What in the hell, Sangy!"
"You, of all people — acting the traitor now?!"
"Vulkan — I never thought the self-proclaimed perfect Emperor's Children would be part of a rebellion. There's nothing left to say. From this moment, all ties between us are severed. You are no longer my brothers!"
The Lion and Russ moved first and most lethally — one drawing a sword, one raising a spear, both sweeping around behind Perturabo's group to cut off their retreat, then driving inward through the centre in a flanking manoeuvre of devastating subtlety.
Guilliman — normally the most rational of all of them — was wielding the enormous boltgun Perturabo had gifted him in one hand, firing on full automatic while charging forward, a great sword swinging in the other.
Sanguinius came in with spear and blade. Horus came in with thunder hammer and power claw — the two of them forming a complementary assault pair, approaching from the left and right simultaneously.
The Khan and Mortarion moved at opposite speeds — fast blade and slow scythe, high and low, jointly sealing off every avenue of response.
Ferrus, furious that he hadn't brought his toolbox, grabbed a thunder hammer and charged in alongside Dorn.
Vulkan and Fulgrim watched the incoming wave of brothers with expressions of complete helplessness. There was nothing they could say to explain themselves now.
And then, in an instant, the scene changed. Before even the Primarchs' sons could react, all of the Primarchs had simply vanished.
"Father!"
Dorn was the first to see the Emperor seated on the Golden Throne — skeletal, with barely a patch of undamaged flesh remaining on his body — and cried out involuntarily.
"What have you done, Perturabo?!"
Horus swung his thunder hammer directly at Perturabo — and was immediately frozen solid.
Perturabo held all of his brothers in place by force, then cleared the area of Magi and mortal attendants.
He woke Lorgar and Curze, then pushed everyone firmly down to sit on the floor. Vulkan and Fulgrim sat beside him.
Which brought things to the scene that had opened this chapter.
"Traitor."
Lorgar spat the word through gritted teeth, then closed his eyes and said nothing more.
Perturabo ignored him.
Looking at his brothers — none of them willing to speak first — Perturabo felt his irritation rising. This group of brothers, every last one more pigheaded than the next, especially when the Emperor was involved. Whatever small amount of sense they possessed seemed to vacate the premises entirely.
"What happened? What could possibly have driven you to do this?"
It was Guilliman who finally broke the silence and put the question.
Looking at his brothers' faces — some furious, some in anguish — Perturabo felt a genuine pang. The golden-skinned man had done real damage to all of them. These were his good brothers.
"Let me start with where we came from. Perhaps it will help you understand everything I've done."
And so Perturabo laid it out — why the Emperor had launched the Great Crusade, how the Primarchs had been created and scattered across the galaxy, and then a full explanation of the Warp and the nature of Chaos.
Some things were better off not being perpetually concealed. Better to tell his brothers everything at once — otherwise they might eventually be swayed by the temptations of the Chaos Gods.
"So. Do you understand the picture now?"
"As long as the Webway here or Vulkan's research yields a viable construction material — as long as we can sever Chaos's influence — we ourselves become largely irrelevant. At most, our Legions remain in the Imperium to stabilise things for a time. After that, we'll most likely have no further part to play."
"The Emperor will go into seclusion with us. Malcador will step away once he's settled the remaining affairs. From that point forward, whether humanity tears itself apart in civil war or otherwise — it will no longer be our concern."
The Primarchs' minds worked rapidly, absorbing everything Perturabo had said. That explained why their father had always been so secretive — forever appearing and disappearing without explanation, forbidding organised religion and widespread psychic use. So that was why.
"That's all very well — but none of it changes the fact that you're still a traitor. Who's to say what you're actually planning? Who knows whether you intend to use us to finish the Great Crusade and then keep all the spoils for yourself — and deal with us and Father together?"
The Khan, as always, was blunt and fast-tongued.
"Brother, I have heard your grievances. I understand your pride and your anger. But regardless of the reason, however justified your cause — you chose the darkest, most unforgivable path. You raised weapons against Father and imprisoned him."
"This is not 'correction.' This is rebellion. Release Father. Surrender. Accept judgement. If you persist in this, every one of us will stand against you on Father's side — even unto our deaths."
As the First-Returned, Horus least of all wanted to see brothers at war and father and son at each other's throats. But the situation was hurtling toward the worst possible outcome, and that pained him deeply.
"Don't talk to me about reasons! Release him! Or I go back to Medusa and bring every single clan to lay siege to Olympia!"
Ferrus, whose relationship with Perturabo had never been bad, was now burning with a fury that overwhelmed everything else. The ordinarily cold-tempered engineer glared at Perturabo.
"Perturabo — what you have destroyed is not one man. It is the foundation, the law, the faith, and the future of the human Imperium. Whatever your reasons — this constitutes treason in fact. You have bound the lives of your Legion and countless billions to your private grievances."
"Release Father immediately. Return the power. Accept judgement. This is the only path on which you can still preserve a shred of honour. Otherwise — between you and I, there are no longer brothers. There is only rebel and enforcer."
Guilliman remained admirably rational throughout. You could tell he'd had a mother — the man had manners.
Others were less measured.
"Ancestors curse you! You absolute idiot, stop spouting nonsense and release Father right now!"
Russ, raised by a she-wolf, had not a scrap of formality in him. This sharp-witted savage had never been fooled by honeyed words in his life.
"Either you release Father, or we fight to the end."
The Lion didn't waste words. He had never liked talking — he acted.
The remaining brothers issued their warnings and threats in quick succession. Where the Emperor was concerned, their reason had always been the first casualty.
Even the Khan, who usually saw the clearest of all, was burning with loyalty to the Emperor in this moment.
"It's only temporary. He'll recover in ten or so years regardless. I simply used certain methods to keep him sitting up there for now. There's no need to be this worked up."
Perturabo didn't engage with their demands directly. He couldn't be bothered arguing the fine points — it was done, and there was no question of stopping now.
"I'm not going to waste more time debating this. Remember what I said. Watch out for Chaos corruption. Continue the Great Crusade. When the time comes, the Warmaster's seat can rotate between you — I don't care either way."
Ignoring his brothers' looks — which suggested they would very much like to eat him — Perturabo announced the adjustments to the New Great Crusade.
"The Legion assignments remain unchanged. The War Hounds and the Pale Nomads will fall under my direct command for now. As for the Alpha Legion — I doubt most of you even know they exist. I'm not going to drag you out right now, you short one. Once Malcador recovers, come to me privately — I have words for you."
The other Primarchs were briefly surprised. There was another brother?
They looked around but couldn't identify who Perturabo was referring to.
Only a single Custodian far away let his fingers shift slightly — before continuing to stand guard at his post alongside the others.
"I will establish institutions on the worlds you've conquered, and build academies. The administrative personnel for those territories and the future recruitment pools for your Legions will come from these places."
"When a Legion grows to three hundred thousand, and command structures begin to get unwieldy, you can do what I've done — split the Legion, run multiple campaigns simultaneously, and merge back together when you encounter a truly serious enemy."
"Try to grow your numbers substantially. Stop looking only to your homeworlds for recruits — draw from the worlds you conquer as well. I suspect Chaos is not going to sit quietly and let us have an easy passage through this."
"And there are other enemies. The Necrons, for instance, which I mentioned — a xenos dynasty that currently far surpasses our human Imperium. Sooner or later we will inevitably come into contact with them."
"The situation remains precarious. I have no time to spend on internal friction here. Take the materiel provided by me and the Mechanicum, and focus on the Great Crusade."
"I will find a way to add another twenty-two thousand fleets to the Expedition forces, until the galaxy is fully reclaimed."
"Whatever you think of me, and whatever disagreements you still have when the time comes — that's your business. But the rate of Crusade progress must not decline. On that point I am in full agreement with the Emperor."
"I've already addressed the recruitment problem. If you want to be obstinate about it, there's not much I can do."
"Also — you're aware I developed the proto-Huscarl surgery. I'll adapt the three stages to suit each of your Legions' physiologies and distribute it to you. Have your sons complete the augmentation as soon as possible."
"The matter of the Emperor — set it aside for now. If you want to see him, you can. Come back whenever you like. But my condition doesn't change — the Crusade's efficiency must not suffer."
"Dorn, Vulkan — your assignments are unchanged. Magnus — the Flesh Change problem: I've spoken with the Biologis Magi and there's been a significant breakthrough. Resolve it quickly and return to the Crusade. No more dabbling in Warp nonsense."
"That's everything from me. However much of it you absorb — the Crusade's rate of progress must not slip. That is my condition."
"Ask for people, I give you people. Ask for resources, I give you resources. If you still can't deliver — don't blame me for turning cold."
"And if any of you want to test me right now, I have no objection to taking your Legions into my own command. If you can't appreciate what's being offered, I'll do it myself. A memory wipe of your sons isn't beyond me, and my own warriors have never needed company to keep up a strong pace of conquest."
"Now. Give me your answer. Leave for the Great Crusade, and come back to see the Emperor whenever you wish — or stay here and continue opposing me, and I take over your Legions."
By the end, Perturabo's voice had gone cold. He had no interest in remaining here arguing with this group any longer. However much they were his brothers, he had no tolerance left for grown men who acted like overgrown children where their father was concerned.
Looking at his brothers — still furious, but finally recovering some degree of reason — Perturabo thought they might still be salvageable.
And just as Curze, whose mind had been worn to a breaking point by this entire ordeal, was rising to do something drastic — the Emperor on the Golden Throne seemed to experience some moment of conscience.
A surge of still-considerable psychic power forced its way into the minds of every Primarch in the room.
"Listen to him. Agree to it. Go on Crusade. Build the Webway. Save humanity."
The Emperor's words made the Primarchs, every one of whom had been seething, find it in themselves to hold back.
"Father..."
Horus looked at the Emperor's frail state, his voice catching, tears sliding down his face.
Perturabo was briefly surprised. The golden-skinned man had recovered this much already? He could speak now?
Apparently he hadn't hit him hard enough back then.
Still — the Emperor suddenly having a moment of conscience was genuinely somewhat startling. The man truly did love humanity, whatever else might be said about him.
"Warmaster. Give the order."
Guilliman stood. He was the first to accept the reality of the situation, and he had nothing more to argue. What was done was done. The Great Crusade came first.
One by one, the rest of the Primarchs rose as well. If even their father had spoken — there was nothing left to say.
The New Great Crusade — initiated.
While the sons of each Legion were running themselves ragged trying to locate their fathers, the Primarchs emerged from the half-repaired Eternity Gate of the Imperial Palace — expressions of undisguised despondency and gloom on every face.
"Father."
The sons rushed forward immediately, demanding to know what had happened. But the Primarchs only waved them off, and instructed preparations to be made for a return to the Crusade.
The sudden change in their commanders' demeanour surprised the assembled warriors. But seeing that even some of the Custodians carried an air of resigned acceptance, whatever questions burned inside them were forcibly suppressed. They could ask aboard ship later.
"Father, we—"
Dantioch looked at Perturabo, who had appeared on the Iron Will, and found himself uncertain what to do.
Word that Father had imprisoned the Emperor had by now spread across the entire Imperium. Dantioch and the others had been shocked, but had already mentally prepared themselves for an internal war against every Legion that remained loyal to the Emperor. And now Father was telling them to continue the Crusade.
And somehow, through methods nobody understood, he had managed to bring the Custodians and every Primarch into compliance. Not only was the Great Crusade continuing as before — it was being pushed with greater resources and intensity than ever.
The current state of the Imperium was deeply strange, leaving every Expedition commander and senior Imperial official completely at a loss for what had actually happened.
"It's resolved. The Crusade continues. Olympia will be sending new equipment — the Necron-derived weapons. The Legion will be fully re-equipped with these first, and I'll distribute some to the other Legions as well."
"Going forward — when you encounter them, keep your distance. A salute from afar is sufficient. No need to cause any more headaches. Notify all Chapters to avoid overlapping Crusade routes with other Legions wherever possible."
"Yes, Father."
"And Father — how did things stand with the other Primarchs?"
Dantioch couldn't help but ask.
"What else would they do? The Crusade goes on. Reclaim the galaxy first, worry about the rest later. We can't afford to give the xenos an opening."
"Any unusual activity from the Squats?"
"Nothing — except they've become even more fanatical about you than before. Word is they're already preparing to add a new shrine to you in their pantheon."
The corner of Perturabo's mouth twitched. Those Squats had become thoroughly unhinged.
"Don't worry about them. When the galaxy is reclaimed, we'll settle accounts with them eventually. It'll come down to how many of them have the sense to behave."
"Push to take the outer reaches of the Eastern Fringe as quickly as possible. We've been dragging our feet out there too long. The resistance in the Obscurus is heavy — finish this sector and redirect our strength there."
"That rift in the Obscurus — larger than the Maelstrom itself — I'll seal that opening from the Warp side first. When I do, that becomes your primary axis of advance."
"Warp instability will affect us minimally. Just don't bring the Squats — the conditions there suppress their combat effectiveness severely."
"Understood."
"How are Ferrix and the others doing? What's the effect of the Chaplaincy system on the Legion?"
Perturabo realised he hadn't checked in for a while. Recent events had been pulling him away from his sons again.
"The results are pronounced. The Legion has been gradually returning to where it was when you first returned."
"Then keep it running. If anything seems off, report it quickly — these things tend to slip past me. Without someone to flag it, I might never notice. You are the one who keeps me honest about these things, Barabas. Your responsibility is heavy — watch over the Legion, lead the Crusade in my name, and keep a close eye on the movements of the Expedition forces at all times."
"If you encounter any difficulty, say so. I will do what I can to accommodate you."
Looking at his father's deep-blue eyes — carrying a guilt he rarely showed — Dantioch and the members of his guard felt something tighten in their chests.
"Understood, Father."
"Abo, how are things?"
"Stable for now. Managed to hold it down."
"And the Imperium side — what do you intend to do?"
"Wait for Vulkan and the Terra team to produce results. Once humanity can travel without the Warp, I'm stepping back."
"After that — we'll find a star system somewhere and settle down. Take Olympia and the Legion and leave the Imperium. Close the door and live our own lives."
In his private workshop, Perturabo was calibrating a miniature missile system component he held in his hands.
It was the ranged weapon system for Tyrant Terminator armour. He had added Necron-derived technology to the warheads, substantially increasing their destructive yield — well-suited for mass production.
"So roughly when does this kind of life end?"
His sister sat beside him, gently running her fingers over the indentations on his forehead left by the neural interface cables.
Perturabo's hands paused.
He didn't know how to answer.
He had a bone-deep instinct that Chaos would never let this rest — but he couldn't predict what they would do next, or what form their interference would take.
And whatever it turned out to be, it was going to be enormous. Perturabo had consistently worked to prevent his brothers from being corrupted into rebellion by Chaos's influence — not because he was particularly worried about their disloyalty, but because of what came after.
Even with the equipment he'd provided, their Legions were not genuinely comparable to the Iron Warriors. He had every confidence in the Legion he had personally built.
What he truly feared was that Chaos wouldn't play by any recognisable rules. The Emperor — however diminished he appeared right now — still had considerable strength remaining, and Perturabo had no serious concern about the Ruinous Powers breaking his will.
As for himself — he had claimed the arts of spite and malice early, and the inevitable blowback from the Chaotic Eight-Pointed Star had left some minor marks on him that couldn't be entirely avoided. But he was absolutely never going to be twisted into the warped, malevolent shape that Chaos desired.
Right now, Perturabo's worries in the physical universe were essentially limited to a full Necron awakening and the Tyranid swarms beyond the galaxy arriving ahead of schedule at full scale. Everything else was manageable.
It was always Chaos that was the most nauseating. Even at great cost to itself, Chaos would find ways to strike at the physical universe.
If Perturabo had the power to do so, he would never have allowed the Chaos Eight-Pointed Star to remain present in the Warp at all.
"I don't know. Things have been developing more smoothly than they might have — but I've had this persistent sense of unease. The enemies hiding in the dark won't give us breathing room."
"Perhaps retirement is just a fantasy. What lies ahead of us may be endless war."
His sister's expression grew heavy. Even her brother and the Imperium together couldn't handle it? Just how powerful were these enemies?
She felt a flash of regret. Perhaps they should never have returned to the Imperium in the first place. Found somewhere to disappear, just the two of them. Instead of this — months passing before they could even see each other for a moment.
"Can we win?"
"We absolutely can!"
Perturabo's voice rose sharply, the words delivered with total certainty.
The sudden volume startled even Calliphone.
His large hand covered his sister's.
"We'll win. We will definitely win."
His eyes held a fierce, unbreakable resolve.
If it came to it — everyone could go down together. Drag those damned things along into death with them.