Tap. Tap. Tap.
The interior corridors of the Nightfall were dark and cold. The imprisoned 'Night Lords' on either side watched quietly as the Dark Angels approached.
The Lion's footsteps were heavy — and, in a way he himself didn't notice, his pace had become very fast. The Deathwing were nearly jogging to keep up with their father.
The Lion's face was hard — hard to the point of something almost frightening. But deep in those eyes, something complex was hidden, something he wouldn't have admitted was there.
He came to the door of the holding cell. The thick auramite gate opened slowly.
Alsteran emerged and saluted his father, but the Lion — in an unusual departure from form — didn't acknowledge his son. He walked straight in.
The cell had no light. Only 'Konrad's' jet-black eyes emitted a faint glow, and the pale green tracery that ran along the chains forged from Necrodermis-derived technology.
'Konrad's' hair was unkempt, his face worn — but the corners of his mouth still held that signature unsettling smile.
"Come to escort me to the execution ground?"
The chain-bound 'Konrad' looked at the Lion who had come personally, and spoke.
"I've already seen my death. Looks like today is the day."
The Lion looked at this 'brother.' Even after all the betrayal, after all the worlds and people he had destroyed and tormented — the Lion still wanted to find some final chance for this brother's survival.
The Lion was a decisive man. In the Emperor's service, he could end the Emperor's enemies without a shred of mercy.
But in moments like this, he and Russ were not so different — something inexplicably softened in him at the last moment.
The difference was that he would always see things through to a conclusion before that softening arrived. He would never waver at a critical juncture.
"You'll die today. Used by the Warmaster as a sacrifice to open the campaign — the horn that signals our counter-attack."
"There's nothing better suited to christen a war than a traitor Primarch, is there?"
The Lion said nothing further. But 'Konrad' understood — this brother had certainly argued for him. Unfortunately a traitor was owed no forgiveness. Even he himself believed that.
'Konrad' smiled. That smile held release, and irony, and a relief that even he hadn't consciously acknowledged.
"A traitor's final destination is death. I imagine that's my ending too. A traitor like me has received appropriate judgment."
"Thank you, brother — for arguing for me before them."
"I didn't."
The Lion's response came faster than usual — faster than his characteristic composed manner would typically produce.
'Konrad' didn't expose his brother's lie. He had too much pride.
He could see this brother's hand gripping the black sword — the friction between gauntlet and hilt resonating in a Primarch's hearing like thunder.
The two of them sat in that silence until new footsteps came from the end of the corridor.
The Dark Angels didn't stop the enormously tall figure who came.
He was considerably taller and broader than either the Lion or 'Konrad.' The yellow-and-black markings on his armour shimmered even in the dim cell.
The moment he stepped through the threshold, the temperature of the entire space seemed to drop several degrees. Everyone present could clearly sense the killing intent that came off the Iron Lord like a physical presence.
The 'Night Lords' were afraid of this Iron Lord. The pure killing intent — and it was pure, without the flavour of personal pleasure that coloured their own — made even those who killed freely and in every variety of creative method feel a chill they hadn't expected.
"Time."
Perturabo's voice was terrifyingly level. His gaze settled on 'Konrad' — carrying undisguised disgust — and 'Konrad's' composure, which had found its peace, tightened involuntarily.
"Terra is ready for this execution. The Imperium's citizens will observe through logic engine projection. Everyone will know what becomes of traitors."
The Lion turned. He and Perturabo looked at each other. No words passed between them — but the tension in the air was close to shredding the walls.
The Dark Angels and 'Night Lords' controlled their breathing carefully. The weight of the atmosphere had them at full attention.
"His crimes against the Imperium are beyond enumerating. We need an example. The Imperium's people need to see that traitors receive justice — even if that traitor is a Primarch."
Perturabo's voice carried the intonation of a command that admitted no refusal.
"I know."
"Then what are you hesitating for?"
The Lion was silent for precisely five seconds. Then he released the sword hilt.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Iron Warriors of considerable height entered the cell. They removed the restraints from 'Konrad's' body. Nobody was afraid of whether the Primarch would resist — the Warmaster was here.
'Konrad' was, unexpectedly, entirely cooperative. He even held out both hands and allowed the Iron Warriors to put new shackles on him.
'Konrad' walked across the cell deck. On both sides, his imprisoned sons watched. These were the last of the sons who had remained loyal to him.
When 'Konrad' stepped onto the teleportation platform, he suddenly turned his head — looking back at the Lion and Perturabo.
"Sev — and the others. What happens to them in the end?"
"You care about your Legion?"
The Lion hadn't even opened his mouth before Perturabo was already delivering the mockery.
"I'm their father — this is my—"
"Then you shouldn't have set them on this road that leads only to death. Expressing it now, at the threshold of your execution, only makes you more contemptible. The late-arriving apologies of a madman mend nothing."
'Konrad' had been about to say something further — but the teleportation array had already activated. His vision was swallowed by a blaze of brilliant light.
On the Eternity Wall on Terra, a flash of light erupted. Perturabo and the Lion had brought 'Konrad' here.
By the time 'Konrad' gathered his senses, Custodians stood on every side.
He saw the Emperor — his 'father' was not seated on any throne, only watching with those emotionless eyes as his 'son' approached execution.
He saw Sanguinius and Fulgrim. Those two hadn't been turned into monsters. Their armour was even more resplendent than he remembered, the merit citations and honorary gold ornaments almost excessive in their density.
He saw Mortarion and Magnus. Neither of them had become some nauseating, degenerate thing.
And his brothers — the ornate magnificence of their armour made 'Konrad' feel the jealousy surge in him again.
He saw himself. The self who looked as though he wanted to come forward and personally take his head — Corvus still wore the appearance that had driven him mad with envy. Both versions of them, standing there together.
Perturabo pushed him to the edge of the Eternity Wall. Enormous psychic force brought him to his knees in an instant. The carefully restored pavestones cracked under the impact.
This was the place the Emperor had launched the Great Crusade. 'Konrad' had been here before — when he had first returned, Terra had held a great ceremony for him. It was the first time he had seen what a truly grand occasion looked like.
But now, the crowds below were cheering again. This time they were cheering the impending execution of a traitor.
The banners of every Legion rippled on both sides of the Eternity Wall. The holographic projectors were linked to every world within the Imperium that had logic engine coverage.
Custodians and Silent Sisters watched the surroundings with vigilance. Solar Auxilia and Astartes had deployed at every position.
The Primarchs' faces varied in expression — but every set of eyes held the same thing: war-readiness and fury.
Perturabo stepped forward and raised his right hand. The noise of Terra fell silent in an instant. Only the wind remained, and the sharp sound of flags in it.
"Citizens of the Imperium."
His voice went out through the amplification arrays in the square and through the synchronized projection broadcast across the entire Imperium. Every word landed like a hammer on an anvil.
"Thirty years ago, a group of traitors from another dimension invaded the Imperium. They slaughtered our brothers, destroyed our worlds, took our families, and killed the First Returned — whose deeds in service to the Imperium were beyond counting."
Perturabo's voice paused. Far ahead, at the Eternity Gate, the Emperor's silhouette was perfectly still — but Perturabo could feel that in that instant, the psychic emanation from the Emperor had fluctuated slightly.
"After causing all of this — they fled."
"They fled back to their own world. They believed that, sheltered by the layered barriers between the material universe and the Warp, sheltered by infinite time and distance, our fury could never touch them."
"They were wrong. They assumed everything would work out beautifully for them."
Perturabo turned back. He walked behind 'Konrad,' seized his skull, and lifted.
"Traitor — I, Perturabo, Warmaster of the Imperium and Lord of the Ten Thousand Worlds of Olympia, formally announce, in the name of the Emperor and the Imperium, your sentence."
He did not read out a list of crimes. He had no intention of giving a traitor any opportunity to argue at the threshold of death, or any other final indulgence.
Perturabo condensed a black sword. His gaze met 'Konrad's' as the captive turned his head for the last time.
"I sentence you — to death."
No superfluous words. The black sword descended with incomparable force and speed.
It was fast. Fast enough that even the Primarchs didn't register it until it was done.
'Konrad's' head separated from his body. It rolled across the surface of the Eternity Wall. Those eyes were still open. The corners of his mouth still held that faint smile of release.
Blood sprayed freely across the Eternity Wall — but Perturabo used psychic force to contain it. He had no desire to have a traitor's blood on him. Filthy beyond measure.
Perturabo lifted the head. Raised it above him.
Dead silence around him. Then — thunderous cheering.
Perturabo used psychic force to mount the head on the highest eagle-banner above. Then he turned to face the holographic projection — his gaze sweeping across every corner of the Imperium.
"This is not the end."
His voice rose again, above all the cheering.
"This is only the beginning. Today, we have executed one traitor. Now, we are about to set out — to find the rest, to bring every last one of them back, to receive the same judgment."
"The Imperium's fleet has already assembled. The Legion warriors are ready."
Perturabo looked toward his brothers. They understood without words. One by one, they knelt on one knee.
"Now — I, Perturabo, in the name of the Imperial Warmaster, declare: the counter-attack has officially begun."
He turned, looking toward the Eternity Gate. The Emperor was still standing there — but Perturabo could feel that the Master of Humanity's gaze was crossing the several kilometres of distance between them and meeting his.
Perturabo gave a nod. The Emperor gave a nod. No words. But everything was said.
Endless fleet elements began assembling throughout the Solar Segmentum. The light of the stars was blotted out by enormous shadows. Capital ships and vast Star Forts began activating from every direction.
Throughout the Ghoul Stars, the Legions that had been deployed in advance all began moving toward the Eye of Terror.
Perturabo rose slowly into the sky. Then his form vanished.
In the next moment, deep within the Ghoul Stars at the Eye of Terror, Perturabo's silhouette appeared on the holographic projection.
The footage was transmitted by logic engine at maximum frame rate across the galaxy.
Humanity across the Imperium was watching the Imperial Warmaster.
Perturabo had no interest in maintaining any facade now. No reason to conceal anything further.
His frame began growing, multiplying in scale. The Iron Lord's terrible true aspect gradually began to emerge.
In the most direct and brutal way possible, he showed the Imperium's people what absolutely pure terror looked like.
That frame — now fully transformed into a being of steel, larger than an entire stellar region — tore the Eye of Terror open with its bare hands.
But this time, the Imperium made no protest.
What appeared before humanity's eyes was a profoundly deep spiralling passage.
Perturabo continued to build power — then fired a single shot, a blast of force that could in principle destroy a complete Star God in a moment. A familiar galaxy came into view before everyone present.
This — was another galaxy. No. Not one galaxy.
People could see it clearly. There were four passages in total.
Four galaxies.
"Now — I declare the Imperium restarts the Great Crusade!"
"In the name of the Imperial Warmaster and the Iron Lord, I declare this campaign's title: the Crusade of Vengeance!"
"Let war begin!"
"From the Eye of Terror to the frontier of the galaxy!"
"Let the star-sea fall! Let every star burn!"
"Let every galaxy — from this moment forward — be set entirely ablaze!"
Perturabo revealed his terrible form, and simultaneously declared war upon four galaxies.
"Traitors — your end has come."
"I will make you run with blood."
At this moment, Perturabo held back nothing. Warp rifts began appearing around the Eye of Terror. Countless Iron Daemon legions poured out of the Daemon Factory, advancing boldly toward the other universes.
Warship after warship flew out from the Eye of Terror. Titan Legion after Titan Legion began sweeping through each galaxy. The 'Daemonsmith Overseers' appeared in the material universe with incomparable force.
The people of the Imperium could no longer see this spectacle — because in the moment Perturabo summoned the Daemon Factory and began the invasion of realspace, the powerful psychic emanation had already severed the broadcast signal.
Except for the brothers and Legions he had already transported through.
They stared, stunned, at the Iron Lord whose scale now exceeded an entire stellar region. It was genuinely difficult to comprehend — this was their brother.
So imposing. So — desecrating.
"Don't stand there gaping. Start selecting your targets. Choose whichever galaxy you want — the rifts here aren't large enough yet for my forces to operate at full strength. I'll stay here for now, and make the Eye of Terror large enough to release everything I have."
"Once you're through — no need to manage anything else. Just kill."
"Kill them until they are entirely extinct."
"Population, resources — we don't need any of that. The one thing the universe has never been short of is resources."
"From this moment forward — set aside your mercy. Release your fury without restraint. Pay no attention to any cries."
"Yes, Warmaster."
The might of the Legions found its fullest expression in this moment.
The Legions that Perturabo had "supported" each possessed extraordinary scale and formidable combat power.
When they passed through the Eye of Terror and arrived in these galaxies — nearly identical to their own — every one of them felt a shock they hadn't anticipated.
"Now — the positions have reversed. Warriors of the Emperor — show these traitors what the Emperor's fury and the Imperium's wrath look like!"
The Iron Daemon legions and Astartes Legions together launched a swift and overwhelming assault from the Eye of Terror against every galaxy in range.
'Robert' was the first to sense that something was wrong. Seated on Terra's throne, the moment Perturabo tore the Eye of Terror open, he felt an inexplicable chill in the depths of his mind.
And now the Imperium's counter-attack had begun.
When Perturabo's form — larger than an entire stellar region — appeared within the Eye of Terror, 'Robert' went completely numb.
Even seated on Terra, he could feel it — Perturabo's gaze had locked onto him.
Those eyes, cold past any limit, held not a shred of anything other than fury and hatred.
And 'Lion' and 'Dorn' had of course also seen what Perturabo had become. The Daemon legions and the fleet physically blotting out the sky occupied every angle of their psychic vision.
The terror of the Iron Lord found its fullest expression in this moment.