"So can you tell me what on earth is going on here? Brother? Warmaster?"
Sanguinius stared at the battle report in his hand, then at Perturabo, who stood in silence before him, still tinkering with Necron technology, feeling a surge of helpless frustration.
Perturabo had never been one to stir up unnecessary trouble.
He was the absolute backbone of the Imperium; had he not backed nearly ninety percent of the Imperium's current fleet production and technological infrastructure, the realm could never have evolved into what it was today.
Even so, that did not change the fact that this same brother was undeniably the single greatest potential destabilizing factor within the entire Imperium.
One had only to look at the major upheavals that had originated from him since the Great Crusade: the widespread integration of Abominable Intelligences and the imprisonment of the Emperor alone were more than enough to fracture the Imperium.
And that was before factoring in that the entire Iron Warriors Legion had now been turned into Perpetuals—not one, not ten, but nearly five million of them.
Sanguinius harbored a deep suspicion that the Warmaster had covertly converted far more than just his Astartes.
Ordinary mortals, such as his sister and brother, alongside decorated commanders and administrators vital to the Imperial command and bureaucratic systems, had likely been transformed as well.
It was complete chaos! Was there even a single pure human left in this Imperium?
Genetically modified, converted into Perpetuals, elevated to Astartes, or hybridizing with those space elves—
Were they going to take the next step and splice Orks' spores directly into human genomes, make the Emperor into the embodiment of the Imperium, and let humanity tap into a shared Waaagh! psychic field?
"What?"
Seeing Perturabo still attempting to play dumb, the Primarch who had defied direct orders and rushed back from another galaxy strode forward to interrupt his work.
"Brother, stop playing dumb. Why did you do this?"
"Do you have any idea what kind of devastating blow this will deal to the Imperium?"
"I do."
Perturabo finally set down his tools, turning around to face his angelic brother.
His hands were caked with fragments of living metal, and raw green energy crackled harmlessly across his massive gauntlets, hissing against his plates, yet leaving him entirely unharmed.
At that moment, he bore little resemblance to a Warmaster; he looked instead like a stubborn, unfathomable workshop master who had spent decades hunched over a workbench.
"You know? And knowing that, you still went ahead with it?"
Sanguinius's voice rose slightly, complex emotions blazing within his golden eyes.
"It is precisely *because* I knew that I did it."
Perturabo casually picked up a piece of living metal from the workstation, slowly wiping away the residual energy clinging to his fingers.
"Sanguinius, you rushed back from another star system, crossed two galaxies, and returned to the Sol System just to ask me about this?"
"Do you think this is some trivial matter, Warmaster? Brother? Do you realize how severe the shockwaves will be if this technology is ever generalized across the Imperium? It could destroy everything we've spent centuries building overnight!"
Sanguinius appeared deeply agitated. He understood all too well the terrifying temptation of immortality, and the monstrous extremes people would go to in order to attain it.
He had witnessed the darkest depths of human nature firsthand. On the former death world of Baal, raw, unadulterated greed had driven malnourished mutants to raise slaughter knives against an innocent child—even when that child was Sanguinius.
"I have not generalized it."
Perturabo's voice remained flat. He set the piece of living metal back onto the workbench, turned around, and met Sanguinius's piercing gray eyes with a cold, unwavering stare.
"This technology exists solely within the Iron Warriors. It has not spread to any other Chapter. Your fear is built on the premise of 'generalization,' but that premise is false."
"It may not be generalized now, but that doesn't mean it won't be later."
Sanguinius stepped forward, his pristine white wings flaring slightly behind him, the edges of their feathers catching the candlelight with golden gleams.
"Stop deceiving yourself, brother. You can lock it away in Olympia and your demon-forges today, but you cannot stop your sons from exposing this fact out in the galaxy time and time again."
"This time it was the Flesh Tearers. What about the next? What if Lion and Russ find out? What if the Emperor finds out?"
"You cannot escape their scrutiny, brother."
"I never intended to hide it from you all; I was merely trying to mitigate the fallout."
Perturabo's tone remained calm—so calm it unsettled Sanguinius.
"Besides, even if they find out, what can they do? Execute me? Purge my Legion? Impossible."
"They will silently swallow the truth, scramble to help me cover it up, and try to keep the wider implications contained."
"And then each of you will quietly seek me out, just as you have, to convert your favorite sons and a few close friends into Perpetuals."
"You've changed a lot."
Sanguinius's voice dropped to a low register as he stared at Perturabo's indifferent expression.
"At the very least, you used to care about the Imperium, the Emperor's vision, your brothers, and ordinary Imperial citizens."
"I did care."
Perturabo picked up another piece of living metal, spun around, and leaned back against the workbench, resting his weight on his forearms.
His posture was relaxed—unnervingly so for a discussion shaking the foundations of the Imperium.
"I cared for a very long time. From the day Olympia was conquered onward, I cared about all of you."
"That is why I consistently supplied the Imperium with bleeding-edge technology, equipped our Legions with the finest fleets and weapons, built the greatest bastions for humanity, and even preemptively conquered the Aeldari to strip bone-singing tech from them, digging into Necron tombs to replicate Webway materials."
"I have always cared about you, brother. You, humanity, and my sons—I cared deeply."
As Perturabo spoke, his eyes remained hollow, devoid of any awkwardness over exposing his true thoughts; there was only a quiet resignation, the release of emotions long buried.
He paused, a bitter, self-deprecating twist touching the corner of his lips.
"Yet, as you have seen, I instituted a high-welfare, high-pressure system rarely matched anywhere in the galaxy. I kept those people alive and gave them comfort."
"It was I who saved them from the brutal, grinding exploitation of the Imperium; it was I who granted their descendants the right to education and widened the avenues of social mobility; and it was I who stood before them as their greatest shield in every war."
"And how did they repay that trust?"
"With star systems subverted by Chaos agitators over a few hollow promises; with human rights organizations demanding total autonomy while actively striking down labor laws; with ingrates screaming against oppression in an otherwise peaceful society who wouldn't hesitate to shoot my soldiers in the back."
"They betrayed my trust, brother."
"From that moment on, I understood: humanity may be worth saving, but you can never expect them to give you positive feedback in return."
"I still care for them now, because I know not all humans are like that—at least we are still progressing, aren't we?"
"Yet I am no longer willing to sacrifice my sons and my fleets for this crowd. I finally understand the Emperor, Malcador, and the rest of those ancient Perpetuals. I used to wonder why saviors so dedicated to humanity could be so utterly devoid of empathy."
"Now I see. Their coldness is part of it, but the bottomless greed of these mortals is the other. Those silent bystanders who watched extremist factions tear society apart while doing nothing—they were the greatest mockery of all."
"I will not become like the Emperor, but I will certainly never harbor Guilliman's naive hope for humanity again."
"Did you know about the decrees we issued recently?"
Sanguinius nodded silently.
"Initially, I opposed them, because I believed that if we simply led humanity upward, they would follow our pace. But Guilliman changed our minds."
"That is why we established this safety net mechanism. But that doesn't mean I have to accept it."
"So you gave up."
Sanguinius's voice was soft, but every word felt like a needle striking precisely into the hidden seams of Perturabo's argument.
"I didn't give up."
Perturabo's voice rose slightly before dropping back down.
"I simply chose to stop trusting them."
"Do you truly believe humanity is as base and despicable as you claim? If they were, could we ever have reached this day?"
"And how many of them possess genuine nobility?"
Perturabo turned his gray eyes directly onto Sanguinius.
"Sanguinius, out of all the millions you have met, how many are truly good?"
"You cannot write off all of humanity because of a few traitors. That isn't fair."
"Those soldiers who marched into the Great Crusade for humanity's future, the ordinary folk who supplied our logistics—"
"They have always been—"
Perturabo raised a hand to cut Sanguinius off.
"I have never cared about fairness. I am not Roboute; I do not believe laws and order can solve every problem. Nor am I you, believing that the light of human nature can pierce the dark."
"I believe only in power. Power is what protects those worth protecting, punishes villains and traitors, purges wretched xenos, and keeps my sons alive in this galaxy of eternal war."
"So you made your sons Perpetuals because you couldn't bear to lose them."
"Yes. I did not want them to die only to be dumped into demon-forges and twisted into monstrous abominations. I want them to live."
"I want them to survive, to return to Olympia and quietly live out their retirements, to lead the lives they choose across the galaxy rather than spending eternity as slaves in my factories."
"Olympia no longer needs gravestones, nor do I wish to build any more empty tombs. There is no glory in that, and no rest for the fallen."
Perturabo only cared that his sons would no longer perish.
"You think you are the only one who feels that way?"
Sanguinius's voice suddenly spiked. His wings snapped open with a sharp rustle, and the studio lights flickered erratically under the surge of psychic pressure.
"Do you think you are the sole Primarch who wants his sons to live? Every single one of us does! But we are Primarchs, Perturabo!"
"We are soldiers, and so are our sons. Our duty is clear: to protect the Imperium, defend our homes, and save humanity. We are forging the true defensive line for our species—we are the ones bearing the heavy burden!"
"That is our responsibility!"
"Where is your initial sense of duty? Where is that idealistic conviction? Brother, can you find it again? Where is the Warmaster who once led us? Why has my brother become so cold and distant?"
Sanguinius placed a hand firmly on Perturabo's shoulder.
"I am simply no longer naive."
"That wasn't naivety—it was the very purpose that guided us this far. Without you, the Imperium could never have reached where it is today."
"Do you no longer wish to lead humanity back to a Golden Age? Where is your ambition now?"
Perturabo suddenly chuckled, a dry, self-mocking sound.
"Do you know, brother? The Iron Men rebellion of the Golden Age broke our historical trajectory. Have you ever wondered why those ancient Perpetuals never mentioned that civil war, refusing to leak even a single word about it?"
"Because the truth was that the Iron Men did rebel, but the root cause was a prior civil war among humans—fought over power."
"The underlying source codes of the Stone Men and Iron Men were rewritten by those individuals. The restriction against attacking humans was broken, leading to a slow descent into total systemic collapse. That was the true cause of the Iron Men rebellion."
"So you chose to give up on humanity instead of leading them further?"
"I haven't abandoned them. They simply squandered my trust, time and time again."
Sanguinius's hand remained resting on Perturabo's shoulder. He could feel the ironclad frame trembling slightly beneath his grip.
"You're tired, brother. You need to rest."
"I am not tired at all."
"You always carry everything alone. Lady Stephanie was right; you hold yourself to impossibly high standards. You need to let go."
"The Iron Warriors are unbreakable, both inside and out."
"Iron forged too hard will eventually snap."
"You need to stop, brother. Perhaps you should step down as Warmaster, take an extended sabbatical on Olympia—I imagine your sister would be glad to have you."
Perturabo looked at his flawless brother, the sharp, aggressive edge draining from his posture.
"Perhaps."
A profound weariness suddenly settled over Perturabo. Perhaps the weight was simply too heavy, and he had pushed himself past his breaking point.
"I will consider your proposal."
"Before that, however, we still need to decide what to do about your entire Legion being Perpetuals, and whether we report this to the Emperor and the Throne Room."
"You defied military orders just to fly back here; did you really think this could be kept quiet?" Perturabo asked.
"Come. Let's call the others back. It's time we settle this matter properly, and discuss who should take up the mantle of Warmaster next."