The Iron Without

"I... do not... need... you." In his chambers, deep in the bowels of Medrengard, Perturabo, the Primarch of the Iron Warriors, was in pain. He knew that it was all his fault. He should never have accepted the gift from the Gods. He should never have accepted Apotheosis. It had cost him his Warriors, his soul, and his pride. And all it gave him was pain.

Unlike Fulgrim or Angron, the change had not been instantaneous. It had been slow. The stubbornness of Perturabo had apparently been enough to hold it back. To make it slow so that the change was enough to make him feel so much pain that it would make him wish for death. Slaanesh's doing no doubt as revenge for Iydris, despite the victory that had been gained there for their forces. The mutation had been slow as it could be in the Eye of Terror. For every individual, time was different. His armor had all but fused to his body, making it practically impossible for it to be removed without extensive surgery. The most advanced his mutation had been was allocated to his left arm which had transformed into a gigantic metal claw.

"Damn you all... Damn you to oblivion!" How had he let this happen? Why had he accepted? Why...

"They are already damned, Brother," a voice behind him said. He turned to see a being of immense size with gigantic wings of multiple colors, horns that sprouted from his chestplate and his forehead, skin of dark maroon, and one shining eye. "As are you it seems."

"Magnus," Perturabo hissed. "Why have you come here, Brother?"

"To help you, Perturabo. I have seen where the future is going and your fate is not to be as I am. I can help you."

"How, Brother?!" Perturabo spat the words with disdain. "Years I have suffered with this," he showed the claw to prove his point. "And now you come to me?! NOW?! What do I have left to gain?! Most of my sons have all but abandoned me! My Legion is dead and have joined my dreams in Hell! Why should I not give in to the change?!"

"Because your future is on Terra, Brother. Your future is to affect the fate of Terra itself. Your Legion will be united again. It will stand against Rogal Dorn and it will stand as firm as iron once again. No longer as disparate warbands, but as the Legion it was meant to be. Proud, strong, and unafraid."

Perturabo looked at him with disbelief. "Why do you want to help me? Why?"

"We are brothers. And you deserve this chance for retribution against our father. And you deserve your last stand against Rogal Dorn."

Perturabo's face softened. "After what I helped cause at Nikaea, you would help me?"

Magnus smiled at his sullen brother. "I do not blame you, Perturabo. The arena was my dream as well. You built it, but I also envisioned it. If it wasn't going to be at Nikaea, it would have been somewhere else. Terra perhaps. This is something you have deserved as well as I. This is your chance. Will you take it?" Magnus held out his hand.

Perturabo scrutinized it before accepting it with his clawed hand. "Very well. What do we need to do?"

"We find the one who helped Ahriman damn the Thousand Sons. Kairos Fateweaver. It will be difficult, but he may be your only chance."

"How so?"

"A bargain must be struck. A bargain that will benefit the Architect of Fate and it may cost you, Brother."

Perturabo actually laughed at that and held up the claw. "Cost?! What else could I lose?"

"Your life? The lives of your sons?"

"If it takes my life then so be it. And if the daemon demands the lives of my sons, I will take his heads."

Magnus smiled. "I thought you would say that. Very well. Let us begin."

The Crimson King turned and extended a finger and drew it downwards. The fabric of reality itself parted as a rift formed. "Follow and stay close."

The two Primarchs marched through the portal and walked through what appeared to be a vast desert. Every now and again, Perturabo would see a deformed skeleton buried in the sand. Victims of the minions of Tzeentch. "Are we in his realm? The Realm of Tzeentch?"

"We are... adjacent to it. Imagine this as the Desert of Lost Souls. Those without direction often come through here. Pieces of lost souls." Magnus pointed towards the western horizon where a lone figure sat on what looked to be ruins. "Pieces like him."

Perturabo squinted, his advanced eyesight zeroing in on the figure. "Who is that?"

Magnus' response was filled with sounded like sorrow. "A lost one. One who wanders alone and prefers to be alone. Come, Brother. We are nearly at the next gate."

After what seemed to be hours, they stopped where Magnus parted the veil again. The brothers stepped through again to find themselves in what looked to be a library. Perturabo could swear he hear the sound of a pen scratching. "Are we there at last?"

Magnus nodded. "The realm of Kairos Fateweaver. Where he transcribes what will be, what will not, and what could. Such is the curse of one who can see the future."

"But where is he?"

"I am here, Lord of Iron. I am there. I am everywhere and I am nowhere. I am up. I am down. I am left and I am right." Perturabo turned to see a gigantic two-headed bird-like Daemon carrying a staff looming over the Primarchs. "Welcome to my home, Crimson King and Lord of Iron. I know why you are here so convince me why I should help you," said the head on the right. Perturabo knew from rumor and whisper that one head always told the truth while the other always lied. An old cliche and one he had no time for.

"Before we begin this... business, I wish for you to answer a question that has been bothering me for a while. Is the reason that I have been slow in my transformation because of my involvement in the events on the Crone World of Keldan and Fulgrim's Apotheosis?"

The two heads looked at one another and both answered.

"No," said one.

"Yes," said the other.

Perturabo's metallic claw was out in a flash, decapitating the head on the left. "There. No more lies. Only truth. Now tell me what it would take for this to be reversed or I shall take the other one."

The right head clicked its beak as the headless stump next to it slumped forwards. "I let that happen. It is no matter. As for the price, I ask for the soul of the Anathema for my Lord and Master Tzeentch. If you do that, I shall fully reverse your Apotheosis."

"You have the power to do that," Perturabo asked. He had been lied to many times over his long life that trust was something he had in short supply.

"With the soul of the Anathema, I will beseech Tzeentch to lend me his power. I do not lie, Lord of Iron. I can only speak truth."

Perturabo looked at Magnus. He had no love for Daemons. They were beings of deceit and the minions of Tzeentch were the most deceitful bastards in the Warp. But if it would gain him his revenge, he would do it. Whatever it took. He was slave to no Gods. That was the one thing he held onto from the Great Crusade. "Iron within... Iron Without," he mumbled. "Fine. I accept your terms." He held out the claw which Kairos took. Perturabo felt pain surge through his body. Like a layer of skin was being peeled off. He felt it through the wires plugged into his brain from his armor. It was like the armor was being removed from where it had fused to his skin. After releasing the Fateweaver's grip, Perturabo looked at a mirrored surface. His eyes, which had turned bright red, had lessened in hue to the point where he could see his pupils again. The armor looked like actual armor that had been slightly melted instead of fused to his body. His teeth, previously sharpened, had lessened to the point where only his canines were greatly pronounced. The only thing that had not changed in anyway was the claw.

"Consider this a gift and a reminder, Lord of Iron. Only when you give my master what he desires will you be free. Look in your hand."

Perturabo looked at the palm of his claw to find a gem had been embedded in the center. "A Soul Gem. Use it when the time comes."

"If you betray me, Fateweaver, I will take your other head and I will rip you apart, limb from limb. You will never be whole again."

The Fateweaver nodded. "I have seen the future. You will be free and you will give me what I want. That is fate. It cannot be changed."

Perturabo scowled and turned to Magnus. "Let us go, brother."

"Before you do," The Architect of Fate said. "I have one last gift for you. You will need a Warsmith for the rest of your sons to rally behind. Find the Iron Warrior of two fathers. The one who bears the metal arm. Find Honsou."

Perturabo listened and turned away as Magnus opened the Rift. He followed his brother through and found himself back on Medrengard. "Thank you, Magnus. I owe you."

Magnus smiled. "You only owe Kairos. You owe me nothing, Brother. Now... where is this Honsou?"

"I do not know, but I will find him and I will make sure he knows who is in charge." He had heard whispers of Honsou. His experiments with Daemonculaba had disgusted even Perturabo and he had personally known Fabius Bile. However, he knew that the Warsmith was brilliant and a tactician to be reckoned with. He would have to relieve his half-son of those practices if he was to be in his service. He would brook no daemoncraft in his legion. Never again. He looked down at his claw and flexed it again. "I will require some aid, Brother, in finding Honsou. Then I will make for Terra. I will stand before Father's throne and I will drain his soul and present it to Fateweaver. And then I will take Dorn's head and put it on my wall. The Iron Warriors will live again as they once were. I swear it."

Author's Note:

Perturabo has made his debut along with Magnus the Red. My second favorite Traitor Primarch after Curze and before Magnus. Angel Exterminatus is one of my favorite Horus Heresy books so it was a pleasure to do a story featuring him. I decided to have the Ascension to Daemonhood not be advanced as others because I find it to be out of character for Perturabo, as thick skulled as he is, to even think of accepting Daemonhood thanks to Angel Exterminatus.

On a side note, thanks for the feedback last time. I may have warnings here and there, but not to the length of the one I posted at the beginning of the last chapter.

So the Iron Warriors are going to play a big part in Curze's attack on Terra and Perturabo himself will have a big part in the finale. That is all I am saying, but expect big things.