''Fate is a capricious lady, give her a bouquet with a petal missing, and this would lead you to your death.''
-Soh'F'Epok, Lord of Change.
Prologue.
000.M31.
For a change, the skies above wasn't the usual grayish tone caused by the smog originated from the industrial complexes known as the recruiting grounds, the true meaning of this would fly as high as the mountains of Olympia on the head of the young man, still with the optimism of his 16th anniversary fresh on his skin, he awoken energized like a noble kid on his naming day, happiness that his mother and father didn´t share.
Getting out of his bedroom, he would fill his belly before going outside to feel the cold winds of the mountains with his father , he greeted his parents on the dinner room, the large table of musty wooden planks in various states of degradation stood occupying half of the accommodation, it was a very example of his house, big if humble, on his table, a middle age women placed the clay plates and tableware all around the long desk before join her primogenitor and husband in meal.
-Again? Asked the man on the table.
-This isn't healthy for you, this will only remind more of the pain, I know because it reminds me of it. Insisted the man.
She grows in discomfort, the food starts to taste saltier and wetter than it normally would be, noses sniffs in quietness, but she has to eat, the long day would make her forget this soon.
-My darling…they are serving the Emperor…amongst the stars, they are becoming heroes of the Imperium!
-I don't want heros…I want my sons! Replied the women.
-They will come back, remember…they promise that they would return, would return, have faith darling, faith in the Emperor.
The words given by the man was more for himself than for his wife, and by luck, it fitted both, the table was once full with their pride and treasures, the plentitude of male sons was something of pride of the man on the table, but the call of duty came, and it couldn´t be denied, one by one, they departure their home, leaving only an empty seat behind, and to occupy the emptiness left by their sons was faith and false promises, faith on the gods was something that was outlawed on this New Imperium, their faith could only be on the Lord of Lightning and the Lord of Iron.
Father and Son would march out to the village, passing quiet streets were man and women worked on small farms on the edges of the cliffs, trying to tame the rocky grounds and force the seeds to grown in poor soil, but for all the hardship, it was safer than guiding sheep on the narrow roads of few passages where ambushes of raiders was easier and more frequent, even on this times of supposed prosperity.
-Do you remember Ephora? Asked his father.
The very thought would make the teenager tired of the discussion that he saw coming.
-Father, arranging marries wasn't something that fathers did with their daughters? Besides, I don't want to marry a widow. Answer Philandros.
-You don't need to like her now, but after you discovers the…touch of a women, you will, and she is young still, 28 years, you still could have many children with her, and she could keep the household with that mysterious business of hers, you wouldn't need to work every day, would be a better life than this.
-There are many others, younger and with more…able bodies, father, and if I marry, I would need to be only with one woman the rest of my life.
The sheep would now be eating at peace for the time, but the discussion would endure furthermore.
The father put his hands on the shoulders of the boy, he had received beatings for lesser things than disagreeing with his father, and he was expecting one.
-You are the only son that I ha…have with me now, the recruiting to the legions will start soon, the Primarch needs you to have children, our family needs you to have sons.
He pointed to the flock grazing on the ground.
-Your job with me was to keep the flock alive and safe while they eat, and with Ephora, your job will be to keep your family alive! You need to start it as soon as possible!
The seriousness of his father´s words wasn´t transmitting an order, but a plead, it was the closest that he had seen his father to bag for something.
-But…I have time to have children still, I am 16, they call the recruitment 12 or younger. Tried to explain to his father.
Tears flooded the eyes of the old shepherd as the words exploded out of his mouth.
-They take everyone! Your uncle Philmar, they took him with 17, my other brothers where taken with 14, 15 and 16! Do you understand?! They take everyone!
The young one limited himself to only nod with his head as his father embrace him with tears on his eyes, harder than the hug was the realization of the situation, the image of war was at worse something akin to an adventure to him, he could be a hero of the Imperium but, he wasn´t a warrior…the constant wars on Olympia was long gone , Philandros was soft, lightfull, some would even say…not mainly enough to be in war.
The glory of battle on the IV legion, or being transformed into a baby maker for some widow that nobody really knew well besides the quantity of money she said to have, such a thing kept the young awake that night.
The very next day, he was awoken by his father with a force and enthusiasm that he didn't see on him for years, dragging his half-awake son out of the bed to witness the supernatural phenomena on the skies, and he saw and behold, the 20 km long Flagship of the IV legion in low orbit flaked by the smaller vessels like a void mountain surrounded by smaller pics and hills, shrouded in the blue haze of the atmosphere, hovering close enough to made the symbol of the 4th Legion visible to the naked eye.
-THE PRIMARCH, THE PRIMARCH HAD RETURNED! Screamed his father, running like a maniac on the dirt streets with overwhelming euphoria.
The people in awe gaze upwards to the scene on low orbit, their illiterate minds with limited experience was cursed to the necessity of explaining what happen before their eyes, and when they simply didn't know, they just pointed and screamed ''magic'' and ''divine'', like the same old Olympians during the arrival of the primarch, from all technological and economic advancements that came with the Imperial Aquila, little had change on the lives of those that lived on the shadows of the mountains.
When the young man takes hold of his father in his mad rush, he finally asks.
-Father…what does that mean? They came to take the recruits, must be…
-Philandros! This is the Iron Blood, the ship of Perturabo! He is HERE! You know what that means?!
His son kept in award silence for too long before his father screamed an answer at the tops of his lungs.
-THE GREAT CRUSADE HAS ENDED! THE GALAXY IS OURS! OUR SONS ARE BACK HOME!
As he speaks, Thunderhalks rush in supersonic speed above their heads, the infernal noises were enough to scare the younger ladies of the villa back to their homes, but not enough to take away the enthusiasm of the shepherd, his father had promised a feast without equal to the entire village, screaming and singing along.
Those who his words contaminated joined him in celebration, man and women rushed to catch their few chicken or other small domestic animal to be sacrificed, the small tavern was flung open as its owner roll out barrels after barrels of the drinks of all kind out the store to the feast, women put themselves to work as the butchered pigs and goats came to the houses, the very sky was brighter and lighter in anticipation of what was to happen.
A flash of light turned day in night, far away on the mountains, the city of Kardis was engulf by the menacing light, the potent laser lancers rained down upon one of the great cities of Olympia, transforming in seconds the heat wave of ionized air reached their village, the rushing winds carried stones and men alike, create a storm of shrapnel that destroyed homes and killed those unlucky enough to be out of cover.
In a splint second, the hopeful joy of the ending of an eternal war was transformed in a nightmare of destruction, the impossible had happen, their saviors had come to bring death, an entire mountain would become nothing but molten lava before their eyes, as the first salvos of the orbital fury was unleash, they could see against the light of the glowing river of death, a pair of shadowed silhouettes of Thunderhalks on route to there home, their wishes would be granted in the most vile twisted way, their sons where coming.
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Philmar checked his flamer after regroup with his squad, switching gallons of promethium on his flamer, behind him, the constant crackling of fire and crumbling sounds of collapsing buildings penetrate his mind, once this was a growing city, on top of the main commercial rote on this valley, now a ruin named Jurian, a name left to be forgotten.
Skywards, a Thunderhalk cut the air above his head, in a sharp curve, the pilot drive deep to the valley below, with mechanical efficiency that would be the envy of many on the Imperial Navy, he turns its back to the front of the squad in another turn, the flames of its thrusters setting the fields outside the walls of the city ablaze, this alone would have ruined the lives of several farmers and serfs that worked the land, but thanks to the 75th squad, they were too dead to care.
-Squad, boring now! Ordered sergeant Mikos
-Pilot! To the east, Melankos will be the next, Sevani, Philmar, take fresh flamers, these ones had been on too much action for today, Golfolta and Jundari, bring the grenade launchers, only krak ammo, the green ones will take care of the softer targets. Dictated by the sergeant as he reloaded his relic of a weapon.
The recruit tried to hide his disgust with the actions he had to carry out, he wouldn't voice it, not if he wanted to stay alive, complaints and grievances about his orders would smell like weakness, he tried to entomb the feeling within, suppress under the layers of ceramite and plasteel.
He tried to find refuge in the deeps of his mind, he remembered weeks ago, his squad were slaying Hruds with rotting ammo and blunt swords, losing fifteen soldiers fighting one of the most hideous creatures of this galaxy, and in a blink of an eye, all that killing potential was unleash on defenseless civilians of their own home-world, this was revolting to him, for the veterans was reliving, Mikos was following his orders to the letter, he was too old on the legion to question commands or tolerate his subordinates to question his, and the fact that purging civilians was an easy task, make the massacre akin to the closest he ever got to vacations in his life, and he seek to extend this by purging every scrap of civilization on the face of Olympia.
-The broadcast had reached the deeps of the valley sir? Asked Sevani.
-Of course! It has reached everywhere in this world! The thing had crossed the world at the speed of light you idiot! Spaded back Mikos, with the anger of speaking the obvious.
-Ma..may have some places that didn´t have vox receivers to hear sir, we should relay to them the ultimatum of the Primarch! Sevani spoke, with reason more than surly, the weakness of the words wasn´t matched with the force of the logic.
-Do you want to do this of pity or because you fear that Melankos´s scum could kill you in battle?
Sevani had become speechless for a second while his superior waited for an answer, but before they could demand one from the young inducted, Jundari would respond for the boy.
-It will save us ammunition sir, let them kill themselves and we can carry on faster.
-Yes! Spoke Sevani, trying to salvage his request.
Philmar casted aside his gaze, trying to not bled with the ideas of Sevani, his plane speaking would get them both killed, and the idea itself was as sick as the massacre they were perpetrating.
In a moment, his superhuman reflexes could catch the glimpse of a bunch of wooden huts and a fenced sheep below them.
-Village, 60 degrees West. Spoken Philmar without delay.
-Bomb it. Answered Jundari with a cold distance.
-No, we will need all the heavy ordinance we have, Pilot! To the village now!
Over the five or six dozen shacks and huts, the thunderous sound of a flying tank approaching scared those souls below to stillness, then, five pairs of power armored boots smashed into the muddy ground, announcing their presence, seconds later, they saw themselves surrounded by the half-dead sacred villagers.
-Hear me! Lord Perturabo ordered decimation upon this world, you shall kill one in every ten of your people, or suffer the consequences, will you comply? Announced Sevani in haste.
A haggard skinny old man gazes upwards to the giants on his front with fear and confusion, the wimped elderly manages to gather some words to give in response.
-What…?! Why?!
-Wrong Answer. Stated the sergeant as he sends a bolter shell into the torso of the mortal before him, exploding the old body of the elder into a rain of gore.
Screams sudden start across the dirty street, the squad quickly spared amongst the huts, burning, demolishing, killing and clearing rooms in the usual methodic brutality of the Iron Warriors, women screamed as they tried to shield their children from the shoots, hunters tried to fire arrows and primitive autoguns at the attackers, the show of bravely would be for nothing, man interposed themselves in the front of their families, even trying to fight even with wooden chairs or throwing stones as their relatives ran away from the bloodshed, that level of bravery would to well in the legion, but here, their deaths did not gain their loved ones a single heartbeat of time.
Philmar tried to kill in the painless way he could, drawing his bolt pistol, he tried to be as human as he could, the sentiment of repulse for the massacre was breaking the façade of compliance, and then, he stops trying, missing shoots and clearing the same houses again and again, hoping to gain some time as the civilians run for their lives.
The astarte then went in the direction of the largest house of the village, the door breaks instead of flung open as intended with the inhuman force of his kick, he batted aside the heavy large table like a toy, a women would came screaming ''Nooo!'' to the act, only to be killed with a strike from the post human gauntlet, he rushed to the next room, and them the other, he found two men, one with burns all across his body and a teenager with a literal familiar face.
Time slowed to him, his gifted mind tried to discern the odds of what had happened, breaking protocol, Philmar would take out his helmet as he would gaze upon his long-lost brother with his proper eyes, his true blood brother, and what he assumed that was his nephew.
In a struggle against his on body, the man tried to get up only to fall back into his son´s arms, burned skin melted together by the heat-wave of ionic destruction made every movement a torture, he looked amongst battle scars and visible older skin of the marine and found kin, he knew, that thing that was destroying his village, once called this place home, once, called him brother.
The shock was enough to overload his heart, accelerating the internal bleeding, shorting his life to moments, without being able to speak a single word to his long-gone brother, he departed this world.
Philmar met the eyes of the young one with shame on his face, faster than the boy could see, he smashed away the wall on his left, clearing a hole out of the house.
-Boy, run west, as fast as you can! Ordered the legionnaire
- Phi…Phi..mar? Uncle?
-RUN NOW! Shouted the Astarte, grabbing the teenager out of his brother's body and flinging him out the house, unsure if he had broken any bone of his nephew in the process, he saw the boy despairing amongst the smoke.
For a second, the gaps of the psych indoctrination would let the memories of this room to came back to his mind, the room he divided with the body on the ground, names and dates came back to his memory, days he was hungry, days he had felt cold, pain, the beatings he received for not taken care of the flock properly, days he had envy of his brothers that gained presents on their naming day, the day that….he felt happy… when his father taught him to hunt, when he slayed a beast that ambushed his flock alone, the day he was called to the IV legion, the pride of wearing his battle plate, pride to be iron , that was now gone, by his very actions.
From true iron, cometh true strength, and true strength would make one capable of doing what was right no matter the situation or outcome, and true honor was to know what was truly right to do, no honor could come from burning his own house, killing his own people, exiting the burning remains of his past, his search the skies for something that he felt that wronged him, he saw the Iron Blood orbiting high on the sky, but an imitation of an un-thing was close to the Iron Blood, forcing his superb vision, he saw a haze amalgamations of colors and madness coatless into a menacing eye.
He felt fear, felt anger, felt the evilness that came for that eye, his hypnotic psychic state was stopped by the calling of his brothers, as their transport was soon to depart the destroyed villager.
The aged aircraft was seconds to take off, when, in hate against his actions and brothers, the Iron Warrior would pull one of the promethium gallons out of his flamer, jumping out of the Thunderhawk, turning in midair in a swift movement, to throw the fuel against the flaming thruster of the transport.
The fuel tank exploded itself in an expanding fireball on the sky, the rising vehicle suffer for the sudden disbalance of trust, leading it to crash against the stone walls of the mountain range, in an instant, the consequential avalanche would came, burying the machine on tons of solid rock and debris, crushing the remains and killing those he once called brothers, he coldly surveyed the remains to find the Tank Grinder, still functional meters away from the crash site, he claimed the weapon as it was claimed before, from the hands of a dead superior, and with it came the certainty, from the understrength 75th squad, only Philmar left alive, but he knew he was as good as dead at this point, and this dead man would go to embark on mission, stop the madness that unfolded on Olympia, and one bullet will be more than enough.
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Lochos was once was the home of Perturabo, he never regarded it as such during the unification of Olympia more than 150 years ago, regarding the place as another dominion, once the world was unified, he had wanted to reform and rebuild the city to the grandiose scale that he saw fit for a planetary capital, but his foster father had declined, the motives was beyond the primarch but his denial had make its razing all the most easier.
This was last city of this world to suffer the judgment of Perturabo, by his hands, they would suffer for the personal insult in the form of rebellion, and by his hands would his foster sister would find her demise, killed in the fires of rage fueled by the words that the Lord of Iron knew was nothing more than the truth.
As Calliphone´s lifeless body was put back on the throne of his foster father, Perturabo felt the acid taste of the truth eating his soul, after the ire of battle settled, after the flames of rage would be sniffed out when the flesh and buildings that it consume had being all burned away, when all was nothing but ashes, he was left only the numbing feeling of emptiness, an emptiness that he knew with what it could be filled, but like an arrogant lock that denies it´s key, The Lord of Iron had denied it for long, and now, the possibility of love and affection, from his people, from his family and from his father, burned away with Lochos.
The isolated gun fire, the crackling of flames and the sounds artillery raining down its ordinance was the only company that heavy footsteps of that lost man had, Perturabo wandered like a ghost on the ruins of his once home, what was and what could have been fused together on his memories, without the clouds of rage or the fog of arrogance, he could remember the times he make fools of demagogues, leaving nobles to laugh at the priests run away from his oratories, the gasp and awe of the wonder of patricians as him defeated again and again the best warriors that challenge him, the true wonders that was the sculptures made by his hands came on his mind, the day of his naming, the day he unified Olympia under his foster father name, and on the back of every cherish memory, he could see something that was always there, like a droplet of paint on the photos, tainting the memories of the primarch, for a second he thought it was blood, the blood he drowned this city with.
He found one of the few towers that hasn't being brought down on his aimless walking, his perfect memory recalled the place, even if he hadn't this gift perfect recall, the place was important enough to never be forgotten, where he would take refuge when he became sick of the intrigues of the palaces and the constant tests and tribulations that his foster father put him, the place where he could dream.
He climbed to the top of the tower for the first time in more than a century and a half, the smell of damp moldy wood and wet stone had never bothered him, and now, even this he missed.
On the top of his sanctuary, once the mess of several drawings of bridges and miniatures public buildings, scattered scrolls of art and books of ancient history, were now organized and categorized, the extensive works of his youth, primitive but practical give him the glimpse of the boy that once asked about peace to a tyrant, that scorn war and dreamed things greater, what would this boy ask of him now?
His superhuman mind approved the well-made organization, when a day before, he would have killed those who dared to touch his works without his consent, and the grim realization came instantly that he had indeed killed the hands behind this.
His rational mind was struggling against his emotions, trying once again suppress the crushing weight of guilt and remorse, comparing what he did to Olympia to the hundred thousand worlds that he had taken in the name of The Emperor, some planets that were completely annihilated in a matter far worse than Olympia, why care for another world? And then another realization came down on him, the true scale of his atrocities, on the palaces, on Lochos, and another hundred billion cities.
From his paranoia cometh his uncompromisable nature, from is uncompromisable nature cometh his arrogance, from his arrogance cometh frustration, from his frustration cometh anger, from his anger cometh brutality, from brutality cometh the distrust from the others, from the distrust of others cometh his paranoia.
This was his personal litany, unbroken and unseen for all but himself until this very moment.
-Why father? He murmured as he took a portrait of his adoptive family with a hand, and a globe of Olympia on the other.
-Why did you make me be like this? Why did you give me such anger? Such a temper? Have you made me do such things like this? If it was...to be, why would you give me this desire to build? To create? Why father? Why?!
He questioned the wind, Perturabo wouldn't accept the guilt of this, he couldn't accept his guilt, trying to deflect anywhere else, to anybody, for any reason that he could rationalize, but his mind couldn't find anyone, or anything to bear it instead of him.
The cold wind carried his first tears away, outside, the glow of a burning world is visible on the nightly horizon, dusk settles into night, for hours, he set upon the parapet of his tower, overseeing the desolation he had caused, the pillars of smoke reached high on the atmosphere, first was a few sporadic drizzles wet the parapent, then the fall intensifies, water tingling on his battle plate in timid quantities grew into a constant nostalgic white noise of rain, he take his helmet off, maybe hoping that the rain extinguish this fire inside him or that it would wash away his guilt, the wars of Perturabo make the world itself cry in a form of a heavy torrential storm, and there, in the parapet of his tower, the Lord of Iron breaks, weeping for his lost family and broken dreams.
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He breaths with difficult, climbing a cliff face with a busted lung and tired muscles was even harder when you are being hunted by your brothers, no, they were not his brothers anymore, Philmar punched the stone wall when he didn't find another edge to grab, his armor was dotted with bolt holes and scorched by flamers and promethium bombs, he knew that others like him where dying to give this lone soldier time to reach his Primarch, even them, they could not kill every Iron Warrior that came on their way, Tank Grinder carried the same scars as the armor, damage by unrelenting firepower and fragments of a myriad of explosive ordinance and fragmental bolt fire.
His boots slip on the cracking rocks that didn´t support the weight of his broken battle plate, for a second he turned his face to the deeps below, where the bodies of uncountable others laid, dried of all life to the bone, and in a second of hesitation, he could be the next to find rest on the bottom of the cliff.
He struggles against the acidic pain of muscle and the cutting and re-cutting of his flesh by the frags lodged on his flesh as him climbed the cliff, soot and ash rained down above, blacking the vision of his broken helmet, the walls shakes with the residual bombardment that still rained above the city.
His gauntlets unmade themselves as they hit again and again solid rock, blood start to flow from his hands as the flesh is torn on the narrow edges and impaled by the fragments of his armor, but he will carry on, the synthetic musculature of the failing amor was becoming more and more a death weight with the excessive amount of damage.
He looked up, to the darkling skies above, he could see the outlines of the menacing colors coalescing into an eye, observing, judging him, measuring him, his worth, his iron, and for his Emperor and Imperium, he wouldn´t fail, with furious determination, he continued to climb the cliff, leaving a trail of blood, meat and iron behind, the wall seam ever growing in an endless struggle against him, this wasn´t just his last obstacle to reach the lord of iron ,this was now his very enemy, and he would tear this whole mountain apart if he must, this rock will break upon his might, his will and his iron.
Rocks cracks and splinted from the wall, boulders hits his tired head and body as him rush upwards, the never ending climb was becoming higher and higher to his exhausted mind, but he would not relent, he cannot relent, he set all of this in motion, and he will go to the end until draws breath.
In a miracle of will and endurance, his hands reached the top of the cliff, pulling a bloody mess of a man above, he collapses to the ground, chest open to the sky, his superhuman mind took an eternal second to realize what he had accomplish with disbelief, but only half of the impossible task was made, he stand on the top of a rocky ground, dried bushes and loose rocks adorned the place, on to his side, he could see stairs sculpted out of the stone, the smell of moist dust start to fill his nostrils, he turn to look upon his bloody hands and the he saw the blood washing away, it was raining.
Dragging himself up the stairs the found a small ruin of what once was a watchtower, the sealing had collapse into a carpet of ruble on the ground, the best position he would had to shoot the life out of his primarch, he collapses on the ground without ceremony and take aim with Tank Grinder, here, he could see most of the Old City of Lochos, the burning pyres of corpses, the bombed hospitals, shooting of defiant mortals that somehow tried to resist, Astartes killing innocent civilians, and the true degree of the acts of the legion now fully unfold on his mind, and most importantly, the act that himself would undertake, he was going to take the life of a son of the Emperor, his gene father, his commander, the half rushed psycho indoctrination worked with his biological imperative of submission to his primarch, he tried to find another solution to stop this madness, maybe if he had reported this to someone on Terra, maybe if he had showed talent enough to be selected to the triarchs and thus he could convin…no, he wasn't special, he had not any good talent to go from green to warsmith before, and even if he had manage the first half of the impossible, convincing Perturabo would be another impossibility.
But he had done the impossible of reaching this close to him, and now, he was fighting an internal war to pull the trigger on a target that he didn't even see yet.
The rain intensifies, he remembered the campaign against the hrud, when Legionnaires were age to dust trying to hold worthless lands, dying an agonizing death for something that nobody wanted , expect for a pen pusher on Terra that didn´t have any idea of what he was really asking, he remembered the digging of trenches over and over again after each attack, bunkers collapsing with the withered Iron Warriors inside, thankless campaign for a unsung victory, if spreading the Hrud across the stars could be called a victory.
He was there, on the very Iron Blood when the tyrant had Barabas Dantioch demoted and exiled to a planetoid in garrison duties, because he couldn´t do what his primarch ask of him, no matter how beyond him the task was, and now, this entire world is passing the same heavy handed treatment, no words could sewage the lord or iron, only iron can, by the iron he lived, by iron he ruled and by the iron he will die.
The rain intensifies, his hearts beating with the force of thunder in his chest when he saw the massive silhouette on the single tower of the palace that still standing high on Lochos, 500 meters away, a direct line of shoot, the speed and mass of the projectile was more than enough to let the bullet land as a las bolt at this range, he could break the handler of the gun with anticipation of this moment, he had taken this path, and he will see to it to his conclusion, he didn´t care to live after, he was a broken man at that point.
He forced his eyes against the periscope of the gun, his superhuman vision discerning amongst the torrential rain that was falling the image of Logos, the very armor of his primarch, and them, he aimed higher, to see something that almost stop his hearts, on the face of the lord of iron, he gaze upon a face of a cold tyrant, a distant father, an absent lord , a bitter general and he saw…he saw his father, broken, crying, ashamed….
On the other side of the cliff, his primordial instincts of survival start to kick back him into action, he was being watch, he could feel the treat on his very skin, slowly, but surely, he dragged himself out of the numbness, he knew what was watching him, the thing that always was watching him, the thing that tainted his memories, from the second he could remember on the side of that cliff, to the very present, that star maelstrom of ungodly colors, devoid of all logic and sense, was that witch watches him.
-You…He mumbles, bringing his eyes to meet his haunter.
Even after researching on Terra for answers, he knew little more about that impossible anomaly that he could see everywhere he looked up to the sky above, and fear of it limited him even more to look further.
-You stalked me, even to this very moment! His voice grew in distress and disgust.
-Was you! Always was YOU! Screamed the giant pointing to the skies.
-You cursed me with this brutality, you gave me the urge to burn my own world, to negate my foster father, and to kill the only person that ever loved me for what I am, IT WAS YOU!
The force of his voice was loud enough to be heard by his first Captain , he was looking for his sire since the city was taken, Forrix tried several times to call his master on the vox to no avail, but now, he finally knew where to find him.
-I will not stand for your menacing gaze, I will not tolerate your death stalking, your abominable oculus! Cursed the Lord of Iron.
-I SHALL BLIND YOU, I WILL CLOSE YOUR GAZE! YOUR EYE OF TERRO…
The screaming was interrupted by a bolt of light, traveling at killing speed towards the primarch, cutting the air with exotic energies of the realm of souls, the lance of energy bypasses his personal force shield, penetrating Logos and exiting the body of The Lord of Iron in a shower of blood and gore,.
The first captain arrived at the workshop to witness the fall of the titan, the battle plate crashing into the ground as his blood soaked the portrait made by him long ago.
Forrix rushed to the side of his master with not only fear, but true existential dread of losing his primarch, his gene father.
The primarch could feel his body corrupting and dying as the warp energies of the exotic weapon bites deeper on his flesh, his mind still could discern the nature of the harm done to him, a harm that could only come to the realm of the eye.
-Forrix…Gasped Perturabo, his hand tried to reach the 1st captain.
-My lord! Don´t worry, we will get you to orbit, you will live through this!
He pulled his son's ear next to his mouth, the monumental force of his grasp bending the Terminator Armor of his first capitan.
-Prospe…rooo…bring me…to Magn….
The primarch couldn't end his orders before passing out on the floor, his face was becoming a pail white, his once deep blue eyes was fading into grayness, a Thunderhawk would rush in hypersonic haste, the venerable wall of air bursting into the tower, hovering on the parapet without delay, Forrix and his honor guards brought their lord in haste to the Iron Blood in orbit, hoping against hope that their primarch yet lives.