Countless eyes were staring at the two people in the middle of the stage, sparks flying irritably, as if someone was whispering in the monster's ear.
The steel cables around Vashtor dropped inconspicuously, and it took a step forward, chanting blasphemous spells under Perturabo's gaze.
The Primarch narrowed his eyes slightly, his hands shook and fell to his waist.
Steam and flames rose, and the rust faded away as if they had never existed. Perturabo glanced thoughtfully in the direction where the rust was disappearing, and they retreated timidly before the fire and electricity arrived.
[Is this also your sincerity? ]
The Primarch suddenly spoke, staring at Vashtol, who bowed slightly, gracefully and exaggeratedly, and the cables around him were hidden behind the steel bars as he moved.
Vashtor abides by the contract, and it knows that this item is not included in the temporary contract.
But... this is a necessary step, a sacrifice in a great cause, for the greater good.
+I am glad that you can accept my temporary kindness. It is unbearable for me to see rust creeping up on steel and gold decaying into sand. +
Perturabo was not interested in Vashtor's words. The Primarch seemed to still focus on the rust. Vashtor looked at Perturabo, nodded, and turned sideways to signal it to leave the fleet.
[If you really have good intentions towards me, then take the Iron Blood out of the warp - of course, other areas are also possible. ]
Perturabo's words were blurred by layers of steam, and Vashtor ignored the Primarch's words, which seemed to imply something else.
The contract has been signed, and once one party completes the agreement, the other party must abide by it. It will complete its part first - so the problem will not be on its side.
It raised its hammer high, its bony wings spread, and flames engulfed it.
The turbulence in the highest sky began to accelerate, the fog quickly dissipated like rust, arcs of electricity rolled, sharp thunderbolts struck the huge waves, the Iron Blood seemed to let out a dying groan, and the steel sighed.
When Perturabo tried to blink again, he found that the Iron Blood and himself were between the galaxy. The ripples of the warp still oppressed him, but they were no longer as raging as the waves.
He turned his head and saw fearful eyes staring at him among the dim stars.
The subspace here is still distorted with the real world, but the proportion of the real side is obviously greater.
Perturabo frowned imperceptibly.
… This is not what he imagined… What do they want
The Lord of Steel paced silently on the deck, as if checking whether he and the Iron Blood had escaped from the warp. This was a reasonable request. Vashtor held his craftsman's hammer and waited patiently.
It needs to demonstrate its sincerity, even if its rewards are not now.
Perturabo looked thoughtfully at the fleet of Iron Warriors behind the Iron Blood. The rust on them had indeed been removed, but it was replaced by other useless decorations, exposed cables, and sparks coming out of nowhere.
Perturabo stared at him as if he was thinking about something. He seemed to pause for a long time. Vashtor walked to his side. The Lord of the Hearthfire raised one of its hands and said as if in negotiation.
+They belong to you, of course you can—+
Perturabo turned suddenly, and in a flash, Vashtor saw the flash of a knife and the light of fire on the Primarch's Terminator armor.
Another person who breaks the contract.
[You can go now! ]
Amid the overwhelming rain of bullets, Vashtor ignored the Primarch's surprise attack and lunged toward Perturabo, who was also swinging his hammer at it. Its skeleton opened and cables whistled out, spreading out like a spider web.
Realizing that the opponent was not afraid of his attack, Perturabo tried to dodge in time, but it was too late -
"Bang!"
Perturabo crashed straight into the metal jungle. Vashtor's last words faded away along with the teeth-grinding sound of metal falling. After Perturabo regained his balance and stood up, he found himself standing in a dark darkness.
Vashtor's words faded in his ears;
+You were the first to break your promise! In the name of the Lord of Hearthfire, I will demand a price! +
Perturabo remained silent. He had nothing to lose anyway. They were all in the same group, he thought. The rust and this monster that had come to show him kindness out of nowhere were all in the same group.
They were anxious, or rather, the monster who called himself Vashtor was anxious, but since... Perturabo's thoughts once again sank into the quagmire, since he had nothing left - it was difficult to admit this, very difficult, Perturabo could hardly imagine this... He once thought he would suffocate,
But in extreme situations, the rational and calm part of him still said so.
They wanted him to do something, but Perturabo remembered the monster's words. No, it was impossible. Its naivety almost made Perturabo laugh.
Fight them, or see what they want and then fight them. Perturabo chose the latter, but he still...
Just as Perturabo would not admit that what Vashtor said about the perfect city and Prospero did indeed shake him for a moment, he would not admit that his choice had failed again.
Perturabo took a deep breath. He was supposed to be rational, cold, and make the best decision based on the facts. He would do that. He always did that.
Faced with the reality of failure, he once again closed himself off.
As if to divert his attention, Perturabo began to shift the focus of his thoughts to the current situation. Was this the punishment for breaking the contract? Or was it the truth
Perturabo laughed loudly in his heart. To be honest, did they really think that the Primarch was someone who could be so easily deceived
Perturabo lowered his eyes, and the cables at his feet were neatly arranged. No, Perturabo frowned and identified them, these were not Vashtor's cables.
The instruments in the room hummed steadily, and the smell of disinfectant at the tip of his nose told Perturabo the answer: he was in a laboratory, perhaps behind some large instrument.
Perturabo frowned again. The truth? He had expected some... more mysterious images. Magnus had shown him a corner of the warp before, so Perturabo certainly knew about them.
But the floor beneath his feet told him that this did not seem to be just an illusion.
Perturabo sighed softly. It was all over. He should have done his duty of looking directly at the truth, but since he had broken his promise, he certainly could not play boring warp house games with them.
The Primarch was about to stride out of the shadows, ready to tear the first living thing he saw to pieces with a hail of bullets. He could already feel the muscles in his legs beginning to work, and then he heard a voice -
A voice that he was all too familiar with and had missed countless times.
The voice of the Emperor.
"They need to be loyal to me, first and foremost."
The voice said calmly.
Perturabo's pupils trembled violently. No, this was an illusion, he thought, but the blood of the Primarch and that... that voice that he could never misidentify told him - that was the Emperor.
His heart pounding, Perturabo wanted to call upon the Emperor's name, to step out of the darkness, to tell him...
Tell him what
It occurred to Perturabo that he had lost the Iron Warriors. What would the Emperor think of him? Would he scold him? Would he look upon his failure as—
Failed product.
Perturabo paused for breath, his mind sliding irresistibly back to the conversation he had just had with Vashtor. What had it said? He captured and twisted their essence, Prospero and the Perfect City, the abandoned Primarch.
Contrary to his nature, Perturabo remained silent. He did not know how to face this "illusionary" Emperor. He had... failed. Perturabo's brain ached.
But in some hidden corner, would he really not have the slightest curiosity about what the Emperor had just said and those words
Listen a little more, he thought, the decision-making power is still on his side.
"My lady, I want them to be absolutely loyal to me. They will fear me, but at the same time they will be eager for my reward. They will become generals who help the empire expand its territory. Therefore, loyalty is a must."
"They must be absolutely loyal. This will be a code engraved in the deepest part of their physical genes, encoded on the double helix, and flowing in their blood."
Perturabo trembled and looked at his hands. The Emperor, he thought. Loyalty.
When he longed for the Emperor's reward, when he was annoyed by the rewards given to him by others, when he presented his achievements to him again and again, when he hoped in his heart... Perturabo was ashamed to admit it, but... but... this should be from the heart, this is the son's admiration for his father, the general's loyalty to the emperor, not... not...
The Emperor designed it on purpose.
And, Perturabo thought, the Emperor… his father, what pronouns did he use to refer to his offspring
it
it?!
Perturabo seemed to be frozen in place, and there was still a faint voice in his heart telling him that all this was an illusion, a lie told by the creatures of the Warp - but Perturabo would never mistake the Emperor!
He waited countless times for the Emperor's gaze to turn to him from among the many Primarchs. He shed blood countless times, just for the dream he talked about. He picked up a knife and a sword instead of a pen and a blueprint, just for him! For the Emperor!
And he didn't even look at him!
Perturabo could have deceived himself by saying that the Emperor trusted him. He trusted him, so he gave him tasks again and again.
But now... now... he didn't know.
Perturabo was silent. At this moment, his heart stopped beating and he stopped breathing. He seemed to be just waiting for the Emperor's words, those words that sounded like a judgment.
"They are all dangerous in nature, so I need to use their physical genes to restrict them so that they can better serve the empire. Genes are of utmost importance, and this step cannot be slacked off."
nature,
Perturabo thought dully, remembering Vashtor's words, that he captured and twisted their essence.
So what are we? What am I
Perturabo's brain was trembling. He was the Fourth Son of the Emperor, he was a general of the Empire, he was an Iron Warrior... His thoughts paused for a moment. He was... he was what he called "it", a being bound by flesh, a being genetically programmed to be loyal and filial.
Perturabo suddenly realized that the roar of the instrument he heard was very similar to the sound of the Geller force field in operation.
He was sliding uncontrollably toward the abyss, but he had not yet fallen.
The Emperor's voice faded away, and the sound of his boots tapping the ground faded away peacefully. The Emperor seemed to be checking other experimental areas. He no longer strode out as he had initially intended. Perturabo carefully poked his head out from the instrument.
At a single glance, he saw the imprisoned object from the subspace that faintly resonated with him in the giant nutrient tube.
Perturabo's eyes went dark, and his body fell backwards uncontrollably, falling into the dark pool.
When Perturabo opened his eyes again, he found himself lying on the deck of the Iron Blood.
He stood up dazedly, and he saw that the entire fleet of Iron Warriors was intact, without a trace of rust, or any cables or unknown metal with an exhibitionist's aesthetic. They were intact, neat and shiny, as if nothing had happened.
The first thing Perturabo did was to check the ammunition level of his Terminator Armor. The bullets fired at Vashtor were indeed less, which seemed to be the only evidence to prove that all the chaos had happened.
But then Perturabo realized that all of this had actually happened.
He looked at the Iron Warrior who seemed to be standing guard on the deck as if on routine duty. He was about to call the soldier over, but the moment this thought came to his mind, the soldier turned around and walked towards him.
Perturabo watched in amazement as his offspring approached. The moment his attention shifted to the soldier, he already knew all of his statistics: height, weight, muscle density, proficiency in the use of various weapons - but not his name.
Perturabo asked him to take off his helmet. The Primarch tried to touch upon this idea, and the Iron Warrior obediently took off his helmet. Perturabo did not recognize this heir.
But he named it A00001, and then, Perturabo lowered his head, and through the deck, the data poured towards him like a sea.
Perturabo gasped, he didn't know how to react, this... Unbelievable... Unbelievable... But Perturabo was sure that he was the only master of these soldiers. The data tube inserted into his skull on his scalp hummed, which reminded him of the illusion, no, those instruments in reality, that glimpse in trance.
This is... This is his original ability.
This is the ability that the thing called "Perturabo" possessed from the very beginning.
The Warp washed away their souls - or rather, left them weak enough for Perturabo to take over.
Perturabo chuckled in disbelief. Was there really good will in the Warp? Was what Magnus said true
impossible.
After realizing that he had acquired this new ability, Perturabo spent a day adjusting to it while controlling the Iron Warriors to check every corner of the fleet. The Iron Warriors' ships were still as new and tidy as before entering the warp.
The fleet was anchored at the place where Vashtor originally brought them to. After a little contemplation, Perturabo chose to lead the fleet to find a stable place in the physical world of this space - he did not plan to make a subspace jump for the time being.
This new ability greatly diluted Perturabo's previous frustration. These idiots would no longer make mistakes, would not hesitantly tell him that the plague was spreading, would not quarrel privately about insignificant things, would no longer resist for petty gains, they only obeyed him and obeyed him completely.
Perturabo confirmed it again and again, and finally he accepted the fact that now the entire fleet was completely under his command.
But the Iron Lords' sense of crisis did not subside, and the entire fleet entered a state of combat readiness. Perturabo hesitated again and again, and ultimately did not choose to call for help from the nearby Imperial fleet. The Iron Warriors began to try to colonize nearby star fields while the main fleet remained on maximum alert.
The silent, completely efficient soldiers were busy like real war machines, and Perturabo himself did not show up. Inside the laboratory, Perturabo raised his bare arm. He stared at this perfect arm... as if he could see through the skin, through the blood, and see those small and subtle things that were tiny enough.
Impossible, Perturabo thought, full-body gene editing needs to be done in childhood, and even if he realized this now, it would be useless.
But he still pierced the skin with a needle, and watched the bright red seep out.
Perturabo placed his blood under the instrument and took that futile step, as if only by seeing it would he give up and accept reality.
He may have spent a long time, but no one came to disturb him. Maybe the flow of time near the Eye of Terror was wrong, or maybe it was because he himself was the forgotten... abandoned one.
Finally, he unlocked the last genetic lock.
No... Perturabo thought, you will just give up, you are an adult now, and gene editing can only be effective when you are a child.
But he still looked at the screen.
…
Perturabo swallowed silently.
He saw the half-knocked-out loyalty gene, as if it was about to fall off.
He could have just knocked it out right now.
The gene violently interfered with the expression of several nearby genes, and Perturabo's eye twitched.
He suddenly remembered... he had no memories of his childhood.
Perturabo looked up, and across the deck he saw the Eye of Terror staring back at him.
There is no time in the Warp... Perturabo thought slowly. He had lost his childhood memories, but he remembered the Eye of Terror...
After a long period of silence, the Iron Warriors fleet once again opened the Mandeville point of the warp jump.
Combined chapter, 4.9k, no more today!
Oh oh oh oh!
(End of this chapter)