Chapter 51: Perturabo — "You Claimed You Loved Me Yesterday. Today, You Strike Me?"
The valley lay silent beneath a dim, ash-choked sky.
At its heart stood a statue—towering, radiant, and utterly wrong.
It was meant to depict the Emperor of Mankind. Instead, it resembled a warped idol of devotion, its features smoothed into unnatural perfection, its expression hollow and distant. The work bore the unmistakable arrogance of forced divinity.
Around it, the Word Bearers knelt in reverence.
They chanted, their voices rising in zealous unison.
But not all shared in their fervor.
Barabas Dantioch stood apart, helm tucked beneath one arm, his scarred face twisted in quiet disgust. His gaze lingered not on the Emperor's effigy—but on another statue nearby.
A grotesque mockery.
A carving of Perturabo.
Its proportions were wrong. Its expression exaggerated into something bitter and cruel. It was less a tribute and more a silent insult.
Dantioch exhaled slowly.
Magnus had done this.
And whether intentional or not… it felt like vengeance.
"I am not a sculptor," Magnus had said, almost dismissively.
"Then allow us to do it properly," Dantioch had replied.
Magnus's single eye had narrowed.
"A Primarch's image is not for lesser hands."
That had been the end of it.
Now, Dantioch simply watched.
The insult stood in stone.
And he could do nothing.
The roar of engines shattered the uneasy stillness.
A transport thunderhawk descended, its landing kicking up clouds of dust and ash.
The ramp slammed down.
Perturabo emerged.
He did not look at the statue.
Not once.
Instead, his iron gaze swept across the camp—taking in Erebus, Magnus, and Lorgar.
His expression darkened.
"What is this?" he demanded, voice like grinding steel. "Idleness? Ritual? Inefficiency?"
He stepped forward, each footfall heavy with restrained fury.
"You are Primarchs of the Imperium—not priests of some backwater cult!"
His eyes burned with contempt.
"There are no gods. Only truth. Only reason. The Imperial Truth."
The Word Bearers fell silent.
Lorgar said nothing.
Magnus merely watched.
And Erebus… smiled faintly.
Erebus stepped forward, one hand resting lightly on the back of an old man seated in a wheeled chair.
The frail figure looked up, amused.
Perturabo froze.
For a moment—just a moment—his composure cracked.
"Erebus…" he said slowly, dangerously. "What are you doing?"
Erebus's expression turned cold.
"Correcting a mistake."
A pause.
Then—
"You do not understand kindness. Nor family. Therefore, I revoke my previous proposal."
His voice hardened.
"I will take your father."
Silence fell like a blade.
The air itself seemed to tighten.
Perturabo's knuckles whitened around Forgebreaker.
"You dare…"
Erebus did not flinch.
"Allow me to introduce him properly—Lord Damikos, now my adopted father."
He placed a hand over his chest.
"By right, I am now a prince of the Kingdom of Lochos."
His gaze sharpened.
"And you, Perturabo… are no king at all."
Something broke.
"EREBUS!"
Perturabo surged forward, Forgebreaker swinging in a devastating arc.
The ground cracked beneath his charge.
Erebus did not move.
The hammer struck—
—and was met with a jarring impact.
Erebus staggered back, blood spilling from his lips, yet he stood firm before Damikos.
"No!" he cried, voice ringing with theatrical conviction. "If you would strike him—strike me first!"
"Then you will die first!"
The hammer rose again—
—and fell.
Erebus raised a hand.
And caught it.
The impact echoed like thunder.
For a heartbeat, the world stood still.
His expression shifted.
Gone was the weakness.
Gone was the act.
Only cold irritation remained.
"I gave you dignity," Erebus said quietly. "And still you insist on humiliating yourself."
From the sidelines—
"It's recorded!"
Lorgar stepped forward, holding a recording device, his expression alight with vindication.
Perturabo's blood ran cold.
Realization struck.
"You—"
"Yes," Erebus interrupted smoothly. "A test."
His smile returned.
"From the Emperor."
A lie.
A blatant one.
But in this moment—
It did not matter.
"You failed, Perturabo."
The words hit harder than any blow.
Something in Perturabo faltered.
"No…" he said hoarsely. "That is impossible."
Erebus stepped closer.
"You question Him? Your father?"
His voice rose, filled with righteous fury.
"You know nothing of mercy. Nothing of love. You betray His vision—again and again!"
Perturabo struck him.
A brutal punch to the chest.
Erebus's defensive field flickered violently.
Before the next blow could fall—
Lorgar moved.
His crozius arcanum crashed down toward Perturabo—
Magnus followed, blade of psychic fire igniting in his grasp.
At the perimeter—
Dantioch raised his bolter.
A chainblade pressed instantly against his side.
Khârn.
"Not your war," Khârn growled. "Stand down."
Steel met force.
Warp-fire clashed against iron will.
And Erebus—
Erebus struck from the front.
A blow across Perturabo's face that snapped his head back.
The Lord of Iron staggered.
For the first time—
He was losing.
"Traitors!" Perturabo roared. "All of you!"
His voice cracked with fury—and something deeper.
Something wounded.
"Dantioch! Prepare orbital cleansing protocols! Burn this world!"
Dantioch hesitated.
Khârn's blade did not move.
Then—
Crack.
The sound was sharp.
Final.
Absolute.
Everything stopped.
A figure stood before Perturabo.
Golden.
Radiant.
Impossible.
The Emperor of Mankind.
Perturabo stared.
His breath faltered.
His thoughts unraveled.
He struck me…
The realization shattered him.
Yesterday… He said He valued me.
Today…
His voice trembled, breaking under the weight of something far older than war.
"You said you loved me…"
His eyes widened, hollow.
"…and now you strike me?"
From the sidelines—
Damikos laughed, utterly unbothered.
"Good! A fine strike!" he called out. "Give him another!"
And in that moment—
For all his genius…
For all his strength…
Perturabo looked less like a Primarch—
And more like a son who had just been broken.
End of Chapter 51
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