Perturabo loved research, especially in the material universe. Here, Warp divinity could not influence things; his thought patterns were restricted to the normal range of a Primarch. Flesh can be strengthened and steel reinforced, but a math problem remains unsolvable if you simply can't do the work. This wasn't the Warp, where any flight of fancy could become reality.
The material universe strictly obeyed the laws of physics—which was exactly why the Warp was always trying to invade. If the power of pure imagination could cause such destruction in reality, wouldn't the Chaos Gods be unstoppable if they achieved a full-scale invasion? They were always aggressive because they craved every soul and emotion in the material realm to feed their greed.
Perturabo and the Emperor were "anomalies" that no Warp demon could understand. And the Primarchs? Despite being "kin" to the Warp and incredibly powerful, why did they insist on calling themselves human? Look at them—do any of them actually look human? Is there a human that strong? Can you find one? Not a single one!
Was the Emperor still human? Were the Perpetuals, the Sensei, the Custodes, or the Astartes? The demons didn't know about the others, but the Primarchs were absolutely not human. Whenever a demon drew close, the thick scent of Warp divinity rolled off them in waves.
Thus, whenever the Emperor conquered a world and told the worshiping masses, "I am not a god," it drew peals of mockery from the Master of Fate in the Crystal Labyrinth. The demons sneered at the "Anathema's" posturing. Who are you trying to fool?
Because of this, Perturabo often struggled when making miniatures of the Emperor. No matter how "Radiant and Righteous" he made the image, the figure always felt discordant. While Calliphone praised them and his brother Andos looked at the golden "statue" with awe-struck reverence, Perturabo couldn't stand the sight of the shimmering piece.
But one day, he had a sudden whim to "transform" the image. Suddenly, it clicked. Perturabo generally didn't believe in mystical "vibes"—in the material universe, you follow physics. Yet, he felt a surge of inspiration and "hand-feel" that was unparalleled.
When he finished the malevolent "Dark King" miniature, Perturabo felt it was finally "right." This was what the Emperor should look like! Usually draped in human skin and blinding psychic light, one almost forgot what the Emperor's Warp essence truly was. From then on, Perturabo made dual-sided miniatures of the Emperor—one light, one dark. They still weren't perfect, but he knew he'd get there.
Lion El'Jonson's miniature was mysterious and powerful: black armor, two small white wings on his helm, a greatsword in one hand, and a shield in the other. He had many forms, but all were accurate down to the smallest decoration from Perturabo's memories. Then there was the fallen form: identical black armor but with red wings and a jagged Chaos Iron Halo that made him look utterly villainous—mysterious, powerful, and giving off the vibe that he'd stab you in the back at any moment (though Lion gave off that vibe regardless of whether he had fallen or not).
In the display case was a miniature, dark "Death World" forest where every tree was twisted into a grotesque shape. The branches were black, the leaves deep purple, and the ground covered in withered ferns. In the distance, a stone mountain sat with a cave at its base, where a blurry figure crouched. That was Lion, standing alone, helm on, lost in thought—a place of silence Perturabo had created for his irritable brother.
Rogal Dorn was the one Perturabo gave the most "special attention" to.
Perturabo, a giant over five meters tall, was currently lying flat on the floor. A massive mechanical tentacle extended from his power armor, tipped with a micro-carving pen of impossible fineness. His face was almost pressed against the glass as he meticulously touched up the eyelashes of a 60cm tall figure.
This was Rogal Dorn, his most "beloved" brother. This scene was a masterpiece: Dorn stood on a massive, rickety scaffold, hands reaching desperately into the air as he chased a roll of architectural blueprints being blown away by a gale. Every fold in the paper and every line on the blueprints was as detailed as the real thing. The expression on Dorn's face—a mix of shock, rage, and helplessness—was Perturabo's little act of malice toward his "dear" brother.
"Hmph," Perturabo grunted with satisfaction. His mechanical arm retracted, and his massive frame sprang nimbly from the floor to inspect his work. He loved this one; it was the pinnacle of his miniature-making career. Even Calliphone's custom figures weren't this vivid!
Smiling, he turned to another cabinet: his "ambitious" brother, the Regent of the Second Empire, Primarch of the XIII Legion, Lord of Macragge.
The scene was a mountain of parchment scrolls and ledgers that nearly filled the entire case. At the bottom of this "Paper Mountain," only two hands reached out weakly; one gripped a quill, with a tiny drop of ink poised to fall from the tip. The little envelopes were real; Perturabo had used micro-mechanical arms to simulate Guilliman's daily routine in the Macragge administrative halls, writing them one by one.
Opposite him was the "Emperor" of the Second Empire, the Perfect Angel. Sanguinius stood in profile before a gilded mirror in a "Dying Swan" pose, every feather on his white wings distinct, his face wearing a self-indulgent, intoxicated expression. Perturabo even carved a blurry reflection of himself in the mirror, looking "stunned" by the Angel's beauty.
Between them was Lion—another "Warmaster" model. This Lion looked like a "hissing" cat, his piercing eyes locked onto Guilliman, his right hand gripping a greatsword as if he were about to charge in and end them both.
"That's more like it. A Second Empire should look like a Second Empire," Perturabo mused, feeling quite satisfied.
He glanced at the other cabinets:
The Khan rode a "motorcycle," wielding the White Tiger Dao, leading a group of white-armored figures across a great steppe.
Magnus held the Book of Magnus, followed by a group of "Red Tomato Cans," preparing to explore a pyramid in a vast desert.
Konrad Curze sat in a dark torture chamber filled with hooks and implements, wearing a manic, exaggerated smile.
Leman Russ and his "pups" were tearing into a slab of Grox steak with two giant wolves, laughing as they shared Fenrisian Ale.
Lorgar knelt before a statue of the Emperor in prayer, his lips moving with benedictions, his entire body covered in mysterious scriptures.
Vulkan, in the heat of battle, held a giant hammer while crouching to shield a little human girl with his broad back, a slight smile on his fierce face to comfort her.
...
Perturabo had made many such pieces, covering all sorts of scenes. His favorites, however, remained the Great Heresy and the Second Empire. They were his magnum opuses, capturing the expressions and movements of Primarchs, Astartes, Custodes, and mortals perfectly. The "Great Heresy" collection alone filled dozens of rooms.
Even Calliphone didn't know about this. It was his secret. And who says the Heresy has to be started by Horus? After all, the Word Bearers were also part of his "Great Heresy" sets.
Perturabo really wanted his sister to play a miniature wargame with him, but he hesitated. In the end, he just made a fleet of naval starships to play simulated sea battles with her during their leisure time. He also made models of every type of Titan—first-gen, iterations, and even "trash-bin" designs from his own mind.
In the Warp, bringing these "trash" designs to life was easy. The Titans in his Demon Factory were enough to drive any Tech-Priest insane enough to fall to Chaos in search of the true Omnissiah. If Mars or Jupiter knew about the Abyss-class warships docked in his factory, who knows how they'd react.
While it was hard to bring Warp items into reality, given an anchor point, his naval fleet could tear any enemy to shreds. Anyone! Even the Necrons would have to kneel! If he could open a Warp rift on any battlefield, his demon vehicles, super-heavy Quake Cannons, and uncountable Titan legions would slaughter everything. Tyranids and Orks were nothing before him.
Perturabo might not be the best at a 1v1 duel in the Warp, but he could win a war of extinction with ease. As long as the other gods didn't personally intervene, he could solo all their lackeys combined. He was that powerful. If he weren't worried about the "Four Weirdos" flipping the table, he would have joined the Eternal War and crushed them already. He literally had 6,000 copies of the Vengeful Spirit; they'd better bring some serious heat, or the war would be boring.
It was a pity such power couldn't be used in realspace. He finally understood why Chaos wanted to invade. Warp power was too strong; without limits, the galaxy—the universe—would be unrecognizable. If he weren't restricted, he could plow the entire Milky Way with orbital fire in a matter of days. It was pure cheating!
But he wouldn't do it. Opening a rift to bring his army in would weaken the veil of reality, allowing the other gods to open rifts elsewhere like rabid hyenas. He wouldn't take that risk unless absolutely necessary. He couldn't beat all four of them, and the current Emperor couldn't either. The only solution was the Webway.
Unfortunately, he had no talent for Webway construction. Otherwise, he'd go back to the Imperium right now to help the Emperor build it.
Looking at his ship models, he felt a bit bored. They were just models; they couldn't strike down xenos in the galaxy. He really wanted to see how xenos would handle his Lance and Macro-cannon batteries. In tactical calculation, he was cold and nearly heartless.
But the current Perturabo was different: he cared about people. He would rather take losses than lose a single life on his side. His Iron Circle and automata weren't made for opera; they were made to die so men wouldn't have to.
This was dangerous territory. He wondered how the Emperor would see it. Aside from religion, he was basically following the "forbidden" menu of the Imperial Truth point by point. What would the Emperor do? Erase him? Or try to trick him into joining the Crusade before dealing with him personally?
He was actually excited for the Emperor's reaction. He loved crossing red lines and trampling on others' rules; it added flavor to his "slacking" lifestyle.
He couldn't help but laugh out loud.
"Abo, what is it now? Did I lose?" Calliphone was standing over the naval models, using a mechanical arm to move her ships. They were playing a game, but she wasn't very good at it, despite her efforts. His laughter told her her "situation" was likely a mess; his minor adjustments had already left her fleet in tatters.
"Not yet, but it's getting dangerous."
"Oh? Were you thinking of something?"
"Just something interesting."
Calliphone apologized for her lack of skill, feeling bad for not giving him a proper challenge if he had time to daydream. She steered a massive ship—much larger than the others—to ram his vessels. Seeing his small models get knocked off the board, she finally smiled, only to have it vanish when she saw her ship surrounded by his heavy hitters.
"Stop. I want to swap. You play my side, I play yours."
"Alright." Perturabo agreed instantly. He didn't mind that she had already lost six of her Gloriana-class battleships.
But even with the sides swapped, Calliphone couldn't win. She was just that bad, and even with Perturabo holding back significantly, she couldn't get an advantage. Suddenly, a massive gap appeared in his fleet. She seized the opening, and the tide turned. She knew he was losing on purpose again. He always did that—beating her soundly and then throwing the game.
"I'm done. I can't beat you." She flopped onto his lounge chair, exhausted. Perturabo laughed and lay down beside her.
"Abo, what were you thinking about earlier?"
"Sister, if I said I had a bunch of brothers, would you believe me?"
"A lot?"
"About 20."
"Are they all as amazing as you?" She was shocked. All of Olympia knew how capable he was, and there were twenty more like him?
"Not exactly. We specialize in different things. My field overlaps a bit with one of them."
"Oh? Is he as good as you?"
"Hah! I'm much better than him! You'll see eventually."
"Are they all brothers? No sisters?" she asked.
"As far as I know, no." He shook his head.
"Ah, all boys. Your parents must have a headache."
"Father doesn't care about things like that. Others took care of us."
"Who? Your mother? Is your father very busy with other things?"
"You could say that. But he has some... issues. He'll come looking for me eventually. I don't really want him appearing before me."
"Why? Is he a tyrant?"
"He's much worse than a tyrant."
"Will you go with him? Will you leave us?" She looked a bit dejected. She didn't want him to leave.
"I have to go, but it's just a formal return. I'll stay on Olympia with you."
"Why?"
"I go back because I must, but whether I follow his orders is my choice. He can't force me. I really don't want you to see him."
"Why?"
"Because he's a sore loser, he loves using psychic powers to charm people into doing his bidding, he has no manners, and he's a shameless hypocrite."
Calliphone could tell he didn't actually hate his father that much, otherwise he wouldn't talk about going back. He was just being his usual "awkward" self.
"How did you end up on Olympia then?"
"An accident. My brothers and I were scattered across the galaxy."
"How? Shouldn't you have been protected?"
"Because the one who abandoned us was our mother—well, our biological mother."
Calliphone's head was spinning.
"She's out of her mind. Uncurable. Just like my father, though her condition is worse. Our father just sees us as tools."
"Then why go back? Has Olympia made you bored?"
"A little, but I still have to go. Our task is heavy. After I return, I'll probably be stuck in a lab all day again."
"You might get bored again then."
"It'll be fine. At least you're here. But your task will be heavy too, sister. The territory we manage will be much larger. It'll be hard work for you."
"Is it a lot?"
"A lot."
"How much?"
"Conservatively? At least 500 worlds."
"Five hundred worlds like Olympia?" She was intimidated, but she wanted to help. With logic engines, she might manage.
"No," Perturabo shook his head. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Olympia isn't self-sufficient. It lacks agricultural output. It takes an Agri-world and a Forge World just to count as one complete 'world' in my book."
"Then how big are the 500?"
"There aren't many planets like Olympia. A 'world' usually needs about a dozen planets to form a self-sufficient supply and defense system. We'll also need to conscript armies to reclaim the galaxy and exterminate xenos. A single star system might not even make one 'world.' If a sun has issues, I'll have to find a way to fix it, which is a hassle. But it has to be done. My standards are strict. By my reckoning, you'll be managing at least 50,000 planets. No upper limit."
Calliphone suddenly felt that her future life was not going to be very pleasant.