Following the joint operational agreement between Perturabo and Horus, the fleets of the Iron Warriors and the Luna Wolves merged into a singular, gargantuan Imperial Crusade fleet.
Predictably, the objective of this combined force was the home world of the Ork fleet that had previously engaged Horus. To pull up a weed, one must destroy its roots—this was the most fundamental principle of conflict.
Now that the initial Ork fleet had been defeated, the next step was their total annihilation to eliminate the xenos threat to the surrounding sectors.
After a relatively short journey, the Imperial fleet appeared near the world temporarily designated "33-89." During the Great Crusade, the Imperium rarely had the luxury of time or resources to bestow memorable names upon every newly reclaimed world; simple numeric designations were the standard.
With their arrival at the Ork home world, a brutal planetary landing was about to commence.
Flagship of the Fourth Legion, the Gloriana-class Iron Blood.
Perturabo stood upon a high dais, his hands clasped behind his back, looking down upon the ranks of Iron Warriors Astartes arrayed in a parade formation for his inspection.
Behind him stood Forrix and Suvorov, his two trusted Captains, silently awaiting their gene-father's command.
If I did not know the truth, it would be hard to believe that among these Astartes, there are still those who do not love and worship me unconditionally as their gene-father.
I cannot tolerate the existence of anyone in my Legion who does not offer me total devotion. Today, I shall ensure they learn to worship me—otherwise, I do not mind personally eliminating these wayward sons.
As he surveyed the assembled Iron Warriors, a nameless fire of resentment flickered within Perturabo. To an autocrat as sensitive as he, the existence of a "Horus-loyalist" faction within the Fourth Legion was an intolerable insult.
"My Lord, we are prepared. We can deploy at a moment's notice upon your command," Forrix's voice broke the Iron Tsar's internal monologue, pulling him back to the physical world.
"Very well, Forrix. I shall issue the order."
At Forrix's prompt, Perturabo slowly turned to look at his First Captain with renewed interest. Although Forrix was a Terra-born warrior, his attitude toward his gene-father had been one of absolute obedience and submission.
It was this submissive and respectful demeanor that earned Forrix a degree of favor from Perturabo, leading the Primarch to consider removing Forrix from the list of "Horus-loyalists" he intended to "process."
"Forrix, I have a question for you. Answer truthfully," Perturabo said slowly, his tone taking on a deceptive lightness.
"Ask whatever you wish, My Lord," Forrix replied earnestly, unaware of the dark paths his gene-father's mind was treading. Beside him, Suvorov stiffened, a flicker of apprehension crossing his face.
"Forrix... in your heart, who do you believe is greater? Horus Lupercal, the Primarch who once led you, or me, your true genetic father?"
Perturabo's voice was soft, but the question was lethal—especially at this critical moment before a battle.
Hearing this dangerous query, Suvorov's expression shifted to one of shock and dread. He quickly cast a desperate glance at Forrix, signaling him to choose his words with extreme care.
Forrix was momentarily stunned by the seemingly random question, but he reacted quickly.
"It is you, My Lord. Without question."
"Lord Horus is undoubtedly a great Primarch and an exceptional leader, but how could his place in our hearts ever compare to you, our true genetic father?" Forrix answered directly after a brief moment of calculation.
"Indeed. You are a man of reason. Yet there are those who believe Horus—a Primarch who led you only briefly—is greater than I, more deserving of their love and worship!"
Perturabo nodded slightly at the seamless answer, though his voice began to swell with indignation and dissatisfaction.
Forrix and Suvorov broke into a cold sweat. In this galaxy, there were few things more terrifying than an offended Perturabo.
"My Lord... uh, those battle-brothers... perhaps they simply haven't had enough time to adjust to your sudden return. You should grant them more time to accept you as their gene-father," Forrix ventured boldly, attempting to plead for the Horus-loyalists.
Though he had personally accepted Perturabo, he did not wish to see his brothers-in-arms who still admired Horus be cast aside.
"Forrix, your conduct has proven your loyalty, and I appreciate that. But those who excessively idolize Horus are a constant challenge to my authority and dignity as their father."
"Therefore, they must either renounce their misplaced affection for Horus, or they shall find their 'glorious death' in this coming campaign. It would be better for them, and for us."
Hearing Forrix's plea, Perturabo gave a cold snort.
"If that is the case, My Lord... Father... please, let me lead them."
"I will lead them into the teeth of the Ork fire to provide cover for the rest of the Legion. I hope that through our blood, you will recognize the loyalty of the Terra-born."
After a short silence, Forrix dropped to one knee, imploring Perturabo.
"You mean you are willing to lead the Horus-loyalists on a suicidal mission? Very well. Since you have requested it, I shall not refuse."
"However, if you still fail to complete the objective... do not blame me for being merciless."
Perturabo narrowed his eyes slightly as he spoke, his voice dropping to a low, chilling tone.
"By your command, My Lord."