"I hope you'll reconsider, Commander. A Primarch is not someone you can fight alone, even one who has been weakened considerably."
Terrian still didn't want his old friend to throw his life away. The odds of this plan succeeding were absurdly low.
"Have you forgotten the anti-psyker devices on our ships? The moment he boards, we push those devices to full power — that alone will weaken him further."
"I'll have ten Iron Circles standing by to assist me, and who said all we have are Iron Circles? Have you forgotten what Father also arranged for our ships, Terrian?"
Toramino wasn't gambling with his life lightly. "Dorn" had to be driven out. If he escaped, the war they were fighting across this universe would become far more difficult.
"Don't worry. If I fall, First Company Commander Brenev will take my place."
"The Primarch will see this is a trap. What if he doesn't come?"
"He will come!"
"You're that certain?"
"I am certain he will come!"
Watching Toramino's all-or-nothing resolve, Terrian didn't know what to say. There was no point arguing further.
"Then what's my role?"
"Same as planned. You take the vanguard, seize these three star systems — lead the Warband and take them. Don't let those traitors escape."
"Understood."
The next day, the Iron Warriors crashed into "Dorn's" carefully prepared defensive lines like a warhammer.
Terrian's frame, rivaling a War Hound-class Titan, surged at the very front, each of his movements dealing damage that matched an Emperor-class Titan.
The fortified lines crumbled quickly under the overwhelming firepower. The Obliterators, the Iron Warriors — their cannons were simply too many.
Enough to sweep every planet in all three star systems several times over without breaking a sweat.
No defensive line could hold for even a single day under that kind of firepower. Not even the Undying could change that.
The Thorned Fists suffered devastating losses. Even stripped of the cold discipline they once had as the Imperial Fists, the situation had become one where they couldn't even gain an advantage in melee.
There was nothing to be done. The Iron Warriors and Obliterators were simply too strong, and the Obliterators needed no further commentary.
Close quarters, ranged, heavy fire, naval supremacy — total domination on every front. This was no longer a question of superior tactics.
No tactic could change the fact that they were outmatched in every conceivable way against the Iron Warriors.
For the Thorned Fists, being defeated by the Iron Warriors was deeply humiliating.
So they fought with suicidal desperation to salvage what dignity they could, and their fearless manner deeply moved the local Auxilia, adding three more layers of ferocity to every defensive line.
Had the Blood God been paying attention here, perhaps His blessings would have flooded these killing grounds turned meatgrinders.
But there was no spare attention left for this place.
Ferrus gazed at "Fulgrim" before him. This was his first time laying eyes on this galaxy's Phoenix.
So profane.
"When Corax and the others told me about you, I didn't quite believe it at first — because I couldn't believe that the perfect Fulg could fall into what they described."
"Fulgrim" flicked his purple tongue and raised the Laeran Blade in one of his hands, licking the keen edge. His other arms each held a different weapon, and unspeakable organs covered every sensitive part of his body — most abundantly along the serpentine tail.
Whenever "Fulgrim" crawled across the ground, he always rubbed as much of himself across the surface as he could, as broadly and languorously as possible — it gave his never-satiated desires a peculiar pleasure.
Especially with Ferrus standing across from him. His appearance became all the more enticing.
"And now, dear 'brother'? What do you think?"
"Fulgrim" displayed his body — which he considered flawlessly perfect — with the grandest gestures he could manage. He yearned to draw Ferrus into his embrace, and even though this Ferrus had never surrendered to the arms of Lady Pleasure, that made it all the more thrilling!
"I think they didn't quite get it right."
"Have you come to your senses, Ferrus? My dearest brother — do you wish to share endless pleasure with me at last?"
"Fulgrim's" excitement was barely contained. His serpent's tail shifted and slithered slowly toward Ferrus.
But then a micro-missile detonated directly in his face and blasted him backward.
The toolbox on Ferrus's back no longer held itself in check. It spread open its full structure in a slow, deliberate unfolding.
"You are not fallen. You are someone who has completely and irrecoverably surrendered to his own desires."
"True corruption never looks like what you are. You are not perfect, so you always find other ways to conceal that — masking the emptiness inside you with depraved hunger."
"You are not fallen, Fulgrim. You simply cowardly fled from reality and then, fully lucid, indulged in the pleasures that abandonment brought you."
"No one will ever truly love you again, Fulg. Everyone will eventually leave you — and I will end all of this with my own hands."
Ferrus's iron hand drew a phase hammer from the toolbox, while enormous cannon barrels and bombs extended outward from within it.
"Fulgrim" had no idea how devastating those weapons were, but instinct screamed at him to close the distance — he could not allow Ferrus to fire them. He lunged forward at full speed.
His subconscious told him so — yet he was still a step too slow.
Ferrus stepped forward. Immense, crushing strength channeled into the phase hammer. In a single exchange, the Laeran Blade in "Fulgrim's" hand was shattered to pieces.
The force of the blow left "Fulgrim" stunned. This wasn't how it had been before.
He was sent hurtling backward, his breastplate instantly pulverized, his entire chest caved in.
"Fulgrim" could no longer feel pain. Injuries like this meant nothing to him, truly.
But before he could even collect himself, Ferrus unleashed a barrage of firepower far more savage than even an Emperor-class Titan — and it was already upon him.
The firepower was overwhelming. Even "Fulgrim" could not dodge at this range. He took the full brunt of that combined plasma and volcano cannon fire, laced with the annihilating power of Gauss heavy cannons, and his body was nearly obliterated entirely.
He collapsed into realspace once more — but this time, he felt no pleasure at all, because Ferrus gave him no opportunity.
Only the tattered upper half of "Fulgrim" remained as Ferrus walked toward him. Without a word, the hammer came down on his skull.
Eidolon and the others witnessed, once again, the terrifying power of the Iron Hands.
This enhanced breed of Iron Hands had grown all the more ferocious with their limitless firepower — especially the First Company's Tyrant Terminators.
Truthfully, the Emperor's Children had clashed with the Iron Hands before. But this time, they truly could not hold.
There is no enemy more terrifying than a group of maniacs who combine berserker fury, blinding speed, and horrifying firepower all at once.
What does it feel like to meet a squad of Terminators driven by frenzied violence and devastating guns in a head-on engagement?
The Emperor's Children provided a gruesome answer. Save for the handful who had already been elevated to Daemon Princes, the Emperor's Children were now a Legion in name only.
Aboard the Steel Warrior, "Dorn" led his Huscarls and the sons of the First Company into the vessel.
He knew perfectly well this was a trap. He knew there were measures waiting for him inside. And yet he came anyway.
Since giving himself to the Blood God, his style of war had grown far more aggressive.
He was no longer satisfied with victory through command alone. He had begun leading his Legion at the front lines, tearing apart enemy positions with the Talon of the Storm with his own hands.
He craved the thrill of cutting down enemies himself. Blood and skulls were not his concern — he simply wanted to kill.
Enemies weaker than him, enemies as strong as him, enemies stronger still — none of it mattered. He wanted to lay out the strategic plan and then immediately throw himself into the thick of it for a brutal, all-consuming fight.
His purpose had shifted from destroying the Emperor's enemies to obliterating every enemy there was.
The Thorned Fists were formidable, but not formidable enough — and so "Dorn," facing those massive star-fortresses and sky-blotting fleets, once again chose to build fortifications and construct defensive lines.
And now, there was an excellent opportunity to break the enemy fleet apart. Even knowing it was a trap, "Dorn" stepped into it without hesitation.
Having sparred with the Iron Warriors this long, he also knew that the number of Obliterators in the Contemptuous Intelligence Legion could not possibly support a full offensive right now — otherwise why had they been dragging things out here for so long?
Given the Iron Warriors' nature, they would have steamrolled this place long ago. They wouldn't be grinding this slowly.
"Dorn's" assessment was correct. Toramino knew he couldn't hide this from a Primarch — so he simply laid out his hand openly and brazenly, issuing a clear provocation: come if you dare.
"Dorn" arrived at the command room without encountering any meaningful resistance, just as he had anticipated. The entire warship was a trap — there wasn't even a token effort at defense.
Entering the command room, "Dorn" saw the figure ahead of him — nearly as tall as he was — standing in silence, watching their approach.
Had "Dorn" not sensed that a Primarch's oppressive aura was absent, he might have thought his intelligence had been wrong and that an actual Primarch had come here.
"It is an honor to meet you, my lord."
A manic grin spread across Toramino's face. The phase hammer and Gauss rifle in his hands were already hungering to shatter a Primarch.
"Luring a Primarch into a duel — should I call you foolish, or brave?"
"Dorn" observed Toramino, who had been waiting here for quite some time.
"If I hadn't come — what was your plan?"
This was entirely unlike "Dorn," who would never ordinarily bother to exchange words with an enemy. But the Iron Warrior commander before him was worth making an exception.
"I knew you would come. I was certain of it."
"That confident?"
Toramino's grin grew wilder.
"Perhaps this sounds too arrogant, but my lord — after fighting you for so long, I know you well."
"Oh?"
"You and I are the same. We're both madmen. The kind who, the moment an enemy shows the faintest crack, launch themselves at it like rabid dogs — even knowing it's a trap. As long as there's even a sliver of a chance at victory, we charge in without hesitation."
"I've never had the habit of collecting the heads of enemies — after all, no enemy's head is worth collecting alongside those of my brothers."
"But I will take your head. And I will place it in my quarters, to be treasured alongside my brothers."
"Dorn" activated the Talon of the Storm and walked slowly toward Toramino with the unhurried confidence of a Primarch.
But suddenly, a violent explosion behind him made "Dorn" stop. The Huscarl guards at his back were instantly swallowed by plasma fire.
"Is this your contingency plan? A few Obliterators and yourself?"
"Dorn" was genuinely baffled. How could Perturabo's son be this confident?
"Oh, it's far more than a few Obliterators, my lord."
Toramino instantly activated the ship's anti-psyker devices and pushed them to maximum power.
"Dorn" felt a deeply unpleasant sensation ripple through his body as the devices relentlessly severed his connection to reality.
It left him momentarily disoriented.
"How does it feel, my lord? Consider it a gift."
"Dorn" fixed his gaze on Toramino, said nothing more, and charged with the Talon of the Storm.
A Primarch, even a weakened one, is still a Primarch — and Toramino understood that more deeply than he ever had in this moment.
Even with equipment that matched the Primarch before him, even with ten Iron Circles as support, he was utterly dominated, unable to mount any real counterattack against "Dorn."
Had the Iron Circles not thrown themselves at "Dorn" in waves to wear him down, Toramino suspected he would already have been ground into pulp by a furious Primarch.
"Boy, those Obliterators won't save you. I'm going to tear you apart and mount the pieces in my collection!"
"Dorn" snarled as he carved two Iron Circles in half at the waist with a single strike.
But at that moment, Toramino seemed to sense something — he set down his phase hammer, holstered his Gauss rifle at his hip.
"My lord, worry about surviving first. Because your real enemy here isn't me and these few Iron Circles."
Before "Dorn" could make sense of those words, a feeling swept over him — the feeling of being locked in the gaze of a predator.
What was this?
"Dorn" looked toward the exit ahead, and there they were: five Obliterators unlike anything he had ever encountered.
Enormous. Bristling with weapons. And above all — the aura they radiated was dangerous.
"Have you heard of the Exterminatus Relics, my lord? These are Father's upgraded iteration of their original design — a new generation, stronger than the originals in every way."
"He prepared them for us, to use when facing enemies as powerful as Primarchs. They have never been deployed before — Father created them in secret, hidden from the Imperium."
"Even we had nearly forgotten they existed. The other Obliterators were already formidable enough."
"Now, my lord, you have become their first true opponent in any meaningful sense. I hope you can still withstand what comes next."
Toramino watched "Dorn" grind his teeth in fury — and commanded the five Exterminatus Relics to charge.