"What courage do you have? Coward!"
The Emperor was not suppressing the power of the Darkness King at this moment — he was embracing his own nature.
The imperial dignity and divinity of a human Emperor had entirely left him. The dark battle-plate, now saturated with the aura of annihilation, burned with surging black flames.
Each time the great black-flaming blade drove Khorne back, it carried away a portion of the daemon armies from his realm.
The Emperor had not chosen to erode the essence of Chaos — he had chosen absolute destruction.
This time he was resolved to settle accounts with Chaos. He had not chosen to back down, nor had he left himself any way out.
His objective alongside Perturabo was clear: the four Chaos Gods of the Warp. Father and son — this time, they would deal with them all.
Even if they could not permanently unmake the Chaos Star, they would kill every last one of these bastards, and during the time it took them to respawn, seal the Warp completely.
As for themselves — that wasn't a question worth considering.
Two lives for four. An absolute bargain.
No matter how you looked at it, this was not a loss. As long as the Warp was sealed, could Guilliman and the others not manage a single Imperium in the material universe?
Please. Given a few thousand years, humanity could probably recover to the technological level of the Golden Age — and after that, what would there be left to worry about?
This was both a reckoning and a total sealing of the Warp across all four galaxies and the primary universe.
From the moment they tore open the Eye of Terror, Perturabo and the Emperor had already calculated everything toward this final moment.
The Blackstone Fortress had already positioned a full hundred fortresses around the Eye of Terror in the primary universe. Once the Chaos Gods were decisively dealt with in the Warp, and once the traitors across all these galaxies were completely purged, Perturabo would give the order to seal the Eye of Terror permanently.
After that — five galaxies. Five different universes worth of humanity. Even if they wanted civil war, they would have to develop their technology first.
Whatever happened after that would be humanity's own business.
As long as they could recover to the technological level of the Golden Age, even the half-dead Necrons currently slumbering, even a Great Devourer assault — none of it would pose any insurmountable problem for the human Imperium.
So what was there left to worry about?
"You mongrel. Let me show you right now that your so-called courage and glory mean nothing before humanity."
"God of Blood and Skulls — what a joke."
"You're nothing but a wretch who spends eternity driving men mad with your illusions and psychic force, then leashing them like dogs."
"You coward — look at me! You mongrel!"
The Emperor poured every ounce of rage he had held back for so long onto Khorne without restraint. He was no longer what he once had been.
The great black-flame sword drove Khorne back with howls of fury. Khorne's own anger was useless here — even as wars raged across the galaxy without number, Perturabo and the Emperor had forcibly intercepted all of that power.
It was not only Khorne who had lost his source of strength — the entire Warp was now in a state of blockade.
All the daemons of the Warp had lost the foundation they depended on for existence. Even the God of Mek couldn't receive so much as a drop of the "I reckon" power flowing from the Greenskins.
This wasn't an attempt to eliminate Chaos's influence on the material universe. This was digging up the roots of the entire Warp.
And so, what Perturabo and the Emperor now faced was not merely Chaos — but the entirety of the Warp itself.
Five of them — all at once.
Perturabo and the Emperor had forcibly seized the divine thrones of five galaxies, then opened simultaneous war across all those dimensional timelines.
This caused their personal will and consciousness to dissipate with terrifying speed. The Chaos Star exerted its counter-influence on their minds and behavior in return.
This was a revenge crusade with no alternative but victory or death.
And Perturabo, staring at the three Chaos Gods before him, and those two hulking masses of Greenskins green enough to be black — had nearly completely lost his sanity.
What the four great powers had bestowed upon him was not merely mechanics, but unparalleled, overwhelming strength.
The battlefield of the entire Warp affected every thread of time and space within it. All daemons and Warp entities were dragged helplessly into this undeserved catastrophe.
As the Warp was turned upside down, the battlefields across every galaxy were also being shattered to the brink of collapse under the weight of countless wars.
The Imperium was truly merciless — they only killed, never cleaned up. The slightest inconvenience and they would wholesale issue Exterminatus orders without hesitation.
The number of humans who died directly or indirectly at the Imperium's own hands far exceeded the total number killed by all the traitors combined.
Aboard the Steel Warrior, Toramino gave the Primarch — who had given himself to the Blood God yet still managed to retain his reason — one final measure of dignity.
Five Exterminatus Relics were simply beyond the reach of a Primarch who had been so forcibly diminished. Even at the height of his power, whether "Dorn" could have overcome all five was an open question.
Toramino seized his hammer and brought it down with full force, shattering the traitor who lay fallen and unable to rise. He made no gesture of humiliation. This was the last dignity he could offer a Primarch.
"Terrian, you can increase your offensive pace. The navy will provide sufficient orbital support."
Terrian had just forcibly dismantled a Thorned Fists' Dreadnought when Toramino's order came in.
"So you succeeded."
"Things went even more smoothly than expected. Father's creations really are something."
Terrian said nothing more and directly commanded the Iron Warriors to crash hard into the enemy's command center.
He had already prepared himself for a one-for-one trade. He simply hadn't expected Toramino's plan to execute this cleanly. Father's contingencies were indeed formidable.
"Dorn's" defeat shattered the traitor forces' will completely. The collapse of the "Ultramarines" and the Thorned Fists was now unstoppable.
This had never been a war fought on equal footing. Otherwise, given "Dorn's" nature, he would never have stayed turtled in his defensive lines — he would have come barreling over long ago aboard Mountain Formation.
"I thought you would never betray the Emperor. I didn't expect that in the end, you too became traitors."
Brenev looked at "Sigismund" and "Tyr" before him. Neither man's power armor bore any mark of corruption.
The Thorned Fists, even after pledging themselves to the Blood God, had not allowed grotesque mutations to appear on their bodies. It was precisely this that had led "Roboute" to recall this brother warband.
The First Company Commander of the Third Warband — a man of hard-edged features — studied these two "cousins" who had made names for themselves across the Imperium.
"I don't know what led you to this betrayal. But here and now, I will exile you both completely."
The phase hammer in his hand flickered with a pale green force field. That face — so uncannily like the genetic father — was set with absolute resolve.
Looking at "Tyr" and the power sword that was now bound tightly in iron chains, Brenev did not wish to see this once dear friend continue down this path.
"Let me put an end to your sins with my own hands."
The advance of the battle lines was swift, and the defensive lines of the Nebulous Reach had developed a massive breach in the wake of "Dorn's" exile.
Guilliman spotted that breach with sharp precision and immediately dispatched a fleet to launch a fierce assault against it.
The Imperium's advance accelerated further.
"My lord, your decisions are too hesitant. We did not come here this time to save humanity — we came for a revenge crusade, to utterly destroy the traitors."
Dantiochus looked on as the Lord of Drakes was once again on the verge of halting the war over the civilian populations of yet another world, and he felt an inescapable helplessness settle over him.
Dantiochus was beginning to understand exactly what it had felt like for Cassius, once upon a time, when he had urged him not to care so much about civilian lives.
"We can save them, and it won't have any impact on our strategic plan — there won't even be any real losses."
"But our objective this time is the total extermination of all traitors. Even if the Chaos corruption here is not especially high, we cannot determine how many of these civilians are already traitors."
"We cannot afford to waste time for their sake, my lord. Opportunities in war are fleeting. We cannot allow these matters to slow the pace of our offensive any further."
Dantiochus did his best to reason with the Lord of Drakes. In every other way this Primarch was admirable — he was simply far too kind-hearted, possessed of an instinctive protective impulse toward humanity.
This was not a bad thing in itself. Dantiochus still had great affection for this Primarch.
The problem was — even your love for humanity has to know when it's appropriate!
We are in the middle of a war, my lord. You must at least consider the brothers of the other Legions.
Vulkan fell silent. He knew perfectly well that his behavior had severely hampered the Legion's pace — but his deepest coding would not allow him to stand by and watch these humans die before his eyes.
He could not accept this kind of war.
Was massacring these defenseless innocent civilians truly what revenge looked like?
"I will relinquish my command. Let Dorn lead my sons. I will accompany you on the crusade, and if we encounter any of my 'brothers,' I will lend my strength."
Vulkan weighed it all and ultimately decided to stop struggling against it. This war was not going to stop, and his nature would never allow him to endure the even crueler warfare that lay ahead.
This was the absolute limit of what he could do.
It did feel rather like a seizure of power — stripping away the rights that belonged to a Primarch — and Dantiochus had not wanted it to come to this. But in the end, he said nothing.
The Lord of Drakes actually had a respectable strategic mind. He was simply far too soft-hearted toward human lives.
Passing command to Lord Dorn was actually not a bad choice. Even if the Salamanders still couldn't bring themselves to strike down those civilians, they could at least serve a valuable supporting role in siegework.
The handover of command went smoothly. The Salamanders did not oppose their father's choice. They deeply respected this honest, steady, and kind father of theirs.
Since his arrival in this galaxy, Abaddon had led the Luna Wolves continuously at the very front of the battle lines.
Their record was brilliant. With Perturabo's support, their advance had been swift.
Abaddon had grown fast. After Horus's death, that once impulsive, reckless First Company Commander had begun learning to think and to shoulder real responsibility.
The Luna Wolves could not afford to take another blow. If they did, the brothers who had been gathered together with such difficulty would fall apart again.
After Horus's death, the most impulsive one of all — Abaddon — had paradoxically grown calm, while Cypher and Tokharen, the two strategists, had done the complete opposite.
Having faced the shadow of Horus's death directly, they had become furiously extreme. They were nearly declaring every tall Imperial Fist they laid eyes on to be a treacherous villain who deserved to die, swearing to avenge their father.
It was a gene-sickness. Abaddon discovered it later, when he led the Legion to recuperate on Olympia — some brothers, during moments when they lost control of certain emotions, would fall into a powerful delusion.
They would imagine every enemy as the murderer who had killed their father. Rage replaced all reason, and they became intensely dangerous and unstable.
Furthermore, the new recruits carrying their gene-seed also began exhibiting this condition, and it gradually spread through the Legion.
Abaddon had no choice but to step forward and seek Perturabo and the Emperor's help, barely managing to suppress this defect.
After launching the revenge crusade, the Luna Wolves had remained at the very front of the battle lines at all times — and so they would remain, for Horus's sake.
Their methods of war were often extreme. Even Dorn — that merciless siege-master himself — occasionally found their conduct difficult to look at.
The once organized, disciplined Luna Wolves existed no more.
"I thought you would be the most fanatical of them all, with Cypher and Tokharen taking up the burdens of leadership. I never expected that in the end, you — the most impulsive one — and Aximand would be the ones who kept their reason."
Frix gazed at this figure who had lately been on an unstoppable winning streak — the topknot — and felt an inexplicable surge of feeling.
That Black Legion commander he had encountered on the training grounds. That Abaddon who had taken two power fist blows to the head aboard the ship without flinching. Here, on his side, he had somehow shouldered the full weight of the Luna Wolves.
"People have to grow up. My brothers need me. I can't fall apart at a time like this."
Standing at three meters and ten centimeters tall, Abaddon wasn't particularly imposing standing beside Frix — but the Iron Warriors held this topknotted Luna Wolves commander in genuine respect.
"If your father knew how much you've changed, I imagine he would be very proud."
Abaddon gave a bitter smile. If his father were still here, what need would there have been for him to bear this burden at all?
Compared with the honors-laden, never-defeated Luna Wolves commander he was now, he still would have rather gone back to being that First Company leader who never had to think, never had to look before and after, who just needed to close his eyes and charge forward with his brothers.
"Are you certain you can handle this Primarch?"
Frix left that subject alone and began discussing with Abaddon how to deal with the fallen Primarch they were about to face.
"No. But some things have to be done regardless, don't they?"
"That's a Space Wolf who has fallen to the Blood God. Even with Chaos already weakened by Father and the Emperor, that is still a Primarch — not someone your forces can match by strength alone."
"You're also about to face a Raven Lord who has surrendered to the Architect of Fate. That's not exactly any easier. The Luna Wolves won't be dragging you down."
Abaddon's hand tightened around the grip of his sword. If they couldn't exile even the Wolf King, what right did they have to talk about going after this galaxy's greatest traitor for revenge?
"This isn't a matter of pride, Ezekyle. Even if our strength far exceeds theirs, going head-on against a Primarch in direct combat is still an unwise choice."
Frix was a little worried that these cousins might lose their heads in the fighting. The Luna Wolves had some serious issues right now — if something went badly wrong, how would he explain it to the Emperor and to Father?
"Not to mention the Wolves were always specialists in boarding actions and close-quarters combat. With the Blood God's gift, they will only be stronger than before."
"With that 'assistance' you've provided us, I see no reason why the Luna Wolves should lose to a pack of madmen who've lost their reason."
"The Exterminatus Relics are not all-powerful. They are strong, but that does not mean they can reliably take down a Primarch. Letting them board us first is an unwise choice."
"Even if we don't go to them, they'll find a way to board us regardless — you know the Wolves' instincts. We're better off taking the initiative and seizing control. And we have the Obliterator Legion with us — compared to them, we hold every advantage."
"If I can't deal with this pack of traitors with all of this, would I not be a commander unworthy of the Luna Wolves' name?"
"Eze—"
Frix tried to reason with him further, but Abaddon cut him off.
"Enough, Frix. You're not one to nag either. And don't forget — your situation is no better than mine. The Raven Lord was always an assassin's Primarch. After giving himself to the Architect of Fate, he is even more devious. The difficulty you face is no less than mine."
"We already have a plan to deal with it. I'll deal with the Raven Lord personally. When the time comes, I'll definitely exile him."
"You're that confident?"
Abaddon was actually curious — how exactly did Frix plan to exile a Primarch?
"You're already prepared to stake your life on this. I certainly can't afford to fall behind. Let's make a bet — we'll see who settles their traitor first."
Abaddon smiled slightly.
"Fine. What are the stakes?"
"This Gauss rifle my father forged for me with his own hands."
"You'd stake something that precious?"
Abaddon looked at the big iron can with some surprise. Even the members of his own guard glanced at their warband leader with a measure of astonishment.
"If I lose, a Gauss rifle like this going to someone more worthy of it is no loss at all. Father won't mind."
"Then I accept with gratitude. The Lord of Iron's craftsmanship is legendary across the Imperium."
"Oh? You're that confident you'll beat me?"
"I am the commander of the Luna Wolves — the First-Born's most proud son. How could I ever concede to a brother?"
"Then it's settled."
"Settled."
Two fists of unequal size struck each other.