Chapter 1016 - 1015: Perturabo: Lion Has Also Found the Void Fortress

"Following the Drop Site Massacre on Isstvan V, the Sigillite and the Terran Guards will hunt down members of the traitor legions on Terra," Nareth said, leaning back against his throne, issuing orders.

"You are to proceed immediately to the underground prison in Albia and search for Fel Zharost, the former Chief Librarian of the Night Lords."

Nareth knew that Zsho Sahaal was not the only one who had discovered the 8th Legion's corruption, Fel had also found out.

At the same time, Fel worried deeply about the future of the Legion's Librarians following the Council of Nikaea.

Thus, he had sought out Jago Sevatar, demanding that the First Captain make a clear decision.

But Sevatar cared little for the Librarians' fate. Fel's stubbornness angered him, and he knocked him to the ground.

Fel angrily told Sevatar how far the 8th Legion had fallen, but Sevatar dismissed it as the complaints of a disgruntled Terran-born.

Fel used his psychic powers to attack; Sevatar suppressed him with his own hidden psychic abilities, but did not kill him, he exiled him from the Legion.

Fel then returned to his birthplace, deep beneath Albia, until Malcador later sent men to find him.

'Without my intervention, Fel would become Grandmaster Khyron, one of the founders of the Grey Knights.'

He recalled that at the Council of Nikaea, Fel and the other Chief Librarians had stood before him like knights.

'Better to follow me than to become Grandmaster of the Grey Knights.'

"By Your will."

At the very moment Keon was swallowed by the black mist, the killing fields of Istvaan V were soaked red with Astartes blood.

A thousand pyres sent up towering black smoke columns; orange firelight reflected off the melted glassy sand.

Fulgrim extended his tongue, tasting the oily, ashen flavor of the dead.

He watched as the Tech-Priests of the Dark Mechanicum built a smooth black dais at astonishing speed, its surface gleaming with blood-red light.

The dais's base was a kilometer wide, composed of a series of progressively smaller cylinders.

Fulgrim took a gleaming, ornamented box from Eidolon and walked toward the red glow, approaching Horus Lupercal.

"Warmaster." He smiled, bowed, and opened the box he carried.

"I have brought you a trophy."

Horus looked at the severed head inside the box, dull and lifeless, the once-shining silver eyes gone, leaving only bloody, hollow sockets.

His jaw hung open; a shard of bone pierced through a depression on one side of the skull.

Horus was horrified at the barbaric treatment of his former brother's remains.

He suppressed the instinctive tremor in his body, masking his unease.

"Well done, you have not disappointed me."

"You kept your promise and killed one of our strong enemies."

"I have another gift," both voices said in unison, he unclipped the Skull Breaker warhammer from his belt and handed it to Horus.

One voice did not wish to carry the weapon that had killed a beloved brother; the other scorned mortal arms but hoped Fulgrim would leave the past behind entirely.

Horus took the Skull Breaker with stiff arms. "Thank you, Fulgrim."

As the sun broke over the horizon, the reviewing stand stood amid the ruins.

Six Primarchs ascended the second-highest tier; their cloaks billowed in the blood-laced wind of the Urgall Highlands.

Omegon, in dark green armor, and Konrad Kurze, in midnight-blue-and-black, stood on opposite sides.

Lorgar Aurelian stood proudly, his red cloak draped like a shroud over his grey armor.

Angron shifted restlessly like a beast, his armor splattered with blood.

Mortarion wore a hood, his war-scythe resting on his shoulder.

Fulgrim was clad in gleaming new armor, as if he had never set foot on the battlefield.

A cape of golden scales lay across his shoulders; a glittering silver mail shirt wrapped his chestplate.

His gaze swept over the Skull Breaker at Perturabo's waist, but his grim-faced brother never once looked at him.

As the star climbed higher, a deafening roar of cheers erupted from the Urgall Highlands.

Waves of adulation rose, and on the northern slope, flames ignited.

A blazing phosphor line traced a sweeping arc across the ground, outlining a colossal Eye of Horus on the hillside.

The towering Emperor-class Titan Dies Irae slowly lowered its massive head; Horus ascended the dais.

"My brave warriors!" The Warmaster's resonant, mighty voice swept across the entire Astartes formation through the amplifiers.

"With strength and foresight, we have crushed those who sought to prevent us from achieving our great dream."

"But we must press forward, otherwise, victory means nothing."

Horus raised the claw forged for him by the Dark Mechanicum and called out to the sky:

"We will march against the Emperor's most unbreachable fortress, and prepare the path to Terra."

"This will not be easy." Horus paused, letting the fervor settle.

"Will you march with me?"

"Warmaster!" The cheers soared skyward, echoing long and loud.

The roar of aircraft kicked up clouds of dust, the Warmaster's great army departed from Istvaan V.

Lorgar Aurelian led the Word Bearers toward Andromon, to meet with Roboute Guilliman.

The World Eaters returned to Bodt to replenish their depleted numbers.

Inside the collapsing fortress, the rumble of thrusters shook dust from ceiling and walls.

Horus withdrew his gaze. "I have a gift for you."

He took out a data-slate and handed it to Perturabo.

"The Punitive Fleet dispatched by Dorn has encountered a warp storm and is trapped in the Phall system."

Using the gift of power from his warp allies in the Temple at Davin, he had obtained the Punitive Fleet's coordinates.

Perturabo took the data-slate, an image flashing through his mind.

Fulgrim smiled and asked Dorn: "I am curious, can you build a fortress Perturabo cannot breach?"

"Yes."

The image faded rapidly, replaced by another.

Rogal Dorn pinned a gleaming medal to his chest, though his iron-grey armor was bare of any other honors.

He stared expressionlessly at an artist's painting: Iron Warrior Apothecaries kneeling in the dust tending to wounded warriors, the Imperial Fists' banner fluttering in the wind.

He crushed the painting under his boot, burning it to ash.

He was silent for a long time, then slowly spoke.

"No, I will return to the western reaches of the galaxy."

Horus was taken aback. Perturabo, who had always resented the praise Dorn received, was actually passing up this opportunity.

"Before I returned to Olympia, I discovered a void fortress forged by an ancient xenos race."

"Now, Lion has also found the void fortress and is leading his forces there."

"I must return to the western reaches, claim it, and with it, we will hold the advantage in the wars to come."

Horus nodded. Perturabo had set aside his hatred for a goal of greater strategic significance.

Lion was a formidable foe; he could not be allowed to claim it, every gain for him would be a loss for their side.

"I am confident you will succeed. Bring it back and aid us in our great cause."

Perturabo left the Warmaster's temporary command center. He crossed paths with Fulgrim and Mortarion, exchanged a brief glance, and strode away.

....

If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.

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