Chapter 921 - 920: Nareth Would Condemn My Excuses, and He Would Never Forgive My Betrayal

The royal palace of Lochos, Olympia.

Perturabo strode through the archway, memories flashing through his mind of the first day he had been brought here and met his adoptive father, Dammekos.

At the center of the hall stood a funerary shrine carved from stone according to Olympian tradition.

Above it rested a coffin made from the finest crystal, refined and shaped until it resembled sheets of glass.

Inside lay the body of Dammekos, once the Tyrant of Lochos and later Governor of Olympia.

Perturabo's armored boots made the floor creak beneath his weight as he placed one hand on the coffin lid.

Dammekos's body was yellowed and withered, free of any bionic implants.

Perturabo took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Father."

"You never called him that while he was alive. Why now?"

Perturabo turned towards the aged voice. Calliphone sat upon the throne of Lochos between the statues of the twin god-kings.

His eyes narrowed. His once-witty, clever sister had become a hideous old woman.

"Sister."

"So now I am your sister, and he is your father?" Calliphone's lips curled.

"Was rebellion really what it took for you to remember that we are your family?"

Perturabo snorted. "Do you think I didn't know? He was always plotting against me behind the scenes."

"The situation on Olympia today is his doing."

"He never believed in the dream of the Imperium, and I never believed he would remain completely loyal."

Calliphone said, "You knew what he was doing, but you didn't stop him."

"He was not a threat," Perturabo said.

"It was only a posture he adopted. He could never surrender his need to be the strongman, the ruler."

"This is your fault." Calliphone gazed at the black smoke rising beyond the palace.

"You allowed him to encourage others to believe we could be free."

Perturabo walked towards his foster sister. "And you? Do you also believe Olympia should be free?"

"Your atrocities have forced me to think so." Calliphone listened to the screams.

"You were once seen as a gift from the gods. Now we understand that you are this world's calamity."

Calliphone looked at Perturabo, searching. "But I believe there is more to you than this. When I learned that you allowed Father to continue playing his political games, I realized it was partly out of love. You wanted to preserve his pride."

Perturabo did not deny it. "Now he is dead. His world will be destroyed."

"You do not need to mourn him." Calliphone consoled him.

"My brother Herakon tried to overthrow him. Father drowned him in a vat of wine."

"And Andos? He was always the best of you." Perturabo asked about the other brother he had cared for.

Perturabo would never admit aloud that, in private, he believed Andos had been better than him, at least in matters of art.

"Andos refused the Emperor's medicine. He buried himself in his workshop and died ninety years ago."

"If it not for you, he would have been a master craftsman. Everything he created was overshadowed by what you could do but he never hated you for it."

"I am sorry."

Calliphone's voice was cold. "You care about nothing but your utopian dream."

"We are nothing to you. Just stumbling blocks on your path to perfection."

Perturabo's ice-blue eyes dimmed. "I have realized something lately."

"Dammekos called my blueprints my follies. I was angry then, but now I realize he may have been right. Perhaps I inherited my grandiosity from my true father."

"And he was right about something else. The Imperium is a failure. It is my father's folly."

"I believed in Him because I wanted Him to be real, just as I wanted my great works to exist in the future Imperium."

Perturabo's iron mask cracked. A tear rolled down his cheek.

All the suffering he had endured overwhelmed him: His father's indifference, his Legion's century of neglect. His sons' immense sacrifices, without the honor they deserved.

His dreams forever denied, growing more distant with every passing year.

"Crudely forged iron may appear strong, but it is as brittle as reeds. So are you." Calliphone stared into Perturabo's eyes.

"You and your father have never understood that people cannot be forced to realize your ideals."

"You build worlds according to your own designs, only to discover that the greatest flaw in them is the people themselves and then, to save your creation, to salvage your plan, you begin to destroy those people."

Calliphone said with contempt: "Your father is nothing but a King of Graves."

"To complete the world He could not, you will only vent your horror upon us."

"You cannot accept any compromise."

Her words were sharp as blades. "You have consumed your sons to prove a false point. Then, when no one notices your sacrifice, you grow angry."

"Your petulance has cost this world an entire generation. You see nothing, empty schools, mothers staring at the stars, wives mourning their husbands."

"The moment you raised the butcher's blade against the delegation that brought you the truth, you lost everything."

"The people don't know what is good for them," Perturabo argued.

Calliphone shook her head. "Great tyrants rule by the people's blessing. Effective ones rule by fear. But none rule by indifference."

"You are full of resentment. You reject the love of your people."

"My brother Curze has done worse. I would never destroy everything like him," Perturabo said.

"I punished betrayal, but I will rebuild Olympia afterward."

Calliphone laughed. "You are comparing yourself to the worst of your brothers to justify your monstrous crimes."

"Correcting your mistakes would mean halting recruitment, listening to your people's grievances with mercy. It does not mean slaughter."

"One of your new brothers is close to you. The one called Nareth. Would he massacre his own people like this?"

"If he knew of the crimes you have committed today, do you believe he would think you were right?"

"Be silent!" Perturabo roared.

Calliphone took a step towards him, unafraid. Her gaze swept over him.

"Where is the boy who wanted war to end?"

Perturabo hung his head in defeat. "No one wants us. The Emperor gives me the most thankless tasks. My sons are sent to face the worst horrors, to bear the heaviest burdens. Our talents are ignored. Our strength is ground down into dust."

"My father ignores me. No one sings the praises of my sons' achievements. Our victories are forgotten."

"Though you ignored us, I have always watched you." Calliphone continued.

"I always thought you were wrong to follow the Emperor. He is a tyrant like all the rest. His wars have destroyed your home."

"Worse, He has destroyed you."

Calliphone raised her hand, trying to touch Perturabo's heart, but could not reach.

Perturabo looked at his aged sister. She had withered.

"I have studied your campaigns carefully. In the last century, you have always done things the hardest way, the most painful way."

"You have made yourself a martyr, offering your bleeding wrists for all to see."

"You are too proud to admit your needs. You want them all to look at you and say, 'Great Perturabo! How he toils without complaint!'"

The exo-skeleton supporting Calliphone creaked beneath her dress.

"You and your pathetic pursuits have driven this world to rebellion."

"You have always pretended to be as cold and hard as iron, but inside you crave love above all else."

"You are the greatest fool I have ever known. The crimes you have committed today will not be forgiven by your father, your brothers, or Nareth."

"I told you to be silent." Perturabo roared, his hand closing around Calliphone's throat, lifting her high.

"Sister, I am no fool." He snapped her neck, coldly.

"You are too old. You have lived too long."

Perturabo looked into Calliphone's eyes. He saw neither fear of death nor contempt for himself, but deep pity.

Crack!

Calliphone's head snapped sideways and hung limp.

He lowered her body gently onto the throne. Blood seeped from her mouth, stinging Perturabo's eyes.

He suddenly stumbled backward, as though some terrible beast stood before him.

He strode out the palace, as if fleeing judgment.

Flames leaped in his eyes... Lochos was burning.

He saw blood-soaked citizens staggering through the streets, fleeing. The Iron Warriors advanced methodically, waging their war of annihilation.

A line of civilians, chained together, was led by a Warsmith.

Perturabo broke. Not his body, he knew it as intimately as a machine.

But the part he had neglected, what the Shadows of Order and the Thousand Sons called the mind.

Years of brutality had numbed him. Now, his heart was laid bare to all he had done.

"I have become Curze. His excuse was madness." The Primarch's voice was hoarse, a whisper.

"What is my excuse? A bad temper?"

"Nareth would condemn that excuses..."

"He would never forgive my betrayal. I failed him at Nikae. I stood there and watched him be judged... I..."

Perturabo stopped short, looking at Forrix, approaching.

"By your command, the city is ours."

"Those suitable for servitude have been taken. We have begun testing all eligible youths for induction into the Legion."

"Seventy-four percent have-"

"Enough!" Perturabo roared.

Forrix saw the tears on his father's face, the expression of a man who had done wrong. He had never seen the Lord of Iron like this.

"Forrix, what have we done?"

His father's voice was laced with doubt. For the first time, he was questioning his own decisions.

"We have done as you commanded, as you wished."

"This is not what I wanted," Perturabo denied.

"I killed my foster sister. I destroyed my own homeworld."

"I swore to the Emperor that I would bring human worlds back to Terra. Now I have broken that oath, using massacre to solve a problem that could have been solved through diplomacy."

"My father will not forgive me, He, my brothers will condemn me."

"My father, your sons cannot see you like this." Forrix spoke loudly.

"You demanded your warriors mete out punishment. We offered this world to you without complaint."

"If they see you so weak, it will shake their resolve."

"Tell me, was there anyone who did not fully obey my orders?" Perturabo asked, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

"There were a few dissenters," Forrix replied.

Perturabo wiped his tears. He took Forrix's hand.

"You are the most loyal of all my sons."

The Primarch's hand enclosed Forrix's, like an adult holding a child's.

Perturabo released him. Forrix froze for a moment, feeling the lingering warmth of his father's touch.

"Relay my command: the slaughter stops."

"Leave the survivors we have not taken. Order them to rebuild Olympia."

"Ask everyone: those who would serve as Auxiliaries will be granted freedom."

The Thunderhawks' engines roared, returning to the Iron Blood.

The Iron Blood left the Olympia system in haste, ignoring communications from the Forge Worlds of Incaladion and the Firestorm system.

....

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

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