"Why has it come to this. It's absurd to the point of madness…"
Under the scrutiny of his gene-sons, Perturabo trembled all over, shut his eyes in pain, and did not even dare open them.
He wanted to believe this was nothing more than some illusion or hallucination.
Yet every scrap of data and every line of logic confirmed it.
This place truly was the Iron Throne Hall. The warriors ranked up and assembled for inspection truly were his gene-sons.
And that Savior, that Emperor of the Imperium, was sitting on his throne.
It had all happened too fast, so fast it felt impossible.
Who would believe someone could seize a Daemon Primarch's throne, unscathed, within a matter of hours?
And take everything, lock, stock, and barrel.
But Eden did it. He seized the opening, triggered the third contingency plan, and rapidly translated in the necessary matériel, wargear, and personnel.
During the vacuum of authority created while the Chaos pact was taking effect, he immediately ordered all Iron Warriors commanders to assemble in the throne hall.
Then, upon the Iron Throne itself, he used Primarch-level presence, reinforced by pressure from the Adeptus Custodes, and ordered the Iron Warriors commanders to disarm and unarmor.
After that came promises and restructuring.
He swiftly adjusted the existing chain of command, delegated real authority, and issued stronger, better wargear.
At the same time, he had the Machine-Goddess take over their original communications, forming an entirely new command-and-vox architecture.
Then he issued orders for every Iron Warriors formation to hold position and await further instructions.
Only with measures like these could he complete the initial seizure of command. Relying on the so-called Chaos pact alone would never be enough to truly direct an entire Legion.
And the Lord of Iron knew none of it.
Perturabo glared at the Savior on the throne and tightened his grip around Forgebreaker.
"The contract I swore has already been fulfilled. Why do you still occupy my throne? This is naked plunder, without honor!"
The Lord of Iron was trying to argue, instead of charging straight at the Savior.
That was inevitable.
The throne hall was filled with the Savior's people. More than a thousand elite veterans, including several hundred fully armed Custodian Wardens.
If it came to blows, they could pin him to the floor and grind him down.
"I'm sorry, Brother Perturabo. I'm not occupying your throne."
Eden's attitude remained good. Patient, even.
"According to the relevant records, this living Chaos fortress is also an asset of the Iron Warriors Legion. It is part of the spoils.
I am simply following the pact and taking what I am owed. If you had been the winner, I would have handed over the spoils as promised."
Back then, Eden had demanded the Iron Warriors Legion, and this living fortress counted as one of its assets.
Otherwise, "only" the Iron Warriors would not come close to matching the value of the Dreamweaver and its dedicated vehicles.
The Primarch gene-clones aboard the Dreamweaver alone, along with its enormous relic vaults and armories, were beyond price.
Not to mention the Redemption Titan honor guard and all the rest.
The Dreamweaver was a behemoth more than twenty kilometers long, and within it lay assets and resources that defied imagination.
The risk he had taken was immense, but the payoff was equally staggering. This was blood-profit, the purest kind.
If he played it right, he could even strip Perturabo's Chaos world bare.
But only if he stabilized the situation and prevented the Iron Warriors from swinging back to the Lord of Iron.
"A living Chaos fortress may be part of the spoils, but regardless, you have no right to sit upon my Iron Throne!"
Perturabo stared at the Iron Warriors and demanded coldly:
"The Savior is not following the pact. He took the opportunity to seize the throne hall. Are you truly going to follow someone so devoid of honor?
Is this how you treat your gene-father?!"
He pressed his gene-sons with his authority, trying to shake their resolve.
The Chaos pact indeed required the Iron Warriors to serve the Savior, but after the pact was fulfilled, he could still reclaim them.
That would not violate the contract.
He believed the prestige he had built over countless years could pull more of his gene-sons back.
That was also why he had remained here. He did not fear the Savior would attack.
If Eden did, the newly stabilized Iron Warriors would tilt right back toward Perturabo.
"No gene-son would stand by and watch his gene-father be attacked."
That was what Perturabo believed.
He had already decided that if he could reclaim the Iron Warriors Legion, he would conduct a new round of selection, expelling the disloyal.
Only absolute loyalty would remain.
"That twisted man is playing the pity card and running a mind game. He wants to shake the Iron Warriors' decision and take back power…"
Eden watched Perturabo in silence.
He noticed some of the Iron Warriors commanders' expressions had shifted. They were hesitating.
That was not a good sign.
Eden understood perfectly why Perturabo had dared to stay.
He had not yet fully mastered the Iron Warriors Legion. If he clashed with Perturabo now, it could cause the command structure he had just formed to collapse.
That was why, after a stable coup, the winners often treated the former ruler well.
Because power seized smoothly is less secure than power seized through slaughter. It needs time to settle.
Unless absolutely necessary, you wait until authority is truly solid before you remove every threat.
Eden needed time to adjust, to sink his control deeper.
That was why he had not blocked Perturabo, nor attacked him, allowing him to walk right up to the throne.
Eden knew that beyond anger, Perturabo was gauging the Iron Warriors' reactions, deciding whether he should attempt to strike.
The Lord of Iron was not a brainless brute.
He was just twisted. Not decisive when it mattered.
Even his fall was incomplete.
If Eden were in his position, he would have charged.
And the Iron Warriors would have plunged into chaos. A significant portion would choose to defend their former gene-father.
Prestige built over ten thousand years does not melt away overnight.
"I have to hold that twisted man steady. I must avoid open conflict as much as possible."
Eden decided on his approach. He rose from the throne and descended the steps.
His voice remained warm, his expression smiling, as if speaking with an old friend.
"Brother, there have been too many misunderstandings between us. Please allow me a few words with the Iron Warriors."
He stopped before the formation and looked at Aharin, the pale warrior near the front.
Eden could see the hesitation. That one still held loyalty to the Lord of Iron, and could turn at any time.
Eden raised a hand and gently straightened the slightly disordered charm-sash on Aharin's armor, careful and unhurried.
As he did, he spoke.
"My loyal warriors, perhaps you have not understood one thing.
I have never restricted you."
The Savior's gesture moved Aharin. He unconsciously straightened his posture, chest lifting, trying to stand with greater presence.
He felt respected.
The Savior had even given him a pale-white iron suit of armor that better suited his complexion.
In truth, this was simply standard procedure within the Savior's domain and the Terror Legion's forge system.
A unified system, with room for personal customization.
Once Eden had ordered the Iron Warriors commanders to assemble, he had quickly re-outfitted them, replacing their armor with Terror Legion-forged plate.
Among Chaos warbands, it was famously excellent equipment, the kind everyone fought to obtain, and that rarely circulated.
If the Iron Warriors wore the Savior's armor and carried the Savior's weapons, how could they still bring themselves to attack their adoptive father?
Eden continued the squeeze, voice even, pace unhurried.
"You are all the bravest of warriors. I respect every choice you make, and every ideal you hold."
He pointed to the weapon crates stacked high inside the hall, and with psychic force flipped open iron lids, warpflame surging up in roaring tongues.
"This is wargear I purchased from the Terror Legion. There will be more.
Those of you who wish to fight, who wish to seize glory, I will give you the finest weapons and armor.
Then I will send you to the most blood-stirring battlefields, to fight and to kill to your hearts' content.
Xenos, heretics, traitors, all will fall at your feet. Even the Chaos Gods will gape at your might."
Then Eden looked toward the technical adepts, the Techmarines and Warpsmiths.
"And those among you who wish to research the arts of Chaos forging, I will give you any resources you desire, and help you build the most powerful engines of Chaos war.
Of course, you may research any technology at all, whether it is 'useful' or 'useless.'
I respect your technical ideals. I will not restrict you, nor interfere with your work.
If you want it, I can provide it. No ceiling on resources.
You have already been judged loyal by the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium. You may explore the technological domain without suffering any form of restraint.
Now, the entire Imperium stands behind you."
When Eden said this, it was not only the Techmarines and Warpsmiths who were stirred.
Even Perturabo's gaze wavered.
Across the galaxy, no ruler had ever offered such a thing. Perhaps only the Savior could be so generous, with such resources at his disposal.
Of course, this was exactly what Eden wanted.
He needed more Chaos technology to better understand the warp.
Learn the enemy's strengths, so you can counter the enemy.
And those technologies could also be used to develop and arm the Terror Legion, raising more Chaos-held domains.
"If the False Emperor had supported my research the way the Savior does… perhaps nothing would have reached this point."
Perturabo stood there, stunned, thoughts multiplying.
He even felt envy toward those Techmarines and Warpsmiths, who could receive such unreserved support.
Unlike him, back then.
The Lord of Iron's buried technical ideals stirred, and with them came a sudden emptiness.
Even after betraying the Imperium and gaining "freedom," he had never truly returned to them.
Eden continued.
"I told you. I will not restrict your freedom."
He lifted a hand and pointed at Perturabo.
"If you wish, you can even take this wargear back to my brother's side, and return to everything you once had.
But I hope you think carefully. You will only get one chance."
Eden wore the expression of an adoptive father who respected them, who trusted them, righteous and open-handed.
In truth, he had gotten a bit carried away in the speech. The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
If Iron Warriors truly ran back to the Lord of Iron, they would surely drag a large group with them.
Eden's face was gentle as he looked at the commanders, but inside, he was panicking.
Fortunately, after trading glances, the Iron Warriors remained where they stood.
Even those who had been itching to move.
They were wearing the Savior's armor, carrying the Savior's weapons, and the Savior had trusted them so completely.
How could they commit such a disgrace, such a dishonorable betrayal, right to his face?
Without realizing it, these Iron Warriors had already begun to think of themselves as the Savior's warriors.
More importantly, they did not want to return to their old lives.
Were they supposed to abandon a lord like the Savior, and run back to Perturabo's brutal rule and decimation?
Run back to a life with no recognition, no respect?
In that instant, the Lord of Iron felt as if he had been exiled from the Iron Warriors Legion, rejected by his own gene-sons.
"I failed. There's no path to reclaiming them…"
Seeing this, Perturabo sank into a deeper defeat.
It was already difficult for him to take the Iron Warriors back.
He, the Iron Warriors' Primarch, had reached the point where his gene-sons were unwilling to serve him.
What sorrow.
Only then did Perturabo understand that the Iron Warriors were not leaving merely because he had forced them to swear an oath.
They had never truly wanted his rule.
They simply had no choice before.
Now they had a better choice.
Of course they would abandon their gene-father.
The blow was too great. Perturabo fell into self-doubt and confusion.
"Father… I was never a qualified commander. I never loved war or slaughter, and yet you forced all of it onto me."
"That twisted man is breaking again. His mentality really is fragile…"
Eden watched Perturabo's vacant expression and knew he had started knotting himself up again.
Compared to the Lion, this was a chasm.
Half of the Lion's sons betrayed him, bombarded his fleet, even blew his entire home world apart.
And the Lion still endured, his will unshaken.
Here, the Iron Warriors were merely refusing to return. Eden had not even fired a shot, and Perturabo was already unraveling.
The difference was obvious.
Perturabo was not suited to be a commander.
He could spend years in a laboratory, lost in research.
But he could not govern a Legion well, nor bear the crushing pressure of endless war.
Those siege campaigns he fought looked more like a man smashing the world in spite, piling bodies because he could not stand anything else.
A man who hated war, driven by the Emperor's pressure from one extreme into another.
If Perturabo were not brilliant, a style like that would have ended in ruin long ago.
"Brother."
Eden thought for a moment, then, under everyone's gaze, walked toward Perturabo with no guard raised, no sign of caution.
He never forgot his final aim.
He wanted Perturabo, the Imperium's greatest scientific mind, to return.
With the Lord of Iron's brain, and the Savior's domain's complete research infrastructure, scientific progress would launch like a spiral ascent.
"I am not your brother."
Perturabo looked up at the Savior, voice ice-cold.
"More accurately, we are enemies. Perhaps you should draw your blade.
If you have even a shred of honor and courage, then face me in a duel to the death!"
Perturabo was trying to force a duel.
If he defeated or killed the Savior in single combat, he could "rightfully" reclaim the Iron Warriors.
Unfortunately, his verbal pressure achieved nothing.
"I will not fight you."
Eden advanced step by step, presence heavy as a mountain.
He spoke slowly.
"Brother, none of this was done out of malice.
It was for your sake.
You do not like war, and you are not suited to be a commander. You are more like a scholar.
I want you to return to the Imperium, to research science and technology properly, and to fulfill the ideals you once held."
For my sake?
Perturabo almost laughed from anger.
Forgebreaker flared to life in his hands.
"Savior, you may be skilled at deception, but you cannot take me for a fool!"
"I'm sorry, but I have always been the most sincere of Primarchs."
The instant Perturabo lit his weapon, Eden projected a virtual display, cutting off the attack before it could begin.
"Look at this. Perhaps then you will understand."
Two anonymous accounts on the psychic network, and their associated records.
The IDs were Iron Resolve and Toaster Fan.
The moment Perturabo saw them, he froze, trembling violently.
That was his psy-net account.
And the other was his friend's.
That friend had gone offline and never replied again.
Worrying. Deeply worrying.
That friend was almost the only friend he had left in the galaxy, someone who shared his technical interests, someone he could speak to.
Perturabo's fury surged. He lowered his weapon and roared:
"Are you threatening me? Using his life to threaten a Daemon Prince?!"
"If this truly is a threat, then it has already worked.
You care about that person. You are good friends, aren't you?"
Eden said softly.
From the twisted man's reaction alone, it was clear he did not want that "net-friend" to die.
"In truth, we share the same ideals and interests."
Eden tapped the data-slate mounted on his gauntlet and sent Perturabo a smiling face.
Then he said, utterly serious:
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to deceive you, but I'm Toaster Fan. Your psy-net friend."
"Impossible!"
Perturabo's eyes widened. Confusion swept over him.
He had shared far too much of his inner thoughts with that friend.
And now he discovered he had been deceived all along.
Sour bitterness flooded his chest.
"This is the gift I promised you."
Eden accepted an exquisite stasis field case handed over by a Custodian, then used psychic force to float it before Perturabo.
Inside was a weathered oil painting, of a mysterious woman wearing a faint smile.
"You may know this work. It comes from the Renaissance era of an Old Terra nation-state, one of Leonardo da Vinci's greatest creations."
"Astonishing…"
Perturabo carefully took the painting, his eyes filling with appreciation, as if he had forgotten he was standing before an enemy.
It was the Mona Lisa.
He had seen references to it in ancient records, yet never once had he seen it with his own eyes.
But the instant he looked upon it, he knew.
That was da Vinci. That was the smile the records spoke of.
A rare relic he had sought for so long, and never found.
Then the Savior's voice arrived again.
"But I must point out that this is not the genuine article. It is a replica painted by my own hand, dressed up with antique weathering.
I don't want to deceive you, but that is all the original ever was. This should be the most complete da Vinci replica in the entire galaxy.
Of course, if you want, we can go to the Imperial Palace vault and pry out another of da Vinci's treasures, a genuine piece."
"You spun so many lies just to make me return to the Imperium and continue serving the False Emperor?!"
Perturabo took a deep breath. His tone cooled into forced calm.
"This is your sincerity?
A trap woven from countless lies, just to make me believe your false promises?"
He set the painting on the floor, then leapt, igniting Forgebreaker and swinging down toward the Savior with a blow meant to end a life.
"You are just like that False Emperor. You do nothing but deceive, again and again, using people as tools!"
Perturabo attacked with everything he had, decisive and absolute.
A duel to the death.
Yet at the instant the hammer fell, he arrested the strike.
The blow crashed down before the Savior, not upon him.
Because he saw a lamp.
A lamp he knew.
The one he had once improved, handed to the Emperor, and then watched vanish into oblivion.
The moment Perturabo saw that lamp again, sealed memories came roaring back.
He stared at it, and in it he saw his former ideals, his once-burning faith, his own passion.
"This is my sincerity.
I found it in a forgotten corner of the Imperial Palace vault."
Eden looked at the mechanical lamp floating between them and spoke softly.
"This is a perfect invention. It should never have been forgotten.
It has already been deployed across many underdeveloped regions of the Savior's domain.
It brought people light."
He projected images into the air.
Dim rooms. Lamps igniting. Darkness pushed back.
In the light stood elders, children, families smiling together.
The poor stared at the bright lamp and smiled, as if hope for tomorrow had finally taken shape.
Eden smiled and spoke the final line.
"Brother, its name is… the Perturabo Lamp."
Clang.
Forgebreaker hit the floor.
Emotion slammed into Perturabo like a tidal wave.
He clutched the lamp, sank to his knees, and broke into sobs.
(End of Chapter)
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