That was not merely a lamp.
It was the ideal and faith Perturabo had long since forgotten, the painful memories he had buried, and proof that a piece of his humanity had once existed.
He had been treated as a freak. The great work he had always yearned to pursue had been ignored by the Emperor and by his brothers alike.
No understanding. No support.
And now the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, understood the effort he had once poured into it and was promoting the mechanical creations he had invented.
He had accomplished what the Emperor had promised, yet never delivered.
Everything the Savior had done was like a bright light, illuminating Perturabo's dark inner world.
Emotions he had suppressed for ten thousand years erupted all at once, so violent that a primarch lost control and wept.
In that instant, his humanity returned and utterly overwhelmed the pull of Chaos.
The Lord of Iron realized he had made far too many mistakes, enough to extinguish his own ideals.
Perhaps it was no one's fault but his.
He had buried his ideals with his own hands, step by step, until he walked into the abyss.
Is there still a way to undo what I've done?
Perturabo thought so, yet he could not see even the faintest hope. He had already become something profane, a Daemon Prince.
"The Imperium will never forgive a fallen primarch.
"And I will never again have the chance to research those technologies, to build an ideal realm…"
The more he thought, the deeper the sorrow hit, until it became impossible to control.
The Iron Warriors watched their gene-sire kneeling and crying, and their own mood sank with his.
They seemed to realize that their primarch was not as cold and cruel as they had always imagined.
As the Lord of Iron's thoughts and emotions shifted, more of his gene-sons' humanity stirred and returned with him.
They had never truly drowned in Chaos' corrosion, never truly become its slaves.
"He's twisting himself into knots again," Eden thought as he observed Perturabo. "But this time, that's a good thing."
He could tell Perturabo was gradually shaking off Chaos' influence, clawing his way back toward the humanity he had lost.
Maybe that was the advantage of people like him. Even if they fell, they never fell completely. They could still waver, left and right.
Someone like Angron or Fulgrim was far harder to save.
Eden simply remained silent, making no move at all.
He was waiting for Perturabo to vent it out. The man had suppressed too much for too long. He needed time to let the poison bleed away.
No one knew how long passed.
Perturabo slowly calmed, regaining control over his mind.
And then, a hand came down on his shoulder.
"Brother, I trust you've seen my sincerity. Now I formally invite you to return to the Imperium."
Eden spoke with unmistakable force.
"Don't worry. I call the shots in the Imperium now. No one gets to veto my decision, not even the Emperor himself."
At this point, Eden was the Emperor of the Imperium. The old Emperor was, at most, a retired "Supreme Emperor," the kind glued to a golden toilet.
He had long since been in retirement.
These days, the Emperor was busy shining in the Warp, and he rarely concerned himself with the galaxy's day-to-day affairs.
"But…"
Perturabo was tempted.
Yet when he looked at his own grotesquely mutated arm, he hesitated again.
Under Chaos' corruption, he had long since become a daemon-body. How could he ever fit back into the human world?
"A Daemon Prince is not a big deal," Eden said, fully understanding the knot in Perturabo's chest and handing him a reassuring answer. "Humanity needs talent in all shapes and forms right now."
"Not just you. Magnus returned to the Imperium a long time ago. He's working with the Emperor on Chaos ritual arrays as we speak.
"The Emperor has realized his mistakes. He's trying to make amends. He'll accept you."
Eden was, quite literally, forgiving Perturabo on the Emperor's behalf, including the whole "admitting fault" part. He would do the hard work of convincing the old man later.
"For the Imperium. For the Emperor's whole messy family drama. I really am running myself ragged," Eden sighed inwardly, complaining in his head.
But as the Emperor of the Imperium, smoothing internal relationships and settling old grudges was part of the job.
Shame he was too stable now. He had gone beyond mere autocracy into something even more extreme, leaving him almost no room to play balancing games.
Eden glanced at Perturabo's warped daemon-flesh and continued to comfort him.
"As for your appearance, that's even less of a problem.
"I'll grow you a semi-original clone body. I guarantee no one will be able to tell."
A Daemon Prince was not a problem as long as he was useful to the Imperium.
And one day, the Emperor might even be able to scrub away Chaos' influence.
Besides, Perturabo's warp-stink and mutation level were not even close to Eden's.
Eden, this Savior, this Emperor of the Imperium, was practically on the verge of becoming Diablo the Destroyer, a Chaos God.
While also holding concurrent titles as an Ork god, the Tyranid Hive Mind, the supreme overlord of the Drukhari, the father of the Machine-Goddess, and so on.
An inquisitor would look at that identity card, pass out on the spot, and then seal the file forever.
Who in humanity was more heretical, more xenos than Eden? Compared to him, a mere Daemon Prince was hardly "exciting."
Of course, the right to define "heretic" and "xenos" rested with Eden now.
Even if Eden personally told the Inquisition he was a heretic and a xenos, those inquisitors would still shout that he was holy.
Under the sacred sun, no one was holier than the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium.
Even if he was heretic or xenos, he would be a holy heretic, a holy xenos.
Still, Perturabo's present form and his deeds would be… a bit of an eyesore if he returned to the Emperor's presence.
Fortunately, given Perturabo's temperament, he would not run around much after returning anyway. He would stay in a lab like a shut-in and do research.
At worst, Eden could carve out an entire sector as an experimental base and let him go wild.
"That false Emperor… no. Father forgave me? He admitted his mistakes?!" Perturabo's eyes widened.
At this point, the scales in his heart had already tipped completely toward returning to the Imperium.
The Emperor, Father, would forgive him, and the Imperium would accept his return.
Wasn't that the one thing he had been chasing all this time?
This might be the only chance. Miss it, and there would be no going back.
Seeing Perturabo wavering, Eden pressed harder.
He immediately sent over a bundle of documents.
"These outline the resources and personnel support you'll receive after you return to the Imperium.
"And the projects you may be responsible for. Take a look first."
They detailed a staggering supply of research resources: multiple forge worlds, hundreds of thousands of Tech-Priests, and even broader departmental support.
It amounted to an enormous Mechanicus faction, built to serve the Lord of Iron alone.
As for the listed projects, most were cutting-edge civilian research initiatives, with only a small portion devoted to military technology.
Exactly the sort of work Perturabo would care about.
Perfectly targeted.
"So many resources… far wealthier than the Imperium during the Great Crusade…" Perturabo's eyes lit up as he received the files.
After falling to Chaos, he had been desperately short on resources. He had no normal supply system at all.
He often had to send the Iron Warriors out to raid the Imperium or xenos just to keep things moving.
Even his mechanical legions had been built up over ten thousand years, bit by bit.
Under the Savior's leadership, the Imperium had developed at breakneck speed, and its capacity to extract and collect resources had increased dramatically.
If he returned, he could receive unimaginable support without worrying about consumption.
"What a perfect system!"
When Perturabo studied the Savior's research structure, he was even more astonished. At a glance, he recognized the advantages.
Unlike the old Imperium's isolated, lone-wolf approach, the Savior had tens of thousands upon tens of thousands of Tech-Priests organized into a comprehensive research system spanning every domain.
Every possible technology and module had dedicated foundational researchers backing the project leads.
It meant he could run tens of thousands of projects simultaneously, freely exploring the frontiers of science and technology.
No longer shackled by manpower or resources.
And on top of that, there was the Machine-Goddess' immense computational support, a rare resource that would make any scholar drool.
This, too, was one of the Savior's methods for recruiting great savants.
In the Savior's territory, top-tier talent received full-stack support: living, research, work, everything accounted for.
Even Belisarius Cawl, the greatest of savants, chose to join the Savior's research system.
"Oh, right. Here's a blank request form as well. Whatever support you still want, fill it in yourself."
Before Perturabo could even process that, Eden waved a hand and sent him an unrestricted application document.
His generosity was absurd.
"Research is not easy. It needs more support. If the Imperium has it, and if I can get it, I'll get it for you.
"Just focus on your work. Whether it's energy, materials, advanced tech, or all kinds of civilian technologies.
"The Imperium's future prosperity and a beautiful life for humanity depend on you."
The blank request form had no limits. The permissions were extremely high.
Meaning: whatever the holder wrote on it, the logistics departments would deliver in the shortest possible time.
In that moment, the Savior in Perturabo's eyes was practically shining with gold, dazzling and radiant.
What researcher or scholar wouldn't dream of a patron this lavish?
Even the Emperor, Father, back then could not freely mobilize resources on this scale.
After all, his relationship with the Mechanicus had been cooperation. If he wanted more, he had to lean on power and force to demand it.
But the Savior could.
His control over the Mechanicus ran deeper than even the Emperor's had.
Naturally.
Eden was the Mechanicus' father now, the father of the Machine-Goddess, the god who ruled the psychic network and the Cog-coin.
"Savior, I…"
Perturabo had no reason left to refuse. His eyes were filled with a desperate hunger for research.
The flames of his ideals roared to life. He wanted to return to the Imperium and start working immediately.
But before he could finish, the Savior cut in.
"Don't rush, brother.
"You have all the time you need to think it through. The Imperium will welcome your return whenever you choose."
Eden reached down and pulled Perturabo to his feet, his manner warm and gentle.
He knew this man needed time to think. Agreeing too quickly would not be good.
If Perturabo changed his mind halfway through, it would be a headache.
They needed to build trust and brotherhood first, or future conflict was inevitable.
"There's something more important we need to do."
Eden looked at Perturabo, expression grave.
"Do you want revenge on Chaos?
"I remember Fulgrim, that traitor, stole your essence and exposed you to Chaos' corruption.
"Now we have a chance to strike him. A chance for revenge."
As he spoke, he sent over location data on Fulgrim and the Chaos Duel Arena.
Using residual data in the psychic network, the Emperor and Magnus had identified the arena's position.
"Fulgrim!"
Perturabo stared at the projection of that smug, punchable face, and rage flared so hard it nearly drowned out reason.
He remembered everything his fallen brother had done.
Not only had Fulgrim deceived him, he had used a special relic to steal a massive portion of his essence.
Otherwise, Perturabo would never have ended up as a Daemon Prince.
"In that case, we go together and settle accounts with him. It's time those old grudges ended."
Perturabo's gaze turned cold as iron, and he accepted the Savior's invitation.
"Good brother."
Eden used his psychic power to lift the great hammer Forgebreaker and placed it into Perturabo's hands himself.
"When the time comes, we fight side by side, and we teach that peacock what 'cruelty' really means."
That was one of Eden's goals: drag Perturabo along to rescue Guilliman.
One more primarch meant one more share of strength, and a safer operation overall.
More importantly, nothing built brotherhood like carrying guns together.
"I'll show him the terror of a Chaos mechanical legion."
Perturabo said it with conviction.
He might have lost the contest of craftsmanship, but that did not mean his Chaos mechanical legion was weak.
Before, he had only deployed a small fraction for the test.
If he unleashed them at full scale, the Savior might not be able to withstand it.
That was the accumulation of ten thousand years.
Yet when Perturabo tried to contact the Chaos mechanical host through the Armor of Edicts, he found the signal had been cut.
The earlier link had been camouflage.
In other words, he had lost command of the Chaos mechanical legion.
"Brother… what is this?" Perturabo froze, his body trembling faintly.
He took a slow breath, then looked at the Savior with a hollow, haunted stare.
"Sorry," Eden said, sounding a bit embarrassed as he explained, "but wasn't the command signal hub of your Chaos mechanical host inside this Chaos factory?
"So I had the Machine-Goddess casually breach the hub and… take the command permissions."
Under normal circumstances, Eden could never have seized command of a Chaos mechanical legion.
But this time, he had gotten inside the enemy's core.
"Casually?
"Listen to yourself. Are you even speaking human language?!" Perturabo felt numb. His heart thudded so hard it shook his chest.
That Chaos mechanical legion was the last force he had after losing the Iron Warriors.
His last hope of turning the tables.
He could already imagine what would have happened if he had refused to return to the Imperium.
He would have become a commander with no army.
Maybe even his base, the Chaos fortress-world Medrengard, would have been emptied out.
Bankrupt. Reduced to nothing.
As an enemy, the Savior was terrifying.
"Don't worry. How could I take my brother's things?" Eden said. "I'll have the Machine-Goddess return the command permissions to you right now."
But Perturabo refused.
"No. Give the Chaos mechanical legion to you. From now on, I will not participate in any war command, nor will I serve as a legion master.
"The Iron Warriors, my gene-sons, are yours to lead."
The Lord of Iron had realized he was not a qualified commander, and he no longer wanted to take part in war, doing what he hated.
He wanted to spend all his time exploring technology and research.
After speaking those words, Perturabo felt light all over, and a faint happiness even rose within him.
He looked at the Savior with a trace of expectation, as if seeking a certain kind of approval.
Deep down, Perturabo was still anxious.
He feared the Savior would reject the proposal and force him back into command, back into war.
That would prove the Savior was no different from the Emperor, merely deceiving and using him, using his intellect and scholarship.
It was a test.
Or perhaps it was simply that the Lord of Iron lacked confidence, believing he had no right to pursue such an ideal, to become a pure scholar.
"That's even better. I respect your decision, brother."
Eden patted Perturabo's shoulder, smiling, and spoke with complete seriousness.
"A top-tier scholar like you going to the battlefield is a waste of your talent.
"The Imperium needs a top-tier scholar, not a general.
"From now on, you don't have to worry about anything. Just do what you love."
"…Mm."
Perturabo nodded and fell silent, showing little outward reaction.
But his beastlike face was already soaked in tears.
This Savior was a brother worth having.
Meanwhile, somewhere in the Warp, within a hidden domain.
The Chaos Duel Arena remained deafeningly loud.
Daemons cheered as they watched the Avenging Son's punishment.
Within the illusion, Guilliman's interactions with the Aeldari drew even greater roars and howls.
"I… I don't think I can hold on much longer…"
Guilliman was covered in wounds, his face pale with weakness.
He had been stripped naked and hung from the arena's heights for so long. Weeks? Months? Years?
It felt endless.
All the while, all manner of beings came to gawk, and even humiliation footage had been recorded.
A trap of indulgence was that terrifying, that dangerous.
And then a horrifying thought surfaced in the primarch's mind.
"My brothers… they haven't forgotten me, have they?
"Or did they run into some Warp storm, delaying their reinforcement again and again?"
Late reinforcements were the most terrifying thing of all.
No one knew how long you would have to wait.
Guilliman suddenly remembered his own experience of arriving late to reinforce Holy Terra. It had been excruciatingly long.
Now he finally understood what that felt like.
The primarch had never hated tardiness more than he did in this moment, as he sank into profound despair.
Then he remembered something else.
The Lord of Pleasure had prepared an even more dangerous illusion trap, waiting for the Savior's arrival.
And it would broadcast the illusion footage of Guilliman together with the Savior onto the psychic network.
(End of Chapter)
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