Chapter 126 - The Beginning of the Collapse of Truth
It was this slight hesitation that caused the chaotic whispers to permeate his ears.
"You have a choice, Luther. You can make Caliban a Chaos paradise, a world no one can touch. Your people will gain unprecedented power, and you will become the true master instead of Lion, who will forever keep you in the shadows."
"Lion..."
Luther repeated the name softly, a complex emotion welling up in his eyes. He was once Lion's closest brother, but his gene-son's brilliance was so dazzling that Luther felt overshadowed countless times.
'He was the one who saved Lion during the expedition against the Saroshi xenos!'
'He actually told me to return to Caliban!'
'He was the one who found the Lion abandoned and raised him! Why! Why!'
Luther clutched his head, deep in torment, his still-unaugmented body groaning in pain. The whispers echoed in his ears again, the sound like the dark tide of the Warp seeping into his very soul.
He saw Caliban in the distance, the land he had sworn to protect with his life. The knightly oaths of the past, the dreams of glory, and the bitter reality of the present intertwined, leaving him lost.
"If the Emperor truly wanted to protect Caliban, He would stay here," Luther muttered to himself, his voice growing softer and more uncertain. "But He chose to leave, abandoning us on this land."
He roared in anguish, utterly oblivious to the sinister smile on the sorcerer's face in the distance. A blue feather fell silently.
Francis and Perturabo stood facing each other in a small square outside the Palace. Perturabo's face was as cold as steel, and anger burned in his eyes, as if he were about to unleash his fury at any moment.
"Honsou betrayed me! He can betray the Imperium, but how could he betray me!" Perturabo roared, his voice reverberating through the air like rolling thunder.
"I'm going to find him and grind him to dust!" His servo-arm slammed into the ground, creating a crack.
Passersby fell silent, staring.
Francis waved his hand and put his arm around Perturabo's shoulder. "Don't act rashly. This could be a trap set by Chaos."
Perturabo frowned. "Are we just going to let him go like this? Where will that leave my reputation as a Legion commander?"
"How could that be? If you repay evil with kindness, how will you repay kindness?" Francis said. "A Legion commander should be able to win battles from afar. Taking direct action is a crude tactic."
Francis smiled mysteriously, then clapped his hands while Perturabo looked on with suspicion.
Clap clap clap!
Soon, a group of albino orks came running over. Their tall, burly figures exuded wildness, but they seemed somewhat restrained by Francis's presence, whispering and observing one another.
"Very good." Francis snapped his fingers, and the albino orks' attention was immediately drawn to him. "Form a circle."
The albino orks moved clumsily, shoving each other until they finally formed a large circle. Their heavy breathing sounded like a low whistling wind, and the ground trembled with their footsteps.
"Let's begin! Two warriors per team, fight in the circle, fight until you're satisfied!"
The albino orks' eyes immediately lit up. They had been feeling stifled on the ship, and now they could finally unleash themselves.
"Waaaaaaagh! Boss! Boss!"
"Waaaaaagh!"
"Roar roar roar!"
The albino orks continued to dance and shout war cries. Soon, two more robust albino orks emerged from the crowd, glaring at each other with a menacing glint in their eyes.
Francis smiled slightly and pointed at them. "Very well, let's begin. But this isn't ordinary fighting. With every punch, with every strike, shout out one sentence: 'Honsou can only create Astartes loyal to the Imperium!'"
The two albino orks paused for a moment after hearing this, but they didn't care anymore. They were going to have fun! They suddenly swung their fists together, colliding violently. At the same time, they shouted.
"Honsou can only create Astartes loyal to da Emprah! Waaaaaaaaaagh!"
"Honsou can only create Astartes loyal to da Emprah!"
Shouts rose and fell with the swinging of fists, echoing across the empty field. The albino orks' battle was completely haphazard, a mere clash of primal forces, yet each heavy blow was accompanied by the same shout, as if it were some strange ritual.
Francis paced outside the circle, hands behind his back, a sly glint in his eyes.
He glanced at the albino orks watching and casually pointed to a few. "You lot, get ready! Once the two in the middle go down, it's your turn to go in. Same rules!"
The albino orks outside the circle began to stir, waving their fists and gradually joining in with shouts.
"Honsou can only create Astartes loyal to da Emprah! Honsou can only create Astartes loyal to da Emprah!"
"Waaaaaaaagh!"
"Who's dis Honsou?"
"Dunno, but as long as dere's a scrap, Waaaaaaaaaagh it iz!"
"Wot's an Emprah?"
"Wot's loyal mean?"
"Wot's dis Astartes again? Never mind, Waaaaaaaaaagh!"
"Waaaaaaaagh!"
A surge of Waaagh! Energy shot straight into the sky, seemingly searching for something across the immaterium.
Perturabo looked bewildered at the scene, as if something incomprehensible had been activated. "That's not what the Imperial Truth preaches..."
"Exactly!" Francis pointed to the distant sky. "Do you think anyone still believes in the Imperial Truth?"
In the sky, a golden light was piercing through the heavens. It was Sanguinius, his wings of light unfurled, as if a divine being had descended. He flew through the air, his movements graceful and composed, with light flowing around him like a meteor shower falling on the earth.
On the ground, however, the scene appeared exceptionally frenzied.
Countless noble youths gathered together, their eyes gleaming with fervor, gazing up at the dazzling figure in the sky. They shouted Sanguinius's name at the top of their lungs, their voices deafening.
"Ahhh! It's an angel! Sanguinius, I love you!"
"Wow! We adore you!"
"I want to bear your angelic child! The child's name will be Azkaellon!"
In the crowd, some nobles waved banners bearing the image of Sanguinius. Some pulled out handwritten manuscripts of poems, eagerly reciting verses of praise they had just composed. Some even raised their arms, pleading for Sanguinius's gaze upon them, as if it were the greatest honor of their lives.
Perturabo turned his head and looked around. There wasn't a single person near them, let alone any noble youths. People in the distance saw them as if they were seeing something incredibly terrifying, and they all avoided them like the plague.
Francis quickly reassured him. "Hey! See that? After all these events, including the daemonic incursions, the descent of angels, and the clash of earth-shattering forces, do you think there are still people who believe only in science and not in the divine? But don't be sad. Even though you're not as charismatic as me, I don't mind."
Everything was fine until the last sentence. Perturabo's blood boiled, but then he remembered he couldn't beat him. He glanced at Francis's bio-armor, and he had a feeling that even it wasn't afraid of him.
"Do you really think this whole scheme will work?" Perturabo pointed at the orks, then looked at Francis.
"Don't worry, it's effective! These albino orks can be sent to your warship."
Perturabo quickly waved his hand. "There's absolutely no need!"
Francis tightened his grip on Perturabo's shoulder. "You're fortunate! Without them, you wouldn't be able to help me create a psychic beacon."
Perturabo stared at him. "What?"
"This is a perfect opportunity for you to witness my latest genetic research!"
Deep within the Eye of Terror, the void churned ceaselessly, and eerie colors flickered in the darkness like the pulse of the Warp itself.
Honsou, an Iron Warrior corrupted by Chaos, sat alone in his laboratory. The surrounding equipment emitted a dark red glow, and daemonic runes flickered faintly on the walls.
Honsou frowned, his eyes fixed on the hololithic display in front of him, which was full of complex formulas and theories, but he could not connect them into a complete design. His face was filled with anxiety and exhaustion, and his fingernails were even slightly cracked from tapping on the console for extended periods.
"Damn it! How do I even perfect this thing?" he cursed under his breath.
Suddenly, a strange surge of inspiration welled up in his mind. A blazing light seemed to flash before Honsou's eyes. He sat up abruptly, his breathing rapid. He felt a strange clarity rising from the depths of his consciousness, and his thoughts surged like a tidal wave.
Those vague ideas and disjointed inspirations suddenly began to arrange and combine automatically, forming a clear blueprint.
"Yes! That's it!" Honsou let out a low growl, his eyes flashing with crazed light. He quickly grabbed a stylus and frantically scribbled the emerging theories onto the data-slate.
His fingers traced the runic interface, and the projected three-dimensional image gradually became clear, precise yet distorted, perfectly combining Warp energy with the physical body.
"Haha! I've done it! That's it, that's it!" He burst into laughter, his voice filled with manic elation.
Countless possibilities flashed through his mind: the fusion of the corrupting power of the Warp and genetic technology, as if a perfect puzzle had finally found its missing piece.
[End of Chapter]
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