Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 456 Kneel down
"We arrived on Terra with the knowledge of weather magic, and when we set out on our expedition, we returned to the Supreme Capital, where the sky and the river looked out, but we didn't know that we were told a lie. 'There is no such thing as gods, demons, or magic in the world, only material truth can be found and investigated.' How sad it is that we were rejected by the truth. My Khan told us that he would rather be a barbarian wandering on the edge than be with the so-called civilized people who burn the world and destroy temples and only believe in one thing."

"The old seal bearer said that lies will always come true, and this is the principle we have believed in since we fought against the Empire. As expected, in today's Nikaea, the White Scars have received the answer we have been waiting for a hundred years."

You looked at Yesugei standing in the center of the long carpet, nodding slightly to the Imperial Sky Eagle behind the host, his cloak hanging down freely behind him, not straight but not loose either, as if the wind from Chogoris was still blowing past him, rolling the bright smoke from the sky into the fine fluff of his cloak.

The people of the White Scars have always had such an out-of-this-world aura, and their thoughts are both very consistent and very inconsistent with what you believe in. If you ask them if the Emperor is a tyrant, their admission will be a long, ironic laugh.

You see, these people have seen the truth that the Emperor represents, but they insist on making a bloody mockery of the truth. They are not ignorant, but they have betrayed the fate they should submit to. And you know that this will separate your fate into two sides, and as for the consequences of this, you still can't explain it.

Look at you, you claim to serve the Emperor, but you won't even upset a disobedient brother.

"Our suggestion is as follows: The Imperial Truth should recognize the objectivity of psychic energy and the dangers of warp storms, and then it is the scope of the Nikean Codex." Yesugei smiled freely and retreated briskly into the shadows. If he had a horse beside him, he would ride it and gallop away.

You stared at him, knowing that your hopes would be dashed. You could no longer tell whether this answer was rational or the result of years of accumulated resentment. You only knew that Chagatai Khan, who claimed to be the most honest and innocent, did not propose to recognize the identity of the Emperor God. You only knew that the most hopeful person also half-concealed the truth in this hall.

Of course, you hope that everyone in the world will acknowledge that the Emperor is the only true God, and that every brother knows that the Emperor's love and the Kingdom of Heaven are selflessly bestowed upon you; but you have been walking alone on this path of belief for nearly two hundred years, and in the end your buried resentment quietly surfaces, fearing that the situation in which you are the only one walking on the right path has changed, and that someone else is surpassing you by reciting hypocritical prayers.

Then you turn around and blame yourself for your narrow-mindedness, and realize unwillingly that your complaints were provoked by the look Perturabo gave you.

The tradition of the Emperor's Children not having a think tank has continued, and the one who arrived here today to speak for Fulgrim was Julius Caesorron.

Listen to what he says. He says that while the Emperor's Children firmly believe that the Emperor's Creed was perfect two hundred years ago, time flies and the sword of perfection must change with the times. Today, the Empire's great cause will be accomplished and there is no need to abide by the regulations that applied two centuries ago.

He spoke tactfully and beautifully, as flawless as his clean face with the Emperor's blood flowing through it, but behind every word of his words was a long-prepared plan. It was a long-term strategy that had been determined in the past exchanges between the Iron Warriors and the Emperor's Children: How many brothers did Perturabo hold in his hands?
Even you, but his brilliance blinded you, making you acquiesce and acknowledge his actions.

You watched as the Primarchs moved towards the side that nominated him, and you yourself were the first brother to support him in becoming the Warmaster.

He didn’t even lift a finger, he just took a city and captured you by some means beyond time.

Do you remember his expression?

Didn't his calm and solemn expression conceal a hint of ecstasy at having finally succeeded? Didn't his solemn light blue eyes roll over you coldly like glass marbles and crush you magnificently?
But you didn't see it until today.

You were a witness to their slander against the Emperor, and you were the one who pushed them to Nicaea step by step. Gathered under Perturabo, who replaced the Emperor, they privately discussed deposing the law that He had set behind His back, and you didn't know until then.

You listened to them fanatically expressing their dissatisfaction with the truth of the empire one by one, and how quickly they had obeyed any order given to you by the father in the past. But now, perhaps they have not noticed it, or perhaps they know it in their hearts but remain silent, and they have begun to passionately criticize the father's holy words.

As you can see, this kind of thing could actually happen under the bright blue sky. Fifteen sons took turns to come on stage, directly or indirectly, and took out their prepared words to rebuke their father, pretending that they were loyal to the empire and worried about their father.

No one even asked if the Emperor or his right hands really agreed to let them talk here - no one even knew where the Sigillite Malcador was, where the Lord Commander of the Custodes Valdor was, what was the status of the sleeping Horus - no one even asked, how is the Emperor? Can the father appear?

You feel like you are surrounded. In the fog of the commotion before your eyes, you look at faces that are either familiar or unfamiliar.

You feel you should say something. You are Lorgar Aurelion, the Bearer of the Truth, and you are supposed to uphold the words of the Emperor that he left in the galaxy.

But your timidity locks you in your limited auditorium, unable to keep up with all the noise and bustle happening right now.

You recognize each of your brothers from behind those dark veils of shadow that block all outside detection, but your heart gives you the answers you need.

On the far left sideline, Rogal Dorn and the Imperial Fists were there. Akamus had walked to the front of the stage and said a few words, and every move he made showed his support for Perturabo.

Rogal Dorn, the Royal Guard of Terra, the builder of the Imperial Palace, how many people believe in his loyalty, even the high-ranking Royal Guards recognize Rogal Dorn's rock-hard determination, but isn't he right here, "Based on the facts, we must acknowledge the limitations of the Imperial truth"?
Why is it necessary? Is he trying to induce humans to step out of the protection that the Emperor painstakingly created?
When you think about this, you realize how deeply you were deceived, just as you blindly allowed the Word Bearers to be poisoned by Erebus for so many years.

Your gaze shifted over, needless to say, to Magnus. You could faintly see his red-gold brilliance from behind the black curtain, which was in line with the resolute optimism and vigor he had when he first came to the stage, and it was constantly pulsating.

You realize the nature of his actions, a man who claims to hate psychic magic, but ends up writing a book full of witchcraft wisdom.

You continue to look to the side, and you see another brilliant curtain hanging in the sky, the deflected light blocking all the brilliant light, but you know that Sanguinius is there, wearing a beautiful robe with inlaid flowers, with light decorations hanging on his wings, leaning against the elegant railing, watching Perturabo presiding over the Nikea Council with boredom, with a bit of his innate mysterious indifference - the archangel flew transcendentally high in the sky, using his shadow as his entity for others to worship.

You remember that day in Ullanor, the hidden hints in Sanguinius' words, you remember how everyone gathered in Ullanor for Horus Lupercal, but was not even allowed to see the wolf god.

You hear Sanguinius' words brushing your ears like velvet. "Of all the brothers here, Perturabo is the most suitable," Sanguinius tells you, and then he turns his head and looks directly at you, staring at you, his long blond hair tangled around your neck, the gray tears painted under his eyes flowing, and he says to you, "But Horus is not here."

You take a deep breath, feeling the blood flow from your wounds in a horrible manner that is sharp and desperate.

At this time, as a Word Bearer, you should take action against all the heretics present, whether they are aware of it or not, but you are still hesitating. You are ashamed of the Emperor. "He is wrong," you heard them say silently, which is the limit of what they can say under bewitched or voluntary conditions. They are bewitched and seriously confused.

And on the high platform, the giant in gorgeous clothes sat under the two heads of the sky eagle, happily welcoming the perfect situation that he dominated.

He allows other companions to be close to him, to the heroic image he has created, and to reflect the imperfections of others through his own purity and perfection, that is, this collective pride is given value by the damage to the self, and in this relationship of trust, mutual blind plunder is indispensable and dependent.

However, is it really so? You trembled and closed your eyes. After your anger subsided a little, you wavered again, unable to believe that the truth you had believed in for more than a hundred years existed in a fundamental fallacy.

You couldn't believe the possibility that Perturabo was disloyal, that Perturabo had lied to you...

Just above Perturabo's head, the Eagle seemed to see your thoughts and reasoning, realizing that you were the only one paying attention to the Eagle itself and not the Warmaster Perturabo.

The Sky Eagle reminds you punctually: "What if my enemies join my army on the eve of the coming of the Kingdom of Heaven, use my name to disrupt my laws?"

Your heart, which had just begun to wander, falls down, sinking infinitely and endlessly into an unimaginable depth.

Your eyes are illuminated by a black light that surrounds you. You are filled with the new black light, leaving no space to think about anything else. Too many things are coming towards you one after another, like metal fragments falling from the sky, hitting you and cutting out flames.

You saw where it all began, the Iron City built in Perturabo's name. You thought it was built in the name of the Emperor, but it was not.

You saw the clues he used to lure people, saw the Olympian immigrants on Prospero, saw the Olympian star cluster independent of the Empire, saw the mysterious Faithless Night Ghost approaching some inhuman creatures, saw Rogal Dorn taking the construction rights of the Terran Palace, saw Fulgrim's arm broken in Olympia, saw Mortarion and Magnus getting closer and closer, saw Jagatai Khan being brought back to Terra by the craftsmen around him, saw the last day of the Battle of Randan, when he received the Emperor's Holy Light - only Perturabo was not there, only the Iron Lord did not dare to be anointed...

And the recent events. The recent denials of you. The equivocations of you. The malicious mercy shown to the Colchis rebels.

Notice that all of these things happened to the same person.

And he is your warmaster now, and this is something you personally pushed for.

“Perturabo,” you heard yourself suddenly speaking from the booth, your hoarse voice carrying far away, “Perturabo.”

The Astartes standing on the platform below endured his interruption in confusion, which made you realize that they could still be saved.

They are all your brothers, taken from their respective bookcases by Perturabo, and the paper on which they were written destroyed in the process, so roughly damaged and smeared that they have become unrecognizable and varied from their true appearance.

You read them again, re-identifying each one of them, hoping that your caution has allowed you to recognize no word or pattern incorrectly, figuring out the correct highlights, brushstrokes and carving patterns. You feel a little more at ease, knowing that many people still have a way back, extending all the way to their feet, lighting torches along the way to welcome them, and as long as they are willing, they can return under the guidance and return to the light of the Emperor's black sun.

“What do you think, Aurelion?” Perturabo answered you, his voice breaking through the curtain you had drawn. In fact, the voice broke through something more illusory and hit you directly, making you grab the railing at hand.

"You can come down from there and into the middle of the platform," Perturabo reminded you, and he sounded sincere, but the torrent of his words threatened to sweep you away.

You stared at him stiffly, and then at the Eagle behind him, staring at you with burning eyes.

You were encouraged again, and your back straightened. You walked into the passage, thinking about what you were going to say all the way, until you stepped into the light again, facing the person you had trusted for more than a hundred years.

You were willing to give everything for your trust, but your trust was based entirely on the assumption that Perturabo was the Emperor's heir.

The moment Perturabo attempted to overthrow the Imperial Truth, or perhaps even earlier, when he stopped you from destroying Interlex and scolded you for destroying Colchis, or when the Enemy Blade was stolen and Horus was assassinated, the foundation of trust was destroyed.

"Perturabo," you say loudly, "I object to what is happening here. I object to your slander of the Emperor's shallow wisdom. This is an open insult to the Imperium of Man."

Perturabo looked at you calmly, as if he was evaluating a piece of impure steel, estimating how to reforge you, this piece of scrap iron that did not meet his liking, so that you could become something useful again.

Under that bright and beautiful outfit and under the gaze of the Sky Eagle, the Lord of Iron instantly becomes cold and deadly, staring at you with unpredictable eyes, which is out of tune with the Imperial Sky Eagle full of honor.

You find yourself not proud of standing up for yourself, you feel your heart being squeezed by your hands under the weight, making it hard to breathe. Even if you defeat Perturabo, you will not feel happy about it, instead, you will burst into tears, your heart will say no, whether it is true or not you don't want to break with your brother, no matter what you refuse to believe that you must oppose the face that shows contemplation.

But the Sky Eagle speaks to you, it speaks to you without words, so that you can understand, so that you can be reprimanded and warned, and so that you can regain your rationality.

The Sky Eagle said: You should be true to your faith.

So you speak, suppressing the weeping in your heart. O one who holds the truth, you must speak out loudly in front of everyone, like a street prophet who no one cares about.

“I support the Imperial Truth,” you say.

The commotion around you gradually expanded, and countless worried faces looked at you, but no one stopped you. Either they were afraid of exposing their disloyalty to the Empire, or they still observed the superficial etiquette of the believers and allowed a true believer to express his opposition to their blasphemous behavior. You were a little surprised by this, not all morality was lost here.

"I also support the Imperial Truth," Perturabo replied, "but we need to modify it so that it will survive in the new era."

"No," you say. "Imperial Truth is inspired by the Emperor and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness. You cannot tamper with its text."

When you speak, you feel strangely calm, as if you are just an empty vessel, a simple transmitter of the divine emperor's holy words. You are satisfied with this, after all, there is no honor in the debate between brothers.

Perturabo narrowed his eyes slightly. His hidden surprise and disappointment were undoubtedly a trick he played on you, luring you into his camp at the lowest cost, and using your hesitation and pity to inadvertently lead you down a path of depravity. This was essentially his incomplete pride, because only false pride could turn cowardice into cruelty, and guilt into malice, so as to impose hegemony on his companions.

“First of all, you must understand that no prophecy of Scripture is a matter of one’s own interpretation, for prophecy is the recording of His words by men.” You continue, saying that the Imperial Truth is His revelation, not the creation of men or angels. You don’t understand why everyone present thinks it can be modified.

"I bear witness to everyone who hears this book: If anyone adds anything to it, the plagues described in this book will be added to him. And if anyone takes away anything from it, the Emperor will take away his share in the tree of life and in the Holy City, which are described in this book." You said, "You call on your brothers to tamper with His Word, Perturabo, and you are destroying it."

You paused, and in order to clarify for your other brothers, you continued to explain: "You can re-examine and reinterpret it to respond to current problems. You can use existing doctrines to discuss and resolve the justice you think is lacking and the truth that you cannot understand. But you cannot change the Imperial Truth, Perturabo."

"Do you think I did this on my own?" Perturabo asked, sitting alone in the seat where the Emperor should have sat.

"Why would you do this?" you demanded, staring into Perturabo's face. "Why would you corrupt the Imperial Truth, add to it, subtract from it, add your own stamp?"

"Everything that happens here has been approved by the Emperor, Aurelion."

"With the Emperor's permission? Where is the Emperor?"

"In Terra—"

"How could the Emperor give you the power to decide His will alone, Warmaster Perturabo?" You shook your head, glaring at the still expressionless face. "I cannot see your evidence, the proof of what you have done, and I cannot tolerate your misunderstanding and denigration of Him. I will return to Terra, Perturabo, and I will inform the Emperor personally of this matter."

"Inform the Custodians of your request, Aurelion," Perturabo said. "If you can prove to the Emperor that I am lying, or that I have wrongly disparaged your faith, then I will certainly obey His will."

“It’s too late,” you shook your head, your palms starting to hurt. “Brothers! We have already discussed too many statements against the Emperor, too many refutations and blasphemies of the Imperial Truth without knowing his attitude!

“How many of you can say that you have offered your exegetical suggestions with complete selflessness, without reservation, and without reservation, with all your heart?

"I hear your arguments, each of which has its merits, but all of them prioritize their own positions! I hear your selfishness beating in your chests. Every modification you are prepared to make to the Imperial Truth is based on your need to gain personal or legion benefits from it!
"I heard you borrow the Emperor's name, waiting for this long-awaited opportunity, in the gap between the future after the Great Crusade, when the Empire is about to step into the next future, calculating your own plunder instead of sacrifice, and your own interests instead of justice.

"I see you standing above the people of the Empire, thinking that you are destined to take the highest position and using excessive power in advance, but aren't we the servants of the people of the Empire? Aren't we the servants and assistants of the people under the rule of the Emperor?"

"The Imperial Truth protects humanity, and you are destroying it, my brothers, and you are carving your tombstones privately."

You calm down and allow yourself to look around at all the mysterious black curtains around you. Your will allows you to see countless hidden emotions. Are they really unshakable? No, not at all. Some of them know that what you said is correct, or at least partially correct. The remnants of their conscience are questioning their selfishness.

Just as not everyone is used to obeying a warmaster, holding a meeting consumes the prestige that Perturabo has accumulated, which is the price he must pay.

Perturabo tapped the tabletop.

“Aurelian,” he reminded once again, neither you nor he raised his voice, both of you could hear each other clearly.

He said: "The Emperor knows all that is going on here. He is watching you, and watching us. He is not blind, but he has not come."

"Do you want me to accuse you of unproven lies, Perturabo?"

Perturabo stood up and raised the Eagle Staff. In full view of everyone, the eagle of the staff radiated light. The blazing light came with a burst of burning pain that pierced through your soul. You were blinded for a moment and almost fell to the ground. You barely stood.

You see a brilliant golden shadow, without a specific shape, just a pure and unrivaled brilliance, shining in front of you. You stare at the bright light until your eyes are filled with tears.

“Lorgar Aurelion,” a bell-like divine rebuke sounded from the golden light, “Why do you persist in your opinion?”

“But—” You utter a single syllable, like a bewildered bird at night, or a desperate moth, teetering on the edge of a light source.

"Must I order you to kneel down?" The emperor's voice turned cold.

"Father--"

"Kneel down." The golden light ordered.

There is no tolerance in it, and it is difficult to discern thoughts, but it is not that there are no thoughts. His great thoughts are higher than the existence of any person, higher than all the vulgar morality and narrow evil in the universe, and he uses this voice to command you from a thousand miles away, without any mercy.

In an instant you obeyed, kneeling before the glory of the Emperor, not even realizing what you were doing. Your head hit the ground like a bell.

All the brothers are watching you, sixteen of them, from Lion El'Jonson to Alpharius, their cruel gazes gnawing at your prostrate back like the bite of a venomous snake.

You kneel helplessly in the middle of the blood-red carpet, meeting everyone's gazes, and let out a desperate whimper instinctively.

Here, on the cold ground, colder than the dead sands of Colchis during the long night, here you lie prostrate, bound and chained by a simple command.

Right here, you kneel down.

Your soul shrank cruelly in the cold, and all the dignity and memories you had of being with the Emperor were squeezed out bit by bit. You touched the glory left by the Emperor in your memory, and then you were pushed away and thrown into a cold, narrow cage shaped by a straight-backed kneeling figure.

You kneel down.

There was only silence. Sixteen brothers, seventeen legions, tens of thousands of narrators, all of them watched you kneel in silence.

The silence continued.

Ten years. A hundred years. A century. A whole generation rolling by. It lasted and extended.

Continue until the golden light gradually fades away.

Until your will returned to you from the ruins of your soul that burned up along with Colchis.

Until you raise your head and pursue the Emperor's fleeting brilliance from the annihilated air and fading traces around you, looking for His sacred light, His form, His voice, all that He possesses, and the few marks that He has given to you from all of this.

Then, you saw it.

You see a tiny black light flash in the Sky Eagle's eyes, mixed in the depths of the golden light, swirling like a nightmare and dancing like a ghost.

"Stand up," Perturabo said, turning away from him. "That's enough."

"Yes, that is enough." Lorgar Aurelion said slowly, his eyes fixed high up.

His eyes once again revived with quiet gentleness and tolerance, with all the brilliance of resignation, as if his eyes were just a pair of amethyst niches holding the statue of the god, so pure.

He turned around, said no more, made no more excuses, and walked along the scarlet carpet, step by step, out of the sight of tens of thousands of people. He walked out of his old shell, leaving behind all the contemplation, gloom and anger he had acquired in this old body, leaving behind the echoes and shadows left by his words, and slowly walked away from the glorious era of the Great Crusade.

(End of this chapter)