Chapitre 43: Epilogue One: Cold Steel and Hell Fire
Location: The Imperial Palaces Battlements. Terra
Date: 815.M30
The veritable army of laborers on Terra worked constantly upon the Imperium's massive public works. Every able-bodied man or women found employment with the Adeptus Terra. Economic, social and cultural growth bloomed across the Homeworld. Trade and resources streamed across Sol as the citizens of the Imperium worked to rebuild the damage done by the Lunar Rebellion. It was an age of heroes and miracles. New hope, one of a better tomorrow, spread like wildfire. Of all these projects, none compared to the majesty held by the Imperial Palace.
The rapidly growing citadel of mankind's master shone from orbit. Its battlements towering into the heavens. These mile high structures could withstand the fiercest bombardment. Nothing less than multiple Titan legions could hope to crack the still unfinished defenses. The genius of Terran Warsmiths, Martian Priests and the Primarchs was poured into it. The IV and VII Primarchs in particular had shown a passion for this study. Rogal Maur and Octaviar Perturabo worked in tandem to craft a mixture of beauty and deadliness that defined the palace.
Perturabo often retired to these high battlements to reflect. The colossal structures' altitude and secluded nature provided the Primarch a place of solitude. A place he now used to rest from his duties in rebuilding and improving the Sol System. Something weighed heavily upon the IV Primarch. He had received a gift like all his brothers before leaving to conquer Sol. The nature of this blessing had disquieted Perturabo. A great statue by an ancient Terran sculptor was presented to him. The Gates of Hell by Rodin the Franc. Perturabo gazed upon the intricate work taken from Malcadors museum and wondered. With a burning hand, the Emperor then touched his forehead and spoke: "This my son, is your gift"
By some psychic method, Perturabo had been linked to the Astronomicon's firetide of warp-flame, the eternal clash of anathematic and chaotic energies found at the edge of mighty warpstorms or rifts. This gift allowed the IV Primarch to instinctually sense these rips in reality. Perturabo had been told his role to play in the Emperor's plan. Once the Great Crusade had ended, the IV and his Legion would guard the gates of hell. The Eldar's Folly, the Maelstrom, and every other place that bled corruption would become their arena, where they would forever beat back the stuff of nightmares. .
This additional sense had fast become part of Perturabo. It had allowed him to organize near miraculous defenses during the Chaos invasion of Sol. Sensing where a rift would open before it did. Then predicting when new waves of Lost and Damned would pour through proved to be a valuable tool, Since receiving his gift, Perturabo had not had time to fully understand it. Shortly after its bestowment, Perturabo and Iskandar had been tasked with conquering Venus and crushing the local Psi-Lords along with their monstrous concoctions. These so-called War-Witches had found an ancient manufactorium for Golden Age constructs. They replaced the malicious A.I with bound Neverborn, turning the salvaged robots into Lithogolems. Perturabo had made quick work of them. His brilliant and analytical mind had work extraordinarily well with his brother's drive for excellence, and the psykers had been no match for the might of two full legions of Astartes. It had seemed that he would be given a brief respite to focus on the blessing his father had given him. Then, the Lunar Rebellion had struck, further stealing his attention. Now, in this short period of peace, he had time to reflect on his gift.
Where his brothers gained arcane relics, lost technology or futures beyond grandeur. To Perturabo, it seemed his father had instead cursed him with the burden of an impossible duty. His destiny seemed to be one of eternal strife and misery. Even here on Terra, where the Astronomicon was brightest, he could feel the gnawing hunger of Chaos pressing out of the Warp rift. The Eldar's Folly was the worst of them all. From it, the Gods peered into reality coveted all they saw with malicious avarice. To Perturabo, this cosmic peephole was an Eye of Terror. It was ever present and watching, with the attention of the Four flowing through it eternally.
Sitting atop the mountainous battlements, he let his senses expand, staring into the Warp as it stared into him, studying the Eye of Terror as it shone in the Terran skies, undetectable to the teeming world except for Octaviar and his Father. The evil rip in existence was Perturabo's gift. Where his brothers had swords, talismans, and thrones, his prize was the great Hellmouth. This left a bitter taste in the Primarch's mouth. Part of him wondered if he had somehow displeased the Emperor. The more troubling thought was that it was the exact opposite. Did his father trust him too much?
Octaviar's mind had already started working on designing defenses. In his mind's eye, he was already mentally turning the worlds surrounding the Eye into a steel circlet. Creating an eternal and unbreakable kill-zone to trap the Daemons with cold metal. Perturabo knew he could do this. It was well within his prodigious intellect and skill. He just didn't know if he wanted too. He would be subjected to a life spent toiling away at his father's orders in a never-ending siege, spending his sons lives in a sector-sized meat grinder. Perturabo instead wanted to build wonders. He wanted to make creations that would rival and even surpass the Palace. The fact that his brother Rogal would be the one guarding the Palace the two had spent their childhood building also stung.
The two had always been surprisingly close. Rogal Maur was not quite Octaviar's intellectual equal, less a polymath and more a consummate professional, capable of taking any task and completing it with the same stoic resolve. To Perturabo, that seemed perfect for the role he had been given instead. Let Rogal guard against hellfire with his stony strength. Why must Perturabo instead bear such an ugly burden? The Primarch wanted to craft paradise, not guard the pit.
Looking up at the cracked moon and the Eye of Terror, Perturabo angsted. If this what was truly required, he would do his duty. Too much rode on the Primarchs. A wounded Ego and jealousy were unbecoming for the Emperor's sons. Turning around, he looked up at the highest peak of the Palace, where the Astronomicon's light burned. The great star of psychic fire was mesmerizing, an eternal symbol of the Emperor's influence and glory. Staring into the golden light, a whispered question escaped his lips. "Why?"
A voice came from within the bastion's edge that served as Perturabo's hideout and startled the Primarch. "What troubles you Perturabo?"
Sneaking up on a Primarch is a near impossible feat. The voice belonged to a being who should not be capable of such things. Uriah Olathaire, the Imperial Confessor stepped into the moonlight. To brave the altitudes and cold that were present upon the ramparts would require nothing less then void-gear for a mortal man. Yet Uriah was bedecked in the same simple robe he always was. In his surprise, Perturabo pulled his ever-present sidearm. The elderly aid to the Emperor stared at the boltgun with an expression of bemusement. "I apologize for startling you, Lord Primarch, but I doubt that is needed."
Holstering the weapon and grunting an apology Perturabo asked "Why are you here Uriah? More importantly, how are you here?"
Smiling softly the former priest responded: "Both answers, like most things on this planet, can be traced to your father. The Emperor required a confessor who could hear and judge Him no matter what. As such, the limits of my body were all but erased with a thought. For why I am here? Well that answer is you. My duty in this life is too provide counsel and advice to the Imperial Family."
Returning to the slab of stone he used as a chair, Perturabo sighed and stared into the Confessor's gilded eyes. "What words of advice do you offer?" responded the Primarch. He did not appreciate his sanctum being violated. Unlike some of his brothers, he had never been close to Uriah. He found the Confessor irritating and probing.
Not responding to the bite in Perturabo's words Uriah turned to look at the Astronomicon before speaking. " Your father is an interesting paradox. So profoundly human, yet disturbingly beyond our species. His thoughts and plans are incredibly intricate and wide-ranging. Even in his best attempts, he sometimes fails to make people understand all that he wishes to convey. One of my duties as Confessor is helping his full message be conveyed."
The Primarchs face was an impassive mask, for he did not want to show any emotion or give anything away to Uriah. And the more he attempted to conceal his feelings, the more he displayed them. Never to be called handsome or even beautiful like some of his siblings, Perturabo was often likened to a great mountain, majestic in his own formidable way. His voice at that moment brought to mind this metaphor with the image of two great peaks grinding against each other, such was its tension. "Well then spit it out. What do you think I am missing in my father's words? He sends me to guard against the flames of hell. Is it a compliment, a slight? To me, it seems my Brothers all have fates they find agreeable. Why must I be the exception? "
Idly playing with a Aquilla badge fastened to his robe, Uriah chuckled. "In another life, I was a priest, the last priest, in fact. A true believer who helped the Emperor understand humanity better. In return, he helped me understand his grand plan. That fateful day, we both saw each other's flaws. I've always had a talent for that, Perturabo. I see the flaws and mistakes in the world. In my youth, I hoped prayer and sermon would fix our cosmos. Now I know that only through action and hope can anything be changed for the better. As another gift from the Emperor, my ability to see the flaws in things has been taken to a superhuman degree. He once remarked: "A surgeon must have good eyes and a steady hand. Similarly, a counselor must see and be willing to act upon the truth." That is how I surprised you, dear child. I saw the flaw even in you."
"That does not answer my question. For one who claims to speak the truth and explain the esoteric, it seems you speak in circles." spat back Octaviar. Disgusted at the very idea of even a former slave to false-gods having the Emperor's ear.
Matching the Primarch's snarl with more collected calm, Uriah continued. "I tell you all this so you might understand the truth of my next words. The only flaw in the Emperor's plan for you, is how you have viewed it. What you desire and your fate in His plan line up perfectly. The Master of Mankind does intend you to guard the Warp with a strong mind and fist. He also wants you to build something there. Your very name provides hints to what he hoped to convey. Octaviar Perturabo, translated and interpreted from an ancient language, means 'Builder of Empires that forever Endure'. The Emperor crafted you as a polymath and genius in so many topics because you were never meant to just wage war."
Sighing and gesturing around at the Palace as he spoke Uriah said: "You were created not only to fight an eternal war where the Warp and Materium bleed together. The Emperor wants you to build wonders at the gates of hell. He wishes for you to create every utopia, monument, and citadel your mind can think up, along with every weapon, strategy, and fortification. Perturabo, The Emperor wants you to take the entrance to Hades and turn it into Arcadia. You shall refute the Chaos Gods by building a civilization like no equal at their doorstep. There will be war and the threat of Chaos, but is a fact for all of us. Your duty is to be the first line of defense in the war for worlds and souls. Show the glory of humanity to all and defend it with your might. Perturabo, you were born to craft an invincible paradise where the Gods hope to create our ruin. The ancient sculpture he gifted you was a token to enforce that message. A beautiful creation marking the entrance to the underworld"
No noise other than the chill wind existed on the summit of the tower for several moments. Like a reverse avalanche, the hulking demigod rose from his seat and placed a titanic hand upon the former Priests shoulder as he spoke. "I see my father chose well with you. I was foolish, unable to see the full picture. Thank you for opening my eyes, Uriah."
With that, the Primarch left the Battlements and returned to his quarters. He had blueprints to draw, worlds to design and wars to be won. Uriah did not know for certain, but he swore that as the Primarch left he saw a hint of a smile upon Octaviar's face. The IV Primarch set to work with reborn productivity. His talents in war and peace would be put to perfect use. Octaviar Perturabo began to work designing a cage of cold steel that would be both impregnable and beautiful. It would be perfect for containing what dwelled in the dark.
It was a moment of triumph for both Primarch and Confessor, a moment the IV Legion would later memorialize in countless statues and murals. In some cosmic duality, the event sent ripples across the immaterium. Ripples that reached somewhere else, somewhere under layers of soot-clouds and stained iron Awakening a monster of machine and spite. It peered out from its kingdom within the Eye of Terror. Upon the timeless world of Medrengard, a simultaneously ancient and unborn/aborted Daemon Prince awoke. The Lord of Iron hungered for War. It sought to soothe its wounded ego and soul. With the death and misery of those, it proclaimed weak. Another Perturabo arose and started its own march to war.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone