The Primarch's Sternest Brother (Part 2)

As we all know, Warhammer 40,000 is a work of fiction, a tabletop role-playing game that is extremely suitable for American teenagers to participate in, especially the unique Hive World, which is a one-to-one replica, so it can be considered as a preview.

The nest has Underhive, Upper Hive, a middle nest, Upper Hive City, and Hive City has so many layers. The difference between the nobles of the spires and the monsters of the Underhive is greater than the difference between a human and a dog.

But you must understand that in the Empire, a vast regime that embodies the shortcomings of all human history, it doesn't matter to the Empire whether you are Underhive monster, Upper Hive Scavengers, a middle-level hive slave, Upper Hive middle class, or a noble living in the hive's spire.

No matter who you are or what you do, everyone has their own death line. This cesspool will make every life equally eat a mouthful of shit, otherwise Guilliman wouldn't have woken up depressed.

These are just ordinary people. In fact, Space Marine also have their own kill thresholds, like Gregor at this moment.

Is it unjust? No! Are you scared? Yes, I'm terrified!

The more eloquently Gregor had explained things to Tu'Shan before, the more panicked he became now, and it wasn't just him; this panic had spread throughout the entire Imperial Fists.

Honestly, it's not surprising that the Imperial Fists would have such emotions that shouldn't exist in Astartes; no one could accept this.

As Genetic Modification and enhanced humans, veterans of the Great Crusade like Mordred would subconsciously call them Space Marine, while in modern times, most people would call these big guys Adeptus Astartes.

As the name suggests, the Adeptus Astartes are essentially a group of ascetics. Apart from Atlas, they have little interest in material things and are not even particularly enthusiastic about trivial emotional games.

This situation is due to those 19 or even 21 Gene-Modding Surgery. In order to create biological weapons, the Emperor certainly wouldn't create a scoundrel like Atlas who is incorrigible and lazy.

So the Space Marine were essentially mentally castrated, but please note, it was "approximately".

Space Marine aren't eunuchs; quite the opposite, they are still human, just enhanced giants. They have all the normal human traits, including joy, anger, sorrow, and the ability to bleed and get injured. Not to mention the rumor within the rumor—that there is no Kun Kun.

Space Marine are all warriors who were transformed into enhanced humans during their teenage years. What they crave most is glory and spiritual fulfillment. Coupled with the connection of the Gene-Seed, they can all be described as gravity-hungry, canine-like boys.

Everyone noticed the strange behavior of the Imperial Fists; anyone with a modicum of knowledge knew what it meant. But now the question arises: is the Imperial Fists truly the Imperial Fists?

Gregor didn't know, nor did he dare to verify. As a Sons of Dorn and Legion Commander, if he wasn't their biological son but rather the offspring of Perturabo, then things would get very interesting.

In that instant, Gregor collapsed; a thousand years of hard work and dedication instantly became a joke.

And it wasn't just him; the entire Imperial Fists was in a state of panic and utter confusion. But Tzeentch Birdman, who was in the Crystal Maze gym, enjoyed watching this and did two more sets of weightlifting.

When the Khan found Mordred was in a fit of impotent rage at the Yellow Skins, pointing at the screen and yelling, "You've wasted tens of thousands of years of your life, and you can't even curse properly!"

You usually hurl insults at me with a whole repertoire of them, but we can't even understand each other through a screen. If you want to be a troll, you have to use this kind of language.

To attack an elderly person, you must first attack their self-esteem; to attack a man, you must first attack his pride; and to attack a woman, you must first attack her emotions; to attack someone of high status, you must strike at their dignity; and to kill the innocence of a young child—"

"What about those who are neither male nor female, neither old nor young, and not even human?" the Emperor asked humbly.

"Nonsense! This kind of thing isn't even human. If you don't just open the box, you're useless. Just hit it through the internet cable. Do I need to teach you that? Just beat them the way you beat me back then!"

Although Emperor's a scoundrel, he's more business-oriented; he can kill someone with a single slap thanks to his supermodel looks. And while Mordred may have a high Morality standard, she's more flexible, adaptable, and ruthless—she's a sporty, eccentric type.

Seeing his father giving a speech at the funeral, the perceptive the Khan went to the kitchen and brought out a freshly cut fruit platter, even cutting two pineapples, to hand to Abo Sister, number 3, who was sitting on the armrest of the Golden Throne.

"Father, Your His Majesty, something terrible has happened!"

"Why didn't you say something important first? Did those Four Merchants come knocking on our door? Or did the Tyranid devour the Milky Way?"

"It can't be that the Tau have defeated Holy Terra, can it?"

"None of those!"

"That's not a big deal."

"The Imperial Fists has been sidelined by the Iron Warriors. From the Legion Commander to the Primarch Guard to the Captain of each regiment, they are all Iron Warriors' men."

"----"

Mordred was a bit confused, and not only him, but the Emperor was also a bit confused. He could understand the words individually, but they were incomprehensible when put together. What did it mean that the commander of the Imperial Fists Legion was Iron Warriors?

After hearing the Khan recount what had happened, Mordred fell silent. He clearly remembered that when he returned to the Empire, he had given all the small Chapter that came to join him a physical examination.

Unfortunately, quality control was lax in the end. To save trouble, he did genetic testing on 90% of the Chapter, but forgot about the Imperial Fists, who had always been guarding Terra.

It's really not Mordred's fault. At that time, Mordred was looking for his own Atlas. The Mord who were hiding in the Black Templars had all joined him as their Primarch. The remaining Earth Fist was acting like Dorn. He was just bored, so he chatted with these stubborn, unyielding people and made lame jokes.

"Fine, bring Gregor and the rest of them here! Bring them all."

"It's Father, I promise to complete the mission."

"Stop!" The Khan hadn't taken two steps when Mordred called him back, pointing at him and instructing, "I said bring them here, alive. Don't just come up and grab people; calm them down first and bring them here unharmed."

"And it has to be whole, with its whiskers and tail intact?"

"Nonsense, you think I'm some kind of Gundam? I'm giving you half an hour. If they're not here, you're getting out of here and going to replace Livyere in Catachan. And remember, keep it a secret!"

The Emperor remained silent, simply slacking off. As the saying goes, children and grandchildren have their own blessings, and life will find its own way. He was already half-paralyzed, so what did he care? He might as well use that time to randomly pick a lucky audience member to open the box.

Although the Emperor doesn't care about the situation, the Yellow Skins isn't some kind of Sunburned Ogryn. While Mordred was chattering away, he also noticed something interesting.

Soon, Gregor and his group of Imperial Fists high-ranking members arrived before the Golden Throne. They were quite grown men, yet they trembled like little bastards. Upon closer inspection, it was revealed that this group of Lemon Cans were wearing Pain Glove and were electrocuting themselves.

"Why are you all shaking? I'm asking you, do you have anything to say?"

"Your His Majesty, the Great Commander, there's no need for further words; we only seek death."

"Hey, the Khan, you bastard, get over here right now!"

Hearing his father call him, the Khan, who was watching the play, hurried over, only to be grabbed by Mordred's Little Blondie: "Father, what are you doing?"

"Why are you asking me? I told you to bring them all here safe and sound. Did you scare them behind their backs? Tell them to turn off those Pain Glove right now."

Everything that happened before the Golden Throne was seen by Abo Sister and witnessed by Perturabo through a connection even closer than that between the Primarch and the Space Marine.

If it were a normal person, their first reaction to suddenly discovering a large number of alternate accounts would be annoyance. But Perturabo wasn't normal; instead of being angry, she was rather pleased.

He immediately went deep into the Iron Blood and mocked a Primarch who wished to remain anonymous and had been captured to be a Super Cogitator and Gene-Seed creator. "Dorn, do you see that? Even if I'm being used to create Abominable Intelligence, I'm still stronger than you."

And your so-called Ultimate Wall, the Governor of Terra, is nothing but a bunch of chickens and dogs. Whether between you and me, or between our offspring, I am more than a hundred times stronger than you."

After saying that, a real-time video was projected into the dark chamber through the neural nodes at the back of Perturabo's head, and the Imperium's stubborn rock, who had been silent all along, opened his eyes at that moment.

"I am Roger Dorn!"

"Yes, yes, you are Rogal Dorn, but can't you say something different? Ever since I captured you in Terra, you've been saying the same few things over and over again. Are you really stupid or just pretending?"

"I Iron Within, Iron Without!"

"Those are my words!"

No matter what she's been through, the Perturabo is always that proud and stubborn little devil, a typical example of someone who values face more than life itself, and who would rather fight for pride than live a life of ease.

Several thousand years ago, following the failed Angron Great Heresy, Perturabo completely lost faith in her incompetent allies and simply gave up and slacked off, ending up like she is now, ignoring even Tzeentch's orders.

But despite his listless attitude, Perturabo, with nothing better to do than Eleven-to-one Daemon Eleven Demons, loved to persecute the Imperial Fists. He would capture them but not kill them, instead humiliating these Sons of Dorn in an attempt to corrupt them.

By chance, she suddenly discovered a little secret. Taking advantage of the chaos in the Empire after the sudden death of Lord Solar Macarius, she launched a surprise attack on Holy Terra and kidnapped Dorn, who was disguised as a junior Centurion.

Perturabo believed that although he and Dorn were natural enemies, anyone who could rival him was definitely stronger than that bunch of useless people. This belief gradually led him to become twisted, insisting that Dorn form the Third Imperium with her and give Tzeentch a grand birthday celebration.

I don't know how Perturabo's brain works; maybe he's just naturally rebellious. But this plan is simply impossible to realize; Dorn is even Dorn than her.

As for why Dorn had become the way it was, Perturabo didn't know, but she knew that she had to break down Dorn's psychological defenses. This imprisonment lasted for six hundred years, almost driving Perturabo to the brink of collapse.

But at this moment, Perturabo believed his chance had come. The commander of the Imperial Fists Legion was actually his own son! Wouldn't Dorn be furious?

Meanwhile, far away in Holy Terra, Mordred, under the watchful eyes of Gregor and the other Imperial Fists, extended his claws and drew blood from each of them.

Time ticked by, and under everyone's watchful eyes, Mordred finally patted Gregor on the shoulder and comforted him, "Nephew! Everyone here is a loyal subject, there are no treacherous ones. Humble origins are not a disgrace; serving the country with loyalty is what makes a true man."

"But Great Commander, are we really the Sons of Dorn? We've dedicated our lives to the Legion, and in the end they say I'm not my father's son. I simply can't accept that."

Mordred knew without a doubt who had leaked the information; who else could it be but the Khan, that big mouth?

"Oh dear, why are you all so concerned about your origins? It will only corrupt you. I've already started preparing to find your original bodies, but since you asked, I can only say you should change your Paint Scheme."

"So that means?"

"That's right, none of you 372 survived. 370 of you were all Iron Warriors, and those two standing at the very back, those two shifty-eyed guys, they're Hydra."

Gregor was shocked. Not a single Imperial Fists, and two Hydra had infiltrated—wasn't this just plain bad luck?

Overwhelmed with grief, even the two Hydra who had always considered themselves Iron Warriors and spies within the Imperial Fists were brought to their knees.

"Are you Alpharius?"

"You're also Alpharius?"

"No!"

"Hahaha, do you see that, Dorn? Do you see that? You've been utterly defeated. Even your legion no longer belongs to you. Cooperate with me! If the two of us work together, there's nothing in the world we can't accomplish."

To this, Dorn remained his usual tough-guy demeanor, but this time he finally spoke, "Are you happy?"

"Otherwise what? I'm in an incredibly good mood right now!"

"How can you be so sure you'll stay in a good mood? Haven't you noticed that Father has regained his senses?"

This nonsensical question startled Perturabo, but in an effort to find allies, she explained, "Do you remember Chagatai Khan? The Khan was right, the Empire is a cesspool, Warp is a cesspool too."

Do you think I'd submit to that hypocritical Tyrant? Or to that left-brain attacking right-brain guy who's now going crazy with Magnus and obsessed with fitness?

Wake up, Dorn! We're all the same, no matter where we are. We've always been treated as tools, whether it's the Emperor or Chaos, they've never had good intentions."

As Perturabo's voice rang out, his body underwent a dramatic transformation. His originally plump and sturdy flesh was covered in steel, eventually turning into a killing machine shaped like a lobster, a fusion of flesh and machinery.

"See? I'm not that idiot Magnus. This is our true nature. We are born this way, and this power can only belong to ourselves. As long as we disagree, even Chaos God cannot interfere with our freedom."

Extending his claws and tapping the ceramic jar containing Dorn, Perturabo invited, "Join me. We share the same blood. If our two legions work together, we will be Invincible Under Heaven."

We are the strongest spear and shield!

"Really? I don't believe it, and not just me, Mordred doesn't believe it either!"

"And you still haven't seen through the Second Son's true colors. He's actually crazier than all of us. If we can't play the brotherly game with him, we're in big trouble."

"Mordred —are you kidding me? There's no Mordred here. Even if that blond idiot were here, let me tell you, I'm not afraid of him at all."

I don't know what you're going to say next. You just want to say that there are a lot of them, that the father is mentally challenged, Mordred is an idiot, Zhuang Sen is insidious and barbaric, Russ is a good-for-nothing, Luojia is just a nobody, and then there's Guilliman, that Ambition bastard.

As for that guy, what was his name again? Never mind, since I can't remember, he's probably just a useless piece of trash. Anyway, with this group around, the empire is doomed sooner or later.

Are you sure?

I'm sure!

"Wait, who's speaking?"

Perturabo turned his head and his eyes instantly cleared, but Mordred, who had his face right in front of Abo Sister, was not so friendly. "Second, Second Brother! What are you doing? I'm telling you, even if you hear me, it won't do you any good. I'm not afraid of you anymore. I'm not the same person I used to be."

The thought of being pinned to the ground and beaten by Mordred in front of everyone, being brutally attacked with Titan until she was unrecognizable, filled Perturabo with inexplicable fear. This was a psychological trauma, regardless of strength or weakness. Even though Perturabo had now touched upon her Warp essence, he was still afraid.

But even in defeat, Perturabo's stubbornness perfectly compensated for this, instantly transforming into his Spinosaurus form and frantically panting. In short, the advantage was on my side!

Whether it's an advantage or not is unclear; the last person to say that has already started playing Boom Beach. But what angered Perturabo even more was that Second Brother Mordred didn't even look at her; instead, he looked at Dorn, who was imprisoned in Dorn Canned One.

Their eyes met, Mordred's Passive Face-Reading Technique activated. Dorn quickly covered his face, afraid that Mordred had already raised her camera, had captured this precious image.

But there's really no need for that. Mordred's eyes are like rulers; he can project slides with his eyes. He's already seen Dorn's embarrassing situation clearly. In a few days, Dorn will be seen naked and being used as a medicinal wine in various legions for everyone's amusement.

They might even Photoshop some goji berries or ginseng into his image as decoration.

On the contrary, Perturabo reacted instantly, standing in front of Dorn to make his presence known and attract attention.

"Pepe, you know your Second Brother. I'm the most magnanimous person. I even managed to bring Mortarion back, and you won't escape either."

You just called your Second Brother a fool, Second Brother I don't blame you. After all, you've always had this hot-tempered personality since you were little. I'll give you a good beating, and then you'll know you're wrong.

Tell me honestly, where are you right now?

"I won't tell! As long as I don't tell, you can't do anything to me?"

"Are you sure? Don't make your Second Brother laugh. Do you believe I can find out where you are with just one phone call?"

Perturabo absolutely refused to believe this. No one knew her whereabouts except for Tzeentch, the Chaos God. And even if Tzeentch knew, it wouldn't matter. As Chaos God, how could He possibly cooperate with the Empire?

But sometimes, you have to know your place. Tzeentch had had enough of these bastards. Bringing these crazy guys home was a complete loss. More Daemon died at the hands of these Daemon Primarch than at the hands of the Empire. Only Magnus has been doing something right lately.

Mordred didn't even bother with pretense; he simply opened the terminal right in front of the Emperor.

Under the watchful eyes of the Adeptus Custodes, the Imperial Fists, the Iron Warriors who considers himself the Imperial Fists, Hydra who considers himself the Iron Warriors, he dialed the internet hotline that had somehow connected to the Four Gods Demon Realm.

"Hey~ Kairos, do you remember me? You ask who I am? Have you forgotten who led you in the raid in Nurgle's Garden?"

Can you ask Perturabo where he died? What? You said that bastard knew it all along and told you to tell me the Iron Blood is in Colchis.

She actually hid here! No wonder no one could find her. Please give my regards to the Lord of Change, and wish Him a long and healthy life.

Perturabo was stunned by these words. The key point was that she was indeed in Colchis, but what angered her even more was Mordred's next words. "I'll give you five years to open up the route from Colchis to the Hades 8. If you dare to run away, it won't be as simple as just getting a beating."

Also, let me tell you, Calliphone is in my hands, frozen right there in my Abomination's warehouse.

You wouldn't want your sister to suffer, would you?