Erosion and Distortion, the Hour of Doom

The Emperor's will had sunk low at the dinner table. After hearing Hogg's opinion of him, he felt awful. He wanted to rush over to the Blacklight and explain everything, but he was afraid.

He didn't know what he was afraid of, but he couldn't bring himself to unleash the sacred profanity he usually used while beating his rebellious sons. The Emperor had lost his nerve.

The Emperor's feelings for Hogg were complicated. They were father and son, yet more like old friends—partners in crime who could share little secrets.

Horus was his pride and joy, but ultimately, he was still his son. The Emperor could stand above him as a father. Hogg was different. He had never shown him the slightest respect because of his status; they had come this far only because they shared an ideal.

Torn by self-reproach, the Emperor was in agony. Of all the Primarchs, Hogg was the one most like him, whether in shamelessness or that peerless "world-shaking wisdom." That was the foundation of the Emperor's absolute trust in him.

But Hogg was also the Primarch least like him. One focused on the present, the other gazed into the distance, and neither could convince the other.

Racked by inner turmoil, the Emperor fell into self-doubt. For the first time, he had lost his grasp on the future—and the son who had caused him such anguish was the one most like him.

Seeing that the Emperor had lost his senses, Guilliman suddenly became certain of one thing: Perturabo had definitely been their father's biological son. They were both so damn stubborn.

Rambo, meanwhile, said it outright:

"Tch, thank goodness this guy isn't my father, or I'd be mortified!"

Unlike the Emperor, the three lumps of filth watching this show let out excited shrieks. To them,