Perturabo Falls

He raised his claw and pointed it at Lion.

"I've conquered more planets than you've ever seen!"

The fortress I built is stronger than your the Rock!

I--"

"But you're still just a Chaos dog."

Lion interrupted him, his voice calm yet deadly.

Do you think you've chosen your own path?

Do you really think you're free?

You are nothing but a pawn used by Chaos, no different from those ants you despise."

Perturabo's smile froze.

A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes.

"What did you say?"

Lion looked at him, his gaze filled with undisguised contempt.

I said, you're just a dog.

A self-important, pathetic dog that couldn't even control its own Destiny.

Perturabo remained silent.

Three seconds.

Three seconds later—he pounced.

The speed was more than twice as fast as before; the strength was more than twice as great; the killing intent was more than twice as intense.

"Shut up--!!!"

His claws lashed out wildly, each strike powerful enough to tear stars apart; his body moved like a ghost, leaving countless afterimages in the void; gray flames burned in his eyes, flames containing anger, madness, and a trace of—the shame of having his sore spot touched.

Lion did not back down.

His sword was swung wildly, colliding with the claw, intersecting with the claw, and fighting with the claw.

Sword light and claw shadows intertwined, golden light and gray flames collided, and the two figures frantically traversed the void. Every collision caused the surrounding void to tremble, and every battle left eternal scars in the starry sky.

Perturabo's claws grazed Lion's shoulder armor.

Lion's sword pierced Perturabo's side.

Perturabo's claws tore through Lion's shield.

Lion's sword severed one of Perturabo's claw blades.

They both retreated simultaneously, panting, and simultaneously looked at each other.

In that gaze, there was killing intent, fighting spirit, and a hint of excitement at meeting a worthy opponent.

"Ten thousand years."

Perturabo was breathing heavily, and there was a rare hint of excitement in his voice.

"After ten thousand years, I've finally found a worthy opponent."

Lion's lips curled up slightly.

It was a cold laugh.

"Then let's continue."

He said.

"Let me see just how much skill you've acquired in these ten thousand years."

He pounced again.

Perturabo pounced again.

Sword and claw clashed once more.

This time, it was more insane, more intense, and more deadly than before.

Below them, on Dragon Spirit Star, on the burning battlefield, countless warriors were gazing up at the duel.

Looking up at those two towering figures.

Looking up at that—the war of the Primarch.

That's a height that mortals can't reach.

That was a moment that will be recorded in history.

That is—eternity.

In the distant void, Vashtorr stood atop the Demon-Forged Palace, watching the two figures locked in combat.

A complex light flashed in his eyes.

"Go ahead and fight, go ahead and fight."

He murmured to himself, a hint of expectation in his voice.

"The harder they hit, the better."

He turned around and looked at the slowly spinning fragments of Caliban.

"Once you're done, my key will be complete."

A cold smile appeared on his lips.

"In the end—you will all just be stepping stones for my ascension to godhood."

In that void, amidst the frenzied battle— Lion's sword thrust out once more.

Perturabo's claws swung down again.

Their battle cries exploded simultaneously.

"For Caliban --!!!"

"For -- Steel!!!"

The roar echoed in the void.

It echoed in the starry sky.

Echoing in eternity.

When Perturabo fell, the entire battlefield seemed to fall silent for a second.

The loud thud was the sound of his body crashing onto the deck.

The sound could not travel through the void, but everyone who witnessed this scene heard the roar in their hearts.

The Primarch of the Lord of Iron, the Daemon Prince of Chaos Undivided, the Siege Master who once made countless worlds tremble—

He was lying on the cold metal deck, looking up at the imposing figure standing before him.

Lion Al Johnsen.

A male lion.

His sword was stained with the blood of Perturabo —the blood of the Primarch, the blood of the Chaos Daemon Prince, the blood of his brother who fought alongside him ten thousand years ago.

The blood burned on the sword, hissing like some ancient curse.

Perturabo had a deep, bone-revealing sword wound on his chest.

That was the mark left by the Sword of Loyalty, a fatal wound that stretched from the left shoulder to the right abdomen.

His Power Armour was completely torn apart at the sword wound, revealing the flesh underneath, which had also been ripped open, and his heart, which was faintly visible and slowly beating.

His Logos Claw have been broken in two.

One piece was held in his hand, the other lay on the deck several meters away, the claw blade still stained with Lion's blood.

He lost.

They lost completely.

But in his gaze toward Lion, there was no fear, no anger, not even resentment.

There is only one type--

relief.

"Let's do it."

His voice was calm, as calm as if he were describing the weather:

"You can kill me now."

Lion looked down at him, his eyes, burning with golden flames, held complex emotions.

Ten thousand years ago, they were brothers.

Ten thousand years later, they will be mortal enemies.

Time really can change a lot of things.

"You really want to die?"

Lion's voice was deep, like distant thunder.

Perturabo smiled.

That smile contained irony, self-deprecation, and something else—

exhausted.

"Want to die? No."

He shook his head slightly, a movement that aggravated his wound and made him frown slightly.

"I just don't care anymore."

He looked at Lion, his gaze revealing a rare hint of candor:

Do you know how I've spent these past ten thousand years?

Lion did not answer.

Perturabo didn't need his answer.

"Boring."

He said there was a deep weariness in that voice:

"Endless, damn, maddening—boredom."

His gaze drifted into the distance:

"Attack the city."

massacre.

destroy.

Again and again, over and over again.

Same drama, same ending, same emptiness.

He looked at his hands, the hands that had once built countless magnificent fortresses, now stained with blood:

"You think I enjoy being Chaos's dog? You think I'd willingly be a henchman for those lunatics?"

He smiled, a smile tinged with endless bitterness:

"I just don't know what else I can do besides this."

Lion remained silent.

He knows that feeling.

Ten thousand years of slumber, ten thousand years of solitude, ten thousand years of isolation from the world.

But at least it was dormant.

Perturabo, on the other hand, lived consciously for ten thousand years.

I watched myself slowly and steadily decline.

Watching myself gradually transform into the very thing I once despised.

Soberly enduring that endless—

boring.

"Your home planet has been destroyed."

Perturabo suddenly spoke, a rare hint of seriousness in his voice:

I'm so sorry.

Lion's pupils contracted slightly.

"Although I didn't do it, although I look down on nouveau riche like Vashtorr, although—"

Perturabo paused, then said softly:

"Caliban is beautiful."

I used to envy you, having a home like that.

Lion's hand trembled slightly.

He looked at Perturabo, at the once proud and arrogant Lord of Iron, at the man now lying in a pool of blood, his honesty sending shivers down his spine—

He suddenly didn't know what to say.

Perturabo laughed again.

"Alright, stop looking at me like that."

He said that a trace of its former arrogance had returned to that voice:

"Let's get started."

"Let me be free."