Holy Terra, the heart of the Imperium of Man.
When the massive transport ship pierced layer after layer of orbital defenses and finally landed upon the eternally unchanging gray earth, Perturabo looked through the thick observation window and saw the magnificent palace built from endless sacrifice and faith.
Yet beneath the palace, the hive world sprawled like a filthy anthill—crowded and reeking of despair—and it was equally glaring in his cold electronic compound eyes.
Hope and despair, grandeur and squalor—these contradictions coexisted within humanity's heart.
He was closely "escorted." Every step he took upon Terra's cold alloy floor made his heavy armor of molten metal and malice echo dully.
His massive body moved forward, his electronic compound eyes sweeping the surroundings: vigilant Adeptus Custodes in brilliant golden armor; silent ranks of Sisters of Silence radiating anti-psychic fields; and, in the distance, Guilliman's blue figure, watching him with a complicated expression.
Humiliation coiled around Perturabo's core processor like a venomous vine.
The Lord of Iron, watched with pity by a brother he had once looked down upon? Within his furnace-like chest, ten thousand years of resentment, confusion, and humiliation churned like boiling lava.
The great doors of the hall slid open without a sound.
Upon the Golden Throne, radiant with boundless light, sat the master of humanity—the Emperor.
Perturabo's massive body tensed involuntarily, as if bearing an invisible pressure.
The malice and questions roiling within him nearly broke free and became a roar.
The Emperor's silhouette of light slowly raised its "head."
Two gazes containing the birth and death of universes, piercing through time and space, fell upon Perturabo.
There was no anger in that gaze, no condemnation. Only a vast exhaustion as deep as the stars, and... an all-seeing scrutiny.
Perturabo nearly roared, demanding answers, hurling accusations!
But the Emperor's