Olympia.
Deep in the dungeon, the air was thick with damp mildew and the smell of rust.
The walls were built from rough basalt, their surfaces coated in a slick layer of mineral deposits that gleamed dully in the dim light.
Water seeped through cracks in the ceiling and trickled down the walls, collecting in small puddles on the floor. Its steady dripping sounded especially clear in the silence of the Underground Chamber.
Dammekos was imprisoned here. He huddled in a corner of his cell, his back against the cold stone wall, his legs bent and his hands resting limply on his knees.
His body could almost be described as shattered beyond recognition. That punch from Perturabo, carrying the terrifying strength of a Primarch, had broken nearly all his ribs, ruptured his internal organs in several places and caused internal bleeding, dislocated several vertebrae, and even severely damaged his neck.
An ordinary man would have died on the spot from that blow. But Dammekos was no ordinary man. He was the ruler of Olympia and had once been Perturabo's adoptive father.
His constitution far surpassed that of ordinary men, and his will was as unyielding as steel.
Despite such terrible injuries, Dammekos had miraculously survived.
But that did not mean he was living well.
For years, he had endured the torment of pain and rage almost without respite.
Every time he breathed, his displaced ribs scraped against his lungs, bringing a sharp agony like the cut of a blade.
Every time he tried to move, the bones that had healed poorly after being broken creaked, reminding him of injuries that would never fully mend.
Yet harder to bear than the physical pain was the rage in his heart.
Rage at Perturabo, rage at the Iron Warriors Legion, rage at the