Perturabo's voice came over the Communications Channel, slightly hoarse and weary, but above all light with relief. "Brother Jaghatai, Brother Fulgrim, you're too late. I've already dealt with all the Rebel Forces."
He stood on the surface of Olympia, looking up at the dense mass of warships in the sky.
Sunlight spilled through the gaps between the warships, casting dappled light and shadow across his armor, which was covered in dust and blood.
Behind him stood the breached fortress; before him lay his liberated homeland.
He held Calliphone's hand in one of his own and dragged Unasis's limp body with the other. He looked bedraggled, yet imposing.
The Communications Channel fell silent for a moment, then an elegant, resonant voice sounded.
It was Fulgrim's voice, languid and unhurried.
"We aren't late, Brother Perturabo." There was a hint of amusement in Fulgrim's voice. "Quite the opposite. We've arrived at precisely the right time."
On the Bridge of the Emperor's Children's flagship, the Pride of the Emperor, Fulgrim reclined in his command throne.
His posture was languid and elegant, one hand propping up his chin while the fingertips of the other tapped lightly against the armrest, producing a crisp, rhythmic sound.
His long, silver-white hair spilled over his shoulders, gleaming like pearls beneath the Bridge's soft lighting.
A knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth, and an inscrutable light flickered in his violet eyes.
A list lay neatly arranged on the desk before him.
It was a long list, densely covered with names.
Ten thousand names in all. Each represented a warrior of the Emperor's Children Legion, someone who had once sworn allegiance to the Emperor and now belonged to the Loyalist Faction, condemned to death for refusing to follow his Primarch into rebellion.
Fulgrim's gaze swept over the list.