Although the images on the screen had faded, the thick, cloying scent of blood seemed to pour directly into the Throne Room of the Terra Imperial Palace.
Silence?
No, there was no silence now.
In its place was the sharp crack of breaking steel and the roar of Power Armor servo motors being pushed to their limits.
"Traitors!!"
A roar like metal grinding against metal exploded.
It did not come from Ferrus himself, but from the Iron Hands Captains standing behind him.
These warriors, who usually prized cold logic and prided themselves on excising all emotion, were now completely out of control.
Witnessing their father beheaded and their Legion slaughtered with their own eyes...
This shock was enough to burn out all of their logical circuits.
One Iron Hands Captain didn't even activate his weapon, charging like a cannonball toward the seats of the Emperor's Children.
His goal was clear—even if he had to use his teeth, he would tear out the throat of the murderer named Fulgrim.
"Protect the Primarch!"
The guard of the Emperor's Children reflexively raised their Bolters, but their hands were trembling.
Because they too had just seen the monstrosities their future selves became—a group of painted, brother-murdering perverts.
This moral disadvantage caused their momentum to plummet instantly.
The scene was on the verge of turning into a real-life "Throne Room Massacre."
"Enough!!"
A bolt of golden lightning intervened in the battlefield.
Constantine Valdor, the Captain-General of the Legio Custodes, stood between the two factions like an insurmountable bulwark.
Behind him, dozens of Custodian Guards instantly completed their tactical formation, the golden tips of their halberds emitting force fields capable of molecular decomposition.
"Resorting to violence before the Holy Throne—do you wish to be declared traitors and executed together?!"
Valdor's voice was cold and pitiless.
Ferrus Manus stood up.
His metallic hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly that deep finger indentations were left in the material.
He looked at the slumped figure across from him, the fury in his eyes nearly erupting, but in the end, reason prevailed.
"Stand down."
Ferrus commanded his progeny, his voice hoarse.
"Right now... he has not done that thing yet. We are the Iron Hands, not Khorne's mad dogs. Do not let future hatred stain current honor."
The Iron Hands warriors let out unwilling low growls but obeyed their Primarch's command, retreating into the shadows like wounded mechanical Beasts, their eyes fixed on III Legion with a gaze that wished to devour their flesh.
Fulgrim, at the center of the storm, was now like a puppet with its spine removed.
The proud Phoenix, who usually prioritized poise and perfection—who would be bothered for ages if even a single strand of hair was out of place—was shattered.
But now, he knelt on the ground, his magnificent purple and gold Power Armor looking exceptionally heavy, his perfect face etched with fear and self-loathing.
"I... killed him?"
Fulgrim looked at his hands as if they were stained with Ferrus's hot blood.
"I killed Ferrus? Killed my closest brother in this World?"
"No... that wasn't me. That was a daemon. It was that sword!"
He suddenly looked up at Ferrus, his eyes full of pleading.
"Brother, did you hear? It was a daemon that controlled me! How could I want to kill you? We forged those weapons together, we..."
Ferrus looked at him coldly without saying a word.
Though the emotional impact was immense,
For a strategist like Rogal Dorn, the tactical situation shown on the screen was the true nightmare.
The Primarch of the Imperial Fists' face was now harder than a fortress wall.
He was frantically running wargame simulations in his mind, and every outcome pointed to a single word—Destruction.
"The situation... has reached the worst possible state."
Dorn's voice was low.
"Let us face reality."
Dorn pointed at the star map.
"After Istvaan V, Ferrus is dead, Vulkan and Corax are missing, and the Tenth, Eighteenth, and Nineteenth Legions are essentially combat-ineffective."
"Horus has the full strength of the Sons of Horus, Death Guard, World Eaters, and Emperor's Children."
"Plus the second wave of traitors just revealed: Iron Warriors, Night Lords, Word Bearers, and Alpha Legion."
Dorn took a deep breath.
"Eight Legions. Eight full Astartes Legions, all long-premeditated and at full strength."
"And what do we have?"
Dorn's gaze swept over the loyalist faction present.
"I am on Terra, but my men are responsible for the defense of the entire Sol System; I cannot spare a large-scale expeditionary force."
"Leman Russ? That's one."
"As for the Khan? His attitude is ambiguous."
"Sanguinius?"
Dorn looked at The Great Angel.
Sanguinius shook his head bitterly.
"According to future intelligence, Horus will send me to other star systems. Those are traps prepared for me."
"Lion?"
Dorn looked at the Lion El'Jonson.
Lion El'Jonson's face was grim.
"I will be bogged down by Konrad Curze. That madman knows my tactics; he's leading the Night Lords in guerrilla warfare in the Thramas Sector. To completely eradicate him, the main force of the First Legion will be scattered."
Dorn felt a sense of suffocation.
It was a perfect checkmate.
The main Loyalist forces were divided, deceived, and pinned down in various corners of the galaxy.
While Horus's eight Legions were like a heavy punch that could strike directly at an undefended Terra.
"We have no mobile forces left."
Dorn concluded.
"Terra is an isolated island. If Horus charges straight for the Sol System now, what do we have to stop him?"
In this moment of despair, everyone's eyes converged, almost simultaneously, on one person.
Roboute Guilliman.
The Thirteenth Legion, the Ultramarines.
They were the Imperium's largest, most complete, and best-supplied Legion.
They had the Five Hundred Worlds as their Base and a force several times larger than other Legions.
Logically, this was the last hope.
But now, the way everyone looked at Guilliman was filled with a strange suspicion.
"Roboute."
Lion El'Jonson narrowed his eyes, his hand resting on his sword hilt, his tone carrying a dangerous inquiry.
"When Istvaan happened, where were you?"
"I should be at my home World."
Guilliman answered immediately; for some reason, he felt cold sweat running down his back.
"Oh, at your home World."
Perturabo chimed in sarcastically from the side.
"The Legion with the strongest forces 'happened' to stay put in its own territory when the rebellion broke out."
These words were incredibly malicious.
The current situation: Horus has rebelled, and the other brothers are either dead or wounded.
While Guilliman holds massive forces, ruling over the Five Hundred Worlds, holding the strongest card in the Imperium.
If he wanted to come to the Emperor's aid, he should have arrived long ago.
What if he wanted to... crown himself king?
"Can't you guys just trust me?!"
Guilliman looked at his brothers' increasingly suspicious gazes—especially Dorn's, which looked as if he were assessing a "potential defense risk"—and was so anxious he almost lost his political composure.
Guilliman felt a wave of exhaustion.
He was clearly the most hardworking and capable model citizen in the entire galaxy, yet now he not only had to guard against traitors but also his brothers' suspicions.
"I believe in Roboute."
A gentle but firm voice sounded.
It was Sanguinius.
The Great Angel walked to Guilliman's side and patted his shoulder.
"If even Roboute betrays us, then humanity truly has no hope. His rationality is exactly what we need right now."
Just then, upon the Golden Throne, that grand will descended once more.
[Enough.]
[Suspicion is exactly the poison Chaos loves most.]
[Roboute Guilliman, my thirteenth son. His loyalty is beyond doubt.]
[Dorn, make good use of your brother. Do not treat him as a threat; treat him as the final trump card in your hand.]
[And as for the betrayals that have yet to happen...]
The Emperor's consciousness swept over Fulgrim, Perturabo, and the Thousand Sons.
[Remember this feeling. Remember the disgust of seeing your future selves turned into monsters.]
[If you do not wish to become that, now is the time for change.]
DC Universe
Superman floated in mid-air, his brow furrowed.
"The situation of this Imperium... is even more dangerous than I imagined."
Clark said,
"The rebels may be mad, but their power is real."
"Eight Legions of superhuman warriors, plus that eerie Warp magic. And the Imperium's side..."
"The Imperium's spine has already been broken."
Batman interjected coldly as he pulled up a comparison of the two sides' forces on the screen.
"Istvaan V was not just a tactical failure; it was a strategic collapse."
"Three main Legions were wiped out as organized units, which means the Imperium has lost the capital to confront them head-on."
Batman narrowed his eyes.
"From a strategic perspective, Terra is an empty city."
"This is practically a Death sentence."
The Flash swallowed hard.
"Unless that Emperor can be like our Superman and fly out to push all the warships away."
Marvel Universe
"This is why I don't like magic."
Tony Stark looked at the daemon-possessed rebels on the screen.
"No reason, no logic. How do you fight that? Before your tanks even fire, the other side summons a monster that can eat tanks."
"And their morale has collapsed."
Super Seminary World: Demon No. 1
"This is called 'the game is up.'"
Morgana said to Ato beside her.
"That kid named Horus, though his methods are a bit dirty, this 'heart-plucking' tactic is played beautifully. He's directly neutralized several of the Imperium's best fighting units."
"Queen, can the Imperium of Man still turn this around?"
Ato asked.
"Turn it around?"
Morgana sneered.
"With what? Unless that old mummy sitting on the toilet can suddenly stand up, otherwise, the Imperium has already lost ninety percent of this game."
"However..."
Morgana changed her tune.
"It's not certain, given what's been shown of that World."
"It's not impossible that the old mummy might suddenly manifest great power and blast all those rebels to Death."
Land of Light: Space Garrison
"Is there no hope?"
Taro asked.
"No."
Zoffy shook his head.
"As long as there are still people willing to fight, hope will not vanish. But..."
Zoffy looked at Dorn, who was organizing the defense but was clearly short-handed.
"This will be an extremely brutal war of attrition."
"The Imperium of Man must use the lives of countless mortals to fill the void left by the Astartes Legions."
"They must bleed a generation dry just to trade for a sliver of a chance at survival."
Hellsing World
"Did you hear that, gentlemen?"
The Major's voice trembled with a thrill as if tasting top-tier cuisine.
"What is that sound?"
"The sharp crack of Bolters tearing through Ceramite? No."
"The roar of Chainswords cutting through bone? No."
The Major suddenly snapped his eyes open, a mad fire burning behind his glasses, as he pointed at the unprecedented betrayal unfolding on the screen.
"This is the sound of 'trust' shattering! This is the wonderful wail of 'brotherhood' being thrown into the meat grinder and crushed! Ah! Magnificent! Simply magnificent!"
He walked to the screen, his face almost pressed against the bloody images.
The Major turned around and spread his arms to his Vampire army.
"This is the war I want! Not for territory, not for resources, not even for so-called faith!"
"This is pure destruction for the sake of destruction! A carnival to drag the opponent into hell!"
The Doctor pushed up his glasses nearby, recording data.
"Major, that Legion called the 'Emperor's Children'... their behavioral patterns are very strange. Those sonic weapons and their pursuit of sensory stimulation seem to have deviated from conventional tactics."
"That is art!"
The Major laughed and interrupted him, pointing at the Noise Marines on the screen who were playing demonic music on the battlefield, completely ignoring their allies' retreat.
"Look at them! They are no longer soldiers; they are dancers!"
"Dancing on the edge of Death, composing movements with noise and blood!"
"Though they are monsters, Beasts that have lost their self-will, this chaotic scene... is truly enchanting!"
"And that Perturabo."
Warrant Officer Schrodinger pointed at the Iron Warriors Primarch on the screen, who was waving his hand coldly.
"His betrayal is the most efficient. No nonsense, no hesitation, just thousands of artillery pieces leveling the ground. Very... German-style."
"Exactly!"
The Major snapped his fingers.
"That's how a War Machine should be! Did that Ferrus think this was a knight's duel?"
"No! This is slaughter! The most efficient industrialized slaughter!"
Suddenly, The Major's gaze stopped on a detail—the scene where the Alpha Legion let the Loyalist ships go.
"Oh?"
The Major paused, then burst into an even more frantic fit of laughter, laughing so hard he had to lean on the table to catch his breath.
"Hahahaha! Look at this! Look at these liars in teal armor!"
"Slaughtering their so-called 'brothers' without mercy on one hand, while secretly letting people go on the other?"
"Shouting 'For the Emperor' while doing work that pushes the Emperor's cause into the abyss?"
"This is the ultimate irony! This is the most absurd and fascinating side of war!"
The Major's face flushed with excitement as he gave an exaggerated Nazi salute to the holographic screen, but not to Horus, but to the entire chaotic battlefield.
"I love this war!"
"I love this shameless betrayal! I love this desperate slaughter! I love this meaningless sacrifice!"
"This is the hell I've dreamed of! Look at that galaxy! That is the true, eternal fire of war!"
"I really wish... I could also stand on those black sands and be blown to pieces by such wonderful artillery fire!"