Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 611 I’m sorry, I turned your father into...
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"Raise the firstborn child according to the book, and raise the subsequent children like pigs." - Ancient Terra proverb
"When gamblers find that someone will cover their losses whether they are willing or not, it is impossible for them to stop gambling on their own initiative."

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"Do you really not need us to go over there?"

"No need." Surrounding Perturabo BC, a large number of holographic projection screens were unfolded with the twelve servo skulls as reference points. The speed of the flow of data light spots had exceeded the calculation speed of ordinary Space Marines. The Iron Lord had just sent out even Ahalin. On the contrary, he asked the veterans who were now working for him on Isstvan to take the mechas to defend other locations on the ship.

The guards outside the office had all been replaced by members of the Iron Warriors and the Imperial Fists, as well as more Iron Ring Robots, Jade Dragon-type automatic combat robots, and Wolf Spider-shaped automatic turrets than Ramezane had ever seen before. There were so many of them that he even suspected that if there was enough space, Perturabo could have filled it with more large robots, vehicles, and artillery.

Sitting behind the desk in the office of the Chapter Master of the Destiny Steel, Ramizane Kalosini felt that he had never felt so inconvenient to be a mortal.

While there were certainly times in his mortal life when he felt bitter, sad, dissatisfied, or complaining, he was equally grateful for every sunshine and every kind response, or the beautiful moment of happiness when he placed his palm on the back of Perturabo's sun-warmed plush head.

But the fact that he had become a mortal at this time and place meant something he didn't want to happen:

Almost mortal except for his size and brains, he now became a burden to Perturabo.

Because the two of them could not move too far away from each other in the spatial structure (but for some reason, this law was much more lenient in time), but the limitation of spatial range and his current fragile physical condition were enough to prevent Perturabo BC from personally going to suppress the "subspace invasion" incident on the Iron Blood.

Although his Perturabo told him not to worry too much, he had sent his most reliable mecha company to suppress it. This accident was just another normal accident among many accidents. The previous accidents had been resolved and this time would be no exception.

But as someone who was too familiar with his current form, Ramizane could see that all the little body movements of the black and white sheepdog were frantically expressing an opposite answer.

Originally, if he had not lost his physical strength, then at least he could try to accompany him to the scene to deal with it under the siege of LOGOS and the mechas, but now this body that could be disabled by a ten-centimeter small slope of earth...

"Are you really not going to let Sage Decima go with you to take a look?"

Ramizane tried to suggest.

"He is a member of the Order of the Origin. Although he is completely at odds with the Martian Cult and has worked for me for so long, his fighting spirit will not help in this matter." Perturabo stared intently at the rapidly moving screens and the information flow coming to him. The words he sent out obviously had less thinking. "After all, his body and mind were born after the rain on Mars. He himself doesn't dare to trust himself, so he has asked me to seal him in the armory."

"Oh."

Ramizarn didn't know how to respond, so he answered with a single word, and sat there unable to stop thinking about random things.

The texts from ancient times to the present that he had read in his own home, the manuscripts and imperial banned books that he had read by the window of Wandering Port, every person he had met so far who could identify with him, and the fragments of history that only the primarchs or veterans knew that he had heard in casual conversation...

The fragments of thoughts mixed together, causing his imagination to run wild at this moment.

"...Can we ask Magna to come over and help? Just like when we brought Angron back before?"

"The Magna's load value has reached its theoretical maximum." Perturabo's black and white eyebrows were tightly furrowed. "At this time, if Utherma Atla was here, or Angron, Fulgrim, Ferrus, Curze... Malcador, Cawl, or even Lion and Guilliman... Forget it, let's not use these two... But no one is here..."

"I'm here, baby!"

"You're helping by just staying here!"

"Oh."

The siren sounds from far to near.

At first, the noise of the battle in the chapel area, which was more than a dozen decks away, could not be transmitted to the office in the core area.

But with the abnormal tremors inside the Iron Blood that were like miniature earthquakes, even if Ramizarn had no combat common sense, he should have known that things were starting to become complicated.

This large ship had undergone so many technologically advanced modifications that even when someone inside was doing something like resurrecting the Primarch's fragments or salvaging the Istvaan III, it was so quiet that it didn't interrupt anyone's sleep or make people several decks away feel any obvious movement.

But now it is groaning in pain.

It is difficult for Ramizane to describe this feeling in concrete human terms.

But he could hear the painful groans of the Iron Blood as it was under tremendous pressure to force obedience.

Although he did not know that this was the pressure coming from the DNA code of the body that was once engraved in the Iron Blood's core machine soul and the source of its gene seed reserves, he could feel the emotions of pain and despair and the darkness in front of his eyes spreading around him in an instant.

Among the guards in front of the office door, the sons who loved their father silently loosened their weapons, their bodies became weak, and the potion masters who responded to their companions' loud summons opened the seals of their helmets and found that these steadfast and tenacious sons of Dorne had dull eyes, and expressions of grief and confusion. Some of them even had their eyes wide open, and transparent tears flowed from the corners of their eyes across their battle scars.

After hastily sending these companions to the pharmacist's laboratory, the remaining soldiers held their weapons even tighter.

That star-like existence was heading straight towards their defense line.

The composite metal and anti-psychic bulkheads and walls of the ship were burned through and melted as if nothing had happened, and the ship's once carefully designed hull was completely destroyed.

He didn't need to know the route of the maze; He just needed to follow the guidance of the tempting goal.

Go straight ahead.

"It" shone in His vision like the fruit of wisdom on a tree. It was the promised thing that He deserved. Only the Lord of mankind was qualified to obtain it and use it as a means to save every lost ignorant world with His will and fulfill His manifest destiny!
Nothing can stand in His way now.

His subtle strategy of showing weakness and luring away the guards, as well as the trillions of souls burned in ten thousand years, were enough to make him invincible at this moment and in this place.

At the end of the last corridor is the door of the office.

First came the attack from those automatic turrets.

They roared ferociously, and those deadly weapons swarmed towards Him with precision, as if without regard for the consequences.

The power of the human soul surrounds Him, and He raises one hand. Open palm.

The shell, the beam, the gravity wave, or whatever it was, was at rest.

Then it fell and disappeared without a trace.

He clenched his fist.

The machine souls of the automatic turrets also let out wailing sounds. They began to become disordered, entering into a meaningless cycle, then overloaded, heated up, and finally became completely paralyzed with a "bang" sound and blue smoke coming out.

The same was true for the combat robots, except that their protection allowed them to hold out a little longer.

But He also advanced three hundred feet during this time.

The last line of defense is the Iron Ring Troopers and the remaining Space Marines.

"You...can't go over there."

He opened his blazing golden eyes and looked down at the creature that dared to point the gun at Him with the finger of His creation.

These works, once offshoots of His perfect creation, now turn their weapons against their Creator.

"You did well, for Him," He said, with even a hint of divine compassion and amused wonder in His voice, "but it's far from good enough." He stepped over the splattered blood and scattered metal under His feet, rumbling over the rails like an unstoppable locomotive, crushing any flesh and blood that dared to block His way.

The door was pushed open with a bang.

Before the next second passed, He had already rushed in front of the mortal who had no time to react, forehead to forehead, eyes to eyes.

"It's mine."

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That's it.

Still the same.

ended.

Perturabo thought grimly.

This skeleton addicted to the comfort of the past, a tyrant, a self-righteous old thing, the master of mankind born out of human wishes and sacrifices, and a "father" who never knew what a father was but tried to tell his sons with unfair father-son love that everything can be solved with these.

That's it again.

He always thinks he can handle everything.

But he didn't understand that the world no longer worked the way his mind, which had been adapted to the old rules for tens of thousands of years, did.

Perturabo was almost angry.

But there is also a secret kind of relief.

Here we go again! Ridiculous! He just doesn’t want to believe what others say! Even if it’s told to him by his so-called son!

He must come in person, right? Then let Him have a taste of the bitter fruit!

He watched grimly as He began to triumphantly assault the flesh-and-blood prison he had built for Perturabo, attempting to replace that being with something He knew.

The now extremely fragile cage of flesh shattered immediately and in an instant only a dark shadow remained on the office chair.

then.

The being behind the desk, who could no longer look straight ahead, opened his eyes, faced “that”, and then let out a silent, horrifying scream that sent shockwaves sweeping across the galaxy in the warp.

The entire holy land of the empire was shaking. The domes of countless magnificent churches dropped years of dust towards the eyes of the terrified bishops and believers below. The astropaths rolled on the ground, grabbing their own bloody and blinded eyes.

The situation on the dark side of the Empire is even worse. The turbulent waves in the Warp seep out from wounds all over the universe, forming one sinister Warp storm vortex after another.

Why did He think Perturabo had been preventing the two of them from meeting?
Is he afraid that Ramizarn will be defeated by Him?
joke!

The Lord of Steel knew what a powerful force he had found.

He was truly protecting Him by isolating the two of them. This old bastard always thought that no matter how big a mess he made, there would always be someone who would stand by him and cover for him. He was always like this.

As someone who has cycled through this universe countless times, if simply ending this old bastard could solve all his problems, he would have solved them long ago.

Did he really think he hadn't tried? He was able to reach the throne room at the beginning of the 22nd cycle with all his strength! It wasn't a mythical miracle to walk in there. There were more than one aliens and heretics who had reached there before. Even without too much force, the inner ghosts, lunatics and fanatics could handle everything.

He retracted his claws and watched coldly as the real or unreal flesh and blood that made up the other party were washed away layer by layer in the torrent of data. His projection on the cave wall began to become smaller and smaller, and clearer and clearer, until it began to reveal his ancient, admirable but irrespectable essence.

This is the end, he thought.

If Ramizarn wins, the universe will lose its fragile balance because it cannot suddenly lose his existence, and will quickly come to the end of everything.

If his biological father had managed to achieve an impossible victory, Perturabo would bring it all to an end.

There will be no third way, and of course there will be no winners. Everyone loses, and of course it can be considered that the balance of his report has been reached in the end, and everything has returned to zero.

Perturabo's mind also drifted away at this moment. He knew what this felt like. The final death in every cycle would make him feel how illusory his previous persistence was.

It would be better to say that he had the enlightenment at that moment when he could persist and do it again after so many cycles.

He suddenly realized at that moment that this was the moment that made him realize how crazy his own obsessive stubbornness was - even a man with a strong mind like Sigismund could not persist so many times when all his efforts and solutions were proven to be in vain.

It was because of his paranoid madness that he was able to persevere until the end and look back.

There's a fine line between genius and madness.

Perturabo's thoughts returned to the scene before his eyes, which he could not understand but his extraordinary soul was translating into visual signals that his optic nerves and brain could receive.

He saw that His form had been completely blown away by the strong wind formed by the irresistible gaze of that existence, and the last few scattered rays of light left Him.

The light of the Star Torch dimmed again at that moment.

An emergency meeting of the high lords has been convened, the guards have regrouped, desperate believers and pilgrims are kneeling outside the palace, and the warriors fighting in more distant places are surprised to feel the shadow of unspeakable fear beginning to climb to the peak of their hearts - their weapons have lost their edge, and the power surging in their muscles has receded like a tide.

but--

Perturabo closed his eyes.

Let's end it like this.

……what?

This movement doesn't seem like silence...

"Uh."

Ramizane's voice sounded, and it sounded oddly...awkward?
what happened? !
Perturabo BC opened his eyes and looked.

Ramizane was holding an inhuman form of his former biological father, looking at him awkwardly.

"Should I let go first? I think I might have turned your father into..."

He looked at his hands and said not very confidently.

"A pigeon."

(End of this chapter)