This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 153 Perturabo: Your father made me laugh (7k)

The enemy's offensive was boiling like a volcano, and their fiery fighting spirit seemed to engulf the entire battlefield.

In order to complete the final ritual, the Iron Warriors had to abandon certain tactics and use their own deaths to divert the attention of the Dreadwings.

They were also puzzled as to why these dark angels were like crazy, attacking like a storm, as if they wanted to completely evaporate their souls without leaving even a trace.

boom--

The bunker was cut in half by the incendiary weapon, and the gushing fire formed a road of flames. The hot flames licked the air and roasted the surrounding metal red.

The War Lord struggled to get up, his armor melting and sticking to his skin. The burning pain made him grit his teeth.

His visor had long been shattered, revealing a scarred face, but the fire of indomitable will still burned in his eyes.

He raised his eyes and saw that the enemy was advancing again, with steady and cold steps, like a ruthless killing machine. He bent his knees slightly, trying to steady his body, but was suddenly knocked over by a figure that penetrated the curtain of fire.

By now, the massacre had progressed, and the remaining Iron Warriors had almost disappeared under the endless firepower coverage. Only sporadic resistance sounds and the roar of explosions remained on the battlefield.

On the neglected ritual platform, around the magnificent soul circuit, subspace cracks finally emerged, and dim light flowed through them, like eyes peeping at reality.

"You're done!"

The War Lord sneered, his voice hoarse but full of sarcasm.

Their ritual is complete, the Iron Lord will receive their gift, and the Iron Lord's gaze will once again fall upon them.

A ferocious smile appeared on the corner of the War Lord's mouth.

Dreadwing looked at him coldly, his eyes expressionless, as if he was looking at a corpse that had already died.

He raised his foot and stomped down hard. The war lord's head exploded like a watermelon, and blood and brains splattered on the charred ground.

They never had to deal with the so-called rituals, but the self-righteousness of these iron warriors facilitated their massacre.

Dreadwing's gaze swept across the battlefield, finally stopping on the gradually forming warp rift, a hint of disdain flashed in his eyes.

As for the so-called ceremony.

Although he was indeed very unhappy with the Thousand Sons wizard, even he, who was knowledgeable, had to admit that he was an expert far superior to most psychics.

On the ceremony platform, the cracks finally connected with each other and began to slowly sink into the sky. The dim light became more and more dazzling, as if it was going to swallow up the entire space.

The Prophet of Pain clenched his hands tighter and tighter, his knuckles turning white from the exertion.

They are the psykers in the Iron Warriors' battle sequence. In addition to manipulating the demon engine, they are also responsible for the execution of all Chaos rituals within the gang. At this moment, his forehead was covered with cold sweat, but his eyes were flashing with fanaticism.

When there were only three teams of Iron Warriors holding boarding shields left to use their bodies to block the bombardment of the Dreadwings, the ceremony was finally completed amid the artillery fire.

Call ~
A victorious smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, as if he had seen the Iron Lord's approval.

Finally, under the earnest gaze of the last remaining prophet of pain, the magnificent soul circuit was grasped by a hand wrapped in golden and red armor.

"???"

The Prophet of Pain's eyes widened.

"This is ridiculous. What on earth is this soul circuit? It's something that neither the material universe nor the subspace can touch. Yet it has to be named after a ritual."

Ramses grabbed the soul circuit. It was not that he didn't want to snatch it directly, but this creation was a bit magical and could not be touched without establishing a subspace connection.

In layman's terms, this ritual was constructed by the Iron Warriors in order to add a signature to this soul circuit, so that Perturabo could touch this thing and receive it. The rest are simple and easy sacrificial methods.

Fortunately, he acted quickly enough to change his name, and successfully passed the Iron Warrior's ritual to obtain the right to touch the soul circuit for free without spending a penny.

The rift shrank rapidly, but the prophet of pain, who looked as if he had seen a ghost, still maintained a look of astonishment.

A thought descended upon his body along with the unfinished ritual.

"Lord Perturabo!"

He shouted in surprise, his words full of disbelief.

"is it you?"

Ramses quickly closed the warp rift, pointed at a few demons at random to confirm that the warp creatures could not reach out, and then immediately erased the information belonging to the four of them.

The phone number hasn't changed.

He scratched his head in confusion.

What's wrong with Perturabo? Why does he answer the harassing calls from his descendants?
Click!

Arthur's figure flashed out like a ghost, and the sword blade cut through the air, directly cutting off the head of the Prophet of Pain. The head rolled to the ground, and there was still fanaticism and astonishment in his eyes.

The surrounding Terrorwings also quickly gathered around and took advantage of the moment when these Iron Warriors were stunned to carry out the final finishing work.

"Is it done?"

Arthur sheathed his sword and glanced across the battlefield.

"Got it. I need to go back and analyze it slowly."

Ramses nodded, holding the magnificent soul circuit tightly in his hand, a thoughtful glint in his eyes.

"Then retreat."

Arthur looked at the dark angels around him.

"Clean up any traces and evacuate in three minutes."

His voice echoed across the communication channel, and the Dark Angels sprang into action, quickly and methodically beginning to clear the battlefield.

Romulus's notification has arrived. He is now busy arranging the affairs of various planets. He is still dizzy from his daily work and can only provide some data support on the front battlefield.

As a result, Dantioch pushed too fast, it was like spinning a top, hitting Idris as if he were hitting his son.

The tactics were all predicted, and there was a gap in troop strength. Now it would take no more than five minutes to be put on the flag.
-
"?"

Inside the Blood of Iron, Perturabo, the Primarch of the Iron Warriors, suddenly felt a wave of connection coming from the depths of his soul.

His brows furrowed slightly, and a hint of impatience flashed in his eyes.

Since becoming a demon, although he lost the ability to produce gene seeds, the Iron Lord established a deeper subspace link with his descendants. This link was like an invisible bond, establishing another layer of connection between him and those foolish descendants.

However, this heightened awareness did not alter Perturabo's view of his children.

On the contrary, he felt that they were becoming increasingly stupid, dumb, and even disgusting.

Because that's who they are!

If Dantioch were here, this would never happen.

The moment he sensed this connection, a feeling of annoyance rose within Perturabo, and his fingers unconsciously tapped the armrests of the throne, making a dull sound.

Don’t those exiled guys have even a little bit of self-awareness?

Can't even perform like Fukreis?
But the Lord of Iron did not reject the link.

Things have been going well in the Warp recently, and many Chaos warbands have approached him to seek deals.

It was said that there was a problem with the production in Vashtor, and the 'Mechanical God' who valued contracts seemed to have encountered some minor troubles.

He hadn't even been able to fulfill his most recent order.

This led many Chaos warbands to side with Perturabo, and their reliance on the war machines he provided would eventually become his strength, allowing him to move further towards his vicious skills.

The Lord of Iron was obviously feeling good and was planning to see what his descendants were doing and why they were contacting him in such large numbers.

"Lord Perturabo, your most loyal children have found unprecedented materials for your furnace. We wish to return to your service and gain more for you."

The voice coming from the communication was humble and pleading, as if praying for mercy from a god.

Great, let me see what you can do.

Perturabo became interested, and if he could really win his interest, he wouldn't mind taking these stupid offspring with him.

His gaze pierced the mists of the Warp, fixating on the sacrifice being offered.

Well, was the ancient soul circuit of the Eldar the creation that allowed those psychic titans to activate without limit?
The Primarch Superman's memory quickly found the origin of the sacrifice.

The corners of his mouth curled up slightly, revealing a smile.

Good, I'm actually a little interested.

He then sensed the ritual, and complex chaos runes began to flash around him in the form of data.

He was born with knowledge and possessed talents far beyond those of his fellow Primarchs, even in the study of Chaos.

Lorgar is still searching for his god and indulging in his heresy.

My four blind brothers have given everything they had to the evil god and have no future.

but me--

Perturabo thought proudly.

I have found a way to go further and am heading towards it.

He then received the results of the ritual.

Very good, the name has been changed, and no one knows who changed it.

Perturabo's iron face began to become visibly cold.

He knew that these stupid guys couldn't do anything right.

But he still remained patient and prepared to see what his descendants were doing.

Phew!

This is the perspective of the Prophet of Pain having his head chopped off by the invisible blade.

Boom!

This is the perspective of a team of Ironsworn being surrounded and attacked by the red and black Dark Angels Dreadwing.

Something is wrong.
Although Perturabo was too lazy to care about the affairs of the Empire, he did not ignore the chapters of his Primarch brothers and was planning contingency plans for dealing with these chapters.

Although he had no interest in doing so, it didn't stop him from thinking about it.

At least he still knows what color the Dark Angel is now.

Perturabo hurriedly traced back the memories of his descendants.

hum-

This is the perspective of someone whose body was shattered by the shockwave of the General Cannon without even realizing it.

"?"

Perturabo looked puzzled.

Are these idiots Warp Trek to the 30k era?
He then denied the speculation.

Such a stable connection means that the time of both parties is synchronized. Although the time in the subspace is disordered, the time of individuals will not be disordered. At least Perturabo believes that he should be in the 40k era.

A desire to explore began to rise in his heart.

Perturabo watched over those of his surviving sons, fiddling with a forge containing the Undivided Chaos Daemon.

Let me see what you idiots are up to.
-
"Who's that?! Who's that?!"

Idris frantically slammed his hands on the command table, sending data slates and tactical blueprints careening off. His eyes were bloodshot, his face contorted like a caged beast.

His fleet had been destroyed, and his sacrifice had been snatched away.

And now, no one in his warband would be spared.

All predicted
It's all predicted!
Are you the Iron Warrior or am I the Iron Warrior?!
Where is the toughness and fearlessness that belong to the Imperial Fist?
You should strike back like a relentless fist, and I strike back like an Iron Warrior, proving that the scion of Perturabo is far superior to you.

Instead of steadily advancing like a meat grinder, grinding me up slowly but surely like an approaching hydraulic machine.

Like Iron Warriors!
Like Dantioch.

"Dantioch, definitely Dantioch!"

Idris murmured, repeating the name like a madman, his voice low and hoarse, like a roar squeezed from the depths of his throat.

He would never forget this guy.

The Battle of Shaden Fortress failed, but good, he is still alive, he is still reflecting, and he can become better.

The Primarch said he was not as good as Dantioch. Well, he could learn, he could become like Dantioch.

He found all the records he could find on Dantioch and studied the dead man like crazy.

He wanted to be more like Dantioch. But why should I play a dead man?

Idris is still changing, but Dantioch is dead!
He wanted to stand in front of the Primarch and tell him, I did it, what Dantioch failed to do, I have surpassed him!
But is he really dead?
Idris held his head with both hands, his fingers dug deep into his hair, as if he wanted to tear his scalp apart. His eyes were fixed on the battle report, and the light in his eyes gradually became dim.

"No, it's impossible. This is impossible."

His voice trembled, filled with unconcealable fear and despair.

The lights in the command room flickered, shining on his pale face, making him look particularly hideous.

Idris's mind kept replaying the tactical details. Every step seemed to be the work of Dantioch, and every decision was breathtakingly precise.

He knows all the arrangements and details involved, but why can't he counter it?
Why is there no way to counter it!
After many years, the nightmarish memory was awakened again and appeared before him vividly.

His breathing became rapid and his chest heaved violently, as if a huge rock was pressing on his heart, making it difficult for him to breathe.

Battle of the Fortress of Shadeng

Attacking Idris: 51st Fleet, 13th Battalion of Iron Warriors, 10000 Astartes plus Titan Legion.

Defender Dantioch: 30 Astartes squads and mortal auxiliary troops.

It took 366 days.

He didn't win.

The Siege and Defense of Iron Oath Fortress

Attacking Dantioch: Black Templars, Crimson Fists, Executioners, 4000 Astartes assisted by General Cannons, scattered Dark Angels and Eldar Harlequins.

Defending Idris: 2000 Iron Warriors and Titan Legion.

It took 13 hours.

He didn't hold on!

He lost completely and had no chance to fight back.

Moreover, he was commanding the Imperial Fists!
Idris felt an endless sense of humiliation surging in his heart, as if an invisible blade was cutting his self-esteem.

He couldn't accept losing to Dantioch, couldn't accept losing to the Imperial Fists, and couldn't accept these two things happening at the same time!

Reality is the most ruthless slap in the face, slapping him hard on the face, proving one thing with cold facts—

After ten thousand years, you are still not as good as him.

Moreover, all this was under the watchful eyes of the Primarch.

Yes, under the watchful eye of Lord Perturabo.

"If Dantioch were here, he wouldn't ask such a stupid question. You're all inferior to him!"

Idris lowered his head, feeling the connection that came from his soul. The scolding from Perturabo began to be dug out in his memory. Those cold and sharp words were like poisonous snakes that coiled around his heart, suffocating him.

"."

The Primarch did not speak, but Idris could feel his gaze.

Watch him fail!

Unspeakable emotions spread in his heart. Idris could clearly feel that the Primarch was reading his thoughts and checking what had happened. The feeling of being completely seen through made him feel like he was falling into an icy cave.

"Do not!!!"

Idris's face became dull, his eyes filled with disbelief and despair.

It shouldn't be like this, the script isn't written like this!
I have made progress for tens of thousands of years. How could I be weaker than Dantioch?

I have embraced the blessing of the Supreme Heaven and struggled in the vortex of chaos for countless years. How can I be weak?

The dull face turned crazy at a speed visible to the naked eye, his eyes were bloodshot, and the corners of his mouth twisted into a hideous smile.

"No, I haven't lost yet, I haven't lost yet!"

He grabbed the think tank who had been beaten so hard that he couldn't think.

The think tank's body was limp, like a soulless shell. Especially when the Primarch's gaze fell, the think tank and the guards became as lifeless as the dead.

"We haven't lost yet!"

Idris roared, his voice echoing across the empty battlefield with hysterical madness.

"Take your weapons, let's go find him, let's kill him!"

After thousands of years of experience and with the blessing of the Chaos Gods, he would surely be able to kill that damned guy and prove himself far superior to Dantioch in front of the Primarch.

"Yes, ah yes, let's go and kill him."

The think tank was like a wooden figure, blindly grabbing his weapon and mechanically following Idris's steps. His eyes were empty and his movements were stiff, like a puppet being manipulated.

The same was true for the guards, who were like puppets without souls, silently following Idris towards an unknown fate.

In the rain, their figures seemed particularly lonely and crazy, as if they were a group of souls abandoned by fate, stubbornly pursuing a "revenge" that was doomed to fail.

"Dantioch!"

The remaining Iron Warriors fell into complete chaos due to the loss of their command, but Idris fearlessly led his guards to charge towards the core of the Sons of Dorne.

kill him!

If I kill him, I can prove that I am the best Iron Warrior.

boom!
The guards fell one by one, their bodies hitting the ground heavily, splashing mud.

As the think tank charged forward step by step, he was hit in the head by a bomb. Blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, dyeing the surrounding rain red.

boom!
Another explosive shell hit Idris's body, his armor made a dull thud, and blood oozed from the cracks.

However, what flowed out was not bright red blood, but black viscous engine oil, emitting a pungent metallic smell.

Drizzle.
Torrential rain poured down from the sky, pouring in through the gap in the fortress like a waterfall, and the rain gathered into small streams on the ground.

Idris stood in the rain, his eyes penetrating the layers of rain curtains and locking onto the blurry figure.

With just one glance, he found his target.

"I see, I found you!"

Idris growled, his voice hoarse over the sound of the rain. He took a step forward, charging like an angry beast through the hail of explosive shells.

It seemed as if the Primarch was moved by his persistence. The steel avoided his armor and went around his body, as if making way for him to win.

"Dantioch, Dantioch!"

His voice echoed in the rain, filled with endless anger and murderous intent.

A tall Space Marine suddenly blocked his view, his crimson iron fist flickering with flames in the rain, appearing particularly dazzling.

He was charging a squad of speed marchers, standing between Idris and Dantioch.

"Die!"

Idris's hair stood on end with rage, his eyes red as he swung his power hammer, smashing it down fiercely at the Space Marine. His movements were as swift as thunder, and the power hammer sliced through the air, emitting a sharp whistling sound.

call--

The power hammer falls!
boom!
The ground was splashed with countless dust and mud in the rain due to the huge impact force.

As a warsmith, Idris is blessed with unparalleled strength, granting him strength far exceeding that of his limbs ten thousand years ago. Combined with his meticulously crafted power hammer, he possesses unparalleled penetrating power on the battlefield.

An ordinary Astartes would be crushed to death on the spot if he faced him!

Steel, however, is slowing down.

Slower and slower, slower and slower, and finally stopped.

The crimson iron fist caught the power hammer steadily, but was pushed back a few meters, leaving two deep grooves on the ground.

Pedro Canto, the captain of the First Company of the Crimson Fists, felt the pressure coming from his arm and finally realized what he had done.

He immediately broke out in a cold sweat, secretly cursing himself for not being vigilant enough and losing his sense of awe. At the same time, he couldn't help but sigh at the powerful defensive power of the Blazing Fist.

"It is indeed a sacred object passed down by Lord Ramses."

As he thought so, a cold light flashed in his eyes, and he immediately leaned close to the enemy who had suddenly attacked him but seemed to be stunned for some reason.

The red fist still held the opponent's weapon like an iron clamp, and Pedro's left arm grabbed the enemy's exposed right shoulder armor seam with the precision of an eagle's claw.

The servo motor whirred at high speed, emitting a low humming sound. Using his extraordinary height, he forcibly lifted his enemy up, as if he were lifting a powerless prey.

Taking advantage of the moment when the enemy lost balance, he stepped forward and fired his right fist like a cannonball.

The power fist exploded with crushing destructive force, and the armor of the Blessed One exploded like paper under the fist. Metal parts and flesh and blood mixed together and splattered everywhere, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of engine oil and blood.

Quick victory!

Pedro's eyes were as sharp as a knife. Seeing Idris flying backwards, he loosened his left hand that was torn by the impact and sprinted forward like an arrow.

One more punch!
boom! ! !
The blow landed firmly in Idris's chest, a dull thud echoing across the battlefield, accompanied by a cloud of dust. Idris's figure vanished in an instant, leaving only a deep furrow in the ground, as if torn by the claws of a behemoth.

"Impossible, how is this possible?"

Idris's body twisted and deformed, and he stood up shakily, his face full of disbelief.

His armor was tattered, and dark blood oozed from the cracks, dripping onto the ground, staining the land that had just been washed by the heavy rain.

Before he could adapt to this cruel reality, the giant with the red fist appeared in front of him like the god of death.

Unstoppable, uncontestable!
Idris' pupils suddenly contracted, his body stiffened for a moment, and then he showed a dazed expression, as if he had woken up from a nightmare.

"How could this happen? How could this happen?"

Before he could finish his thoughts, the crimson iron fist struck again, carrying with it a breath of destruction.

And this time——

It hit him on the head!
boom!
The skull exploded like a watermelon, blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, staining Pedro's gauntlet and robe red.

"?"

Pedro, covered in black motor oil, lowered his head slightly and looked at his red fist in confusion.

The red flames on the gauntlet continued to burn, and the patterns on it began to change, becoming more sharp and hard, responding to the victory of this battle.

Behind him, the company flag fluttered without wind, and flames spread from the edge, gradually devouring the flag's fabric.

Under the envious gazes of the other sons of Dorne, the patterns on the flags and the style of the metal structure began to change, and new battle achievements were engraved on them, recording the most important results of this battle.

"grown ups."

Pedro looked at Dantioch who was approaching him, and the doubt in his eyes lingered for a long time.

He never expected that something good would fall from the sky.

"Putting the finishing touches on the upper levels of the fortress."

His gaze rested for a moment on the gap leading to the lower fortress, and Dantioch gave his junior an encouraging smile.

"And enjoy your victory!"
-
The rain was still pouring down, and thick smoke was rising, covering half of the sky.

The figures of the dark angels were looming in the rain, like the god of death walking out of silence, cold and ruthless.

Arthur withdrew his gaze and turned towards the extraction point.

"Let's go."

They are no longer needed to do the finishing work.

The Dark Angels followed closely behind, quickly disappearing in the smoke of the battlefield.

Deep in the fortress, there was nothing left on the battlefield, only the lingering murderous intent.
-
"."

In the distant warp, the Primarch in the Blood of Iron suddenly opened his eyes.

There was no emotion in those eyes.

As the furnace shattered, the hot liquid metal flowed down from between his fingers, splashing onto the ground with a hissing sound.

"Hehehe."

Perturabo smiled with relief.

waste!

(End of this chapter)