Deep within the Webway.
In a corner of the realm seldom found by living souls, Lorgar slowly opened his eyes.
Meeting his view was a dim and congested xenos architecture, where twisted lines and strangely structured towers and skybridges intersected under the faint light overhead, forming a maze-like silhouette.
The air was thick with a stale, cloying odor—like a lingering breath left behind by the ruined Eldar Empire.
At this moment, Lorgar coughed slightly in discomfort.
Decisively destroying his own vessel and taking a blast of Enuncia straight to the chest had indeed exacted no small toll.
Although he had meticulously calibrated his control over the power of Enuncia, he still unavoidably suffered a degree of fundamental harm to his essence.
After all, that was a force capable of erasing physical existence directly from the canvas of reality.
Still, none of that mattered.
Lorgar braced his hands against his knees, slowly sitting up straight.
Across his face, covered in scriptural tattoos, the corners of his mouth curled into an uncontrollable, faint smile.
He had completed his first test to perfection.
A flawless trial run of Enuncia's capabilities—and the test subject had been one famed for raw martial prowess even among their Primarch brothers.
To match the Lion of Caliban to such an outcome was more than satisfying enough.
Though... how should one put it?
Lorgar stretched his shoulders, letting out a low hum.
It had still been unexpected.
That fellow had come prepared as well.
Having a god backing you with full force really makes you hit hard, doesn't it?
Lorgar couldn't help but sigh in wonder, entirely oblivious to the fact that he was also one with a god backing him with full force.
As for whether he had paid any price for it here?
Lorgar couldn't care less.
Even now, through that subtle Warp bond embedded within his genetic line, he could still vaguely sense a certain consciousness.
The consciousness belonging to Erebus was still very much alive at this moment, seemingly submerged in endless, infinite agony and torment—nerves screaming, soul burning.
Yet Lorgar remained utterly indifferent.
'Erebus? Who's that?'
'Never heard of him; ties severed long ago!'
'Rounding it down, that means zero price paid!'
'Absolute win!'
He coughed twice more, then raised his gaze to look at the figure sitting opposite him at the table—a figure just as colossal as himself.
"So, where were we?"
Silence.
The figure seated on the opposite side did not answer right away.
That massive iron frame remained silent for a moment, after which a voice thick with displeasure and rage echoed forth.
"Are you taking me for a fool, Lorgar?"
"How could I?"
The corner of Lorgar's mouth twitched, as if attempting a smile. He slowly raised his hand, tapping his fingertips against the tabletop before him.
"Perturabo."
Indeed.
Seated before the Daemon Primarch Lorgar Aurelian at this moment was another Primarch.
The Primarch of the Iron Warriors, the Hammer of Olympia, the Lord of Iron—Perturabo.
Perturabo's form was cast almost entirely from a fusion of iron and Warp energy.
Even among Primarchs, his massive build was heavy and bloated, his body covered in thick armor plating with gun muzzles and conduits densely arrayed across his pauldrons, looking like a walking fortress.
Right now, this Daemon Primarch who symbolized iron sat across the table, his breath as heavy as an erupting volcano.
Accompanying his rage, the ambient temperature rose steadily, heatwaves radiating outward visibly.
That gigantic body cast from immense iron seemed to come alive at this instant, a crushing weight washing over like a tangible force—enough to bring any mortal straight to their knees.
Yet Lorgar treated it as invisible, as though it were merely a passing breeze.
"Pay no mind to those details, Perturabo," Lorgar simply smiled and continued.
His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried an odd piercing quality, cutting easily through the sweltering air.
"Speaking of which, what are your thoughts regarding what I just told you?"
Silence descended once again.
Perturabo did not speak right away.
How to put it?
As a Daemon Primarch who had upheld iron and fortitude as his lifelong creed, he had fallen into a deep, profound sense of bewilderment at this moment.
This emotion was something he had utterly despised in the past.
Confusion, perplexity, hesitation—all of these were viewed by him as weaknesses, as slag that had to be crushed under an iron will.
Yet now, he felt like someone in a remote village connecting to the internet for the first time—waking up overnight to find the entire world completely transformed.
'How is this possible?'
As Daemon Primarchs, they typically had their own affairs to attend to.
To those who had already achieved ascension within the Warp, their lifespans were infinite.
Even in death, they were merely banished back to the Warp temporarily without enduring any real consequence.
They could stage a comeback anytime, anywhere.
Blessed with infinite life, all the Daemon Primarchs had grown utterly indifferent to the Imperium.
Since that rotting empire built on lies and violence had already begun its downward spiral—slamming its foot on the gas pedal toward destruction—why bother with them?
Let that empire, forged by their Father's lies and violence, slowly degrade and rot away into death.
It was better for everyone.
Perturabo had originally thought the same way.
A few years ago, he grew interested in the Eldar Webway.
Thus, after assembling his Primarch honor guard—the Iron Circle automata—Perturabo personally stepped into the Webway, intending to explore its depths.
However, just as he emerged after twisting and turning through the Webway's intricate paths, he ran right into uninvited guests.
An Imperial expedition team happened to spawn right in front of his face.
Perturabo made quick work of them.
Yet soon after noticing that some sort of change seemed to have occurred within the Imperium—before Perturabo could even sort through his confusion—Lorgar came knocking on his door.
Following that, he heard a series of news that hit him like bolts from the blue.
Perturabo even suspected whether Lorgar was lying to him.
Yet that was impossible.
Given Lorgar's deceptive skills, he wouldn't fabricate news this blatantly fake to trick him.
'What do you mean the Primarchs Sanguinius and Ferrus Manus have returned one after another?'
'What do you mean a figure equal in standing to their past Father spawned in the Imperium halfway through, and even launched a new Great Crusade?'
'Damn it!'
The moment these thoughts crossed his mind, Perturabo's face darkened completely.
A raging fire burned in his chest, his breathing growing heavier, small sparks spurting from his mouth and nose with every exhale.
'If this continues... does that mean those glorious years are going to return again?'
'Are those dim-witted brothers going to unite under Father's lies once more and turn their blades against me?'
Though all the Daemon Primarchs refused to admit it out loud, they knew deep down what sins they had committed.
They would never let this happen—yet now, the situation seemed to be unfolding in a manner completely beyond control.
Perturabo's thoughts pressed further.
If even Ferrus and Sanguinius—who were confirmed dead long ago—had returned... then what about a certain Primarch?
Dorn's stubborn face flashed across his mind almost instantly.
In an instant, Perturabo nearly crushed the edge of the table before him.
The iron groaned under the unbearable pressure of his grip.
'Is that damned stonehead going to return as well?'
'No.'
'That is unacceptable.'
"I will never accept this," Perturabo finally spoke. His voice regained that cold, hard quality. "So, whatever plan you have, spit it out already."
He glared coldly at Lorgar, the fire in his eyes nearly bursting forth.
Lorgar thought nothing of it.
As a traitor Primarch, he had interacted with Perturabo more frequently than most of his peers.
This fellow was either angry, or on his way to getting angry.
Naturally—the corners of Lorgar's mouth curved upward slowly.
"You guessed correctly. The Chaos Gods have already drawn up detailed plans for this. They will never sit idly by regarding this newly emerged entity."
"And victory, just like in the past, will belong to the Warp once again."
Lorgar offered a practiced, confident smile.
He deliberately omitted any mention of the numerous failures his past plans had suffered, and said not a word about the defeat after defeat the Four Chaos Gods had endured before that so-called new god.
Lorgar leaned forward slightly.
He spoke with a calm, smiling composure: "Perturabo, my brother."
His voice was slow and rhythmic, like an ancient chant.
"Tell me, are you interested in the position of the next Warmaster of Chaos?"