Chapter 56 Extra: It’s Home Theater

The fifth one is home theater in short

+++The first volume is over, let’s write a side story+++

"Conrad's actions are always so absurd. Why would he repeat to everyone his predictions that are already out of touch with reality?"

Calm anger drove Perturabo's steps. He passed through the gate of Lokos and found a place in the wilderness that was wide enough to accommodate his giant body. He sat down and temporarily removed the many nerve-connecting devices. The data bundle rested under the deserted old tree after the misty sunset.

"Is this how you treat your guests, Perturabo?" Morse stepped out from behind the tree.

Perturabo slightly changed the position of his legs and said in a deep voice: "I did not invite my brothers to Olympia just to hear one of them belittle my character."

"Disparaging? You are redefining the word." Morse said, "Conrad is often just using his unique madness to reveal another real possibility. Talk to me about what he said about you. "

Perturabo's fingers on his knees shrank for a moment, and then shrank into fists, leaving no room to grasp anything.

"He didn't say anything of reference value, and all the facts were obviously contrary to the wild words he said." He tried to speak calmly, but the sound in his throat was very dry.

When Perturabo lowered his head, his huge figure looked very much like the sculptures of tragic works: stiff and hesitant, eyes looking at the earth, immersed in distant thoughts.

Morse stood leaning against the tree trunk and patted the giant's shoulder with his left hand, causing Perturabo to suddenly look up at him.

"Decades ago, I heard a fool's prophecy." Morse said, "The subject of the prophecy is you, although I can get a glimpse of my destiny from it. I had no time to think about it at the time, but every time I think about it later, I realize that everything is wrong. Fortunately."

"Later, I was walking on the intertwined garden paths. When the opportunity was right, I cut off a few remaining leaves from the branches of the zodiac sign. I will review it with you today. It is a good way to kill time."

He raised his hand, and the curse flowed into the air, constructing a picture without borders.

The sky darkens, the fleet hangs out, and the land burns to ashes. The road was blown up, and even the surface of the water on the fertile plain was almost blazing with black eyes. The deep-cut earth and rocks were the bleeding wounds of Olympia, and countless broken and charred corpses filled the scars of the mother planet with useless remains.

As soon as he saw this scene, the reason in Perturabo's mind almost collapsed like a rock.

"Who is—" he roared uncontrollably until Morse pushed him on the shoulder and snapped him into the frame.

He stood on the edge of the mountain ridge, and the Trident members gathered in the distance. The heavy armor is filled with the smell of gunpowder smoke, like an anesthetic, suffocating the body's brain that has been paralyzed by the massacre. This familiar yet unfamiliar body is riddled with scars, extremely heavy and extremely painful, almost a living image of depression and distortion.

In this body, a heavy shiver pinned him to the pain of being unable to react or move. He didn't want to understand it all - because he understood it all.

It didn't take a moment for Perturabo to know that the man watching the bombing of his home and orchestrating the destruction of Olympia was another version of himself.

"Look, Perturabo," whispered Mors as he emerged from the smoky air in the form of a pale golden shadow. "To accept this possibility, we have to be honest. From another broken reflection, we read and dismantle the ending of the tragedy."

The golden shadow hung over Perturabo, and Perturabo followed the abominable form. This is a dead memory, a dead end at the end of a garden maze, and all Perturabo can do is feel.

Of course, his soul can close the eyes of perception in this temporary body, not hearing or hearing, and living through this nightmare unconsciously.

But steel doesn't run away.

Perturabo felt his teeth clenching. He allowed his panic and shrinkage to be replaced by anger - a rage directed only at himself.

Different from the Lokos that were designed in their own world and added a certain artistic sense to the absolute practicality, this Lokos has been integrated with war and iron blood early on.

The roar of the cannon was solid, catching the entire Lokos in flames. Thousands of cannonballs tore the sky into gray-black rags and pounded into the walls of Lokos through the Arcadia Valley.

Thousands of tons of high explosives were used to cleanse the city that Perturabo had designed decades ago. The city walls collapsed and dust rushed to the sky.

The Lord of Steel destroyed everything he had built with his own hands, tearing out his blood with rage, pain, and ridiculous false cruelty until it was as damaged as his soul.

"You already hate him," Morse said. "Be prepared for you to hate him even more. But don't hate yourself - this 'yourself' I'm talking to."

Perturabo heard the conversations of several tridents, and those voices went straight into his ears.

One Astartes insists that destroying the city himself is a waste of the Iron Warriors' manpower, while another explains to the Iron Lord that "he is telling everyone that he has the right to destroy what he has built."

These deplorable words caused Perturabo to briefly fall into self-doubt, while another of his descendants' ongoing explanations were more akin to an unconscious curse.

The Iron Lord cursed his Legion, twisting them until they delighted in massacre on their home planet, and the Legion cursed him with silent obedience, driving him to self-loathing and despair.

The legions quickly entered the city, and Lokos was already in flames.

The sons this city once raised are coming back to kill all the old, men, women and children unfit for genetic modification. The Iron Warriors plucked the people of Lokos, lining them up outside the crumbling walls, coating their flesh with rubble and broken bricks with intense artillery fire.

Perturabo witnessed this, noticing that one of his sons hesitated before firing each shot. Perturabo waited in silence as the scion was executed by other mad warriors.

"Steel begets strength," Morse said, "strength begets will, will begets faith, faith begets honor, and honor begets steel."

Perturabo was not sure whether this was an encouragement or a sarcastic comment, but he added in his mind: "This is the unbreakable litany.

As he finished his silent words, Morse responded with precise timing to the unspoken words: "I know you won't let it gather dust. It's not a demand, it's a trust."

His honesty comforted Perturabo like a soft touch.

The Lord of Steel followed his legion into the burning Lokos. He saw a small civil strife in the army. Hesitant warriors were labeled as traitors in the quarrel. Explosive shells tore the breastplate, and the curved black and yellow stripes bulged outward. Broken inward, the first heart burst out with blood, and then the helmet was smashed, and the blood flowed out through the breathing grid together with the passing life.

Perturabo witnessed all this.

His feet walked through the burning houses, through the turned-up roads, through the blood and dirt, and his iron boots kicked away the corpses. Finally, the palace opened to him. He stepped over the gold and silver reliefs that had shaken off the door like a carpet of destruction. The endless sound of gunfire announced his arrival, just like the joyful cheers and greetings of the Lokos people many years ago.

The moment he entered the palace, Perturabo felt a sense of disgust in the Lord of Steel's emotions, which he really could not understand. Through a pair of cold eyes, he saw the coffin in the center of the hall. Sleeping in the crystal and velvet was the body of an old man—far older than the old man in Perturabo's memory.

The hand covered in armor was raised, and the cover of the coffin was crushed, revealing an old and thin face.

Peturabo couldn't help but want to shout, that abominable waste! In that world, Damex did not die early from the poison of the four gods, but was forced to death by himself! What a lucky opportunity he had, but he had to put it all into thunderous fire and destruction!

Then his vision darkened and the Lord of Steel closed his eyes. Perturabo heard him call father.

He followed the Lord of Steel into the darkness until Morse spoke softly: "Don't be afraid."

Another voice awoke the Lord of Steel, a voice that sounded far older than his own, even though their ages might not be that different.

Callifon's voice came from the throne of Lokos.

The Lord of Steel raised his head, and Perturabo saw a woman who was tortured by time, not just old age - the Callifon he was familiar with also refused life-extending surgery. The real source of her torment was far more serious than aging. It can destroy the human mind.

Sitting on the throne was a desperate holdout, her every word weighed down by her weakened lungs, her heart and lungs weakened by excessive grief.

The conversation between the two began, and the impact of information allowed Perturabo to quickly analyze the development of the world.

He was first shocked by the rebellion in Olympia, hearing the image of the Lord of Steel vetoing Damex, and then became speechless after learning that the rebellion in Olympia was due to the Lord of Iron's unrestrained and stupid conscription.

He had several ups and downs, hitting rock bottom after hearing Callifon call him the disaster of Olympia.

"...Your nihilism is despicable, brother." the old tyrant said sharply. A furious Callifon, Perturabo was dazzled by the combination of these two concepts. Callifon should not have been forced into this.

They also mentioned other sons of tyrants. In the years since Perturabo left, Harkon was drowned in a barrel for treason, and Andros sadly died one day at the age of ninety. The Iron Lord was blinded by the war and returned home, and he, Perturabo, never even had the chance to see these people again.

He felt a cold, steady hand on the back of his neck, Morse urging him to relax. And Perturabo didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

"...The Empire will not succeed," said the Iron Lord, "The Empire is my father's folly. I believe in it because I want it to come true, but nothing is ever so perfect."

So he is a traitor. Perturabo thought silently.

Of course, it's no wonder that a Broken One who hates his home planet, hates its citizens, hates his offspring, and projects his anger onto everything he has ever created, becomes a traitor. Every punch he swung out hit his painful soul simultaneously. His emotional relief was restrained in inappropriate places and over-released in wrong places. All this is worth pondering.

Perturabo finally separated himself from the empathy of a witness, and once again looked at this absurd tragedy that had ended with a calm mind.

This is not because he quickly found his true location, but because the scene he is currently witnessing is too different from himself.

He no longer accepts another Iron Master as himself. It is a distorted mirror, a smudged white paper, a false paradigm. That's not him, not now, and certainly not in the future.

He will remember everything he saw today, from the smallest dust to the most macroscopic planet. He will always remember that a man also named Perturabo, who was also reborn in Olympia, who also led the legion into What a terrifying abyss those who go on an expedition can forcefully drag everything into.

He doesn't need to forgive him, accept him, or acknowledge him, he just needs to remember.

"...You are weak, as brittle as dry reeds of poorly cast steel," Calliphon said. "You are as angry as a child."

Perturabo wished Callifon would stop talking.

His own self-esteem will not be damaged, and the Iron Lord's dignity will not increase because he is not criticized, but there is one thing that will be closely related to it, namely, the life controlled by Callifon.

"...You get an army, and the first thing you do is kill them eleven times..."

That beast. That madman. That tyrant. That childish child.

"...You waste your soldiers to prove things that need no proof, you rage when no one notices and appreciates your self-sacrifice. You destroy everything, why, brother?"

The man who destroyed everything spoke, and Perturabo was no longer surprised by the man's cruelty: "I am not your brother... Mortal love is of no use."

The lies he tells can only deceive the person he wants to deceive. He rejected family ties because he had just destroyed the family ties he had with his own hands.

He no longer deserves love, so he says he doesn't need it.

Califon's narrative continues, the Lord of Steel is blinded by rage, but Perturabo witnesses the female tyrant's plea for death.

He stared at Callifon's aging appearance and the last blazing spiritual fire in that body, knowing that he and Morse were the only witnesses to Callifon's funeral in that world. His eyes were burning, and his throat felt like there was cold iron blocking it.

"Your selfishness is sad, brother. You are the biggest fool." Calliphon said.

The Iron Lord rushed forward in rage and grabbed the mortal by the throat.

Perturabo witnessed it all.

He heard the Iron Lord telling lies, desperately trying to justify his cruelty. "Can't be kind to traitors," he said, so why couldn't he be harsh on his own betrayal?

He questioned the traitor who was mentally shattered, knowing in his heart that the man might not be aware of the self-deception he was committing.

For a moment he began to imagine what went wrong in this scene, and soon he got the answer.

Morse. In this forked road, Morse does not exist.

"Actually, in most cases, I don't exist," Morse said softly, "At least I haven't found a second version of me that has resurrected from my first death. But I have found quite a few other you, some more... Good, some worse. Don’t underestimate your potential, but don’t overestimate it either – I know you don’t.”

No?

He heard a desperate cracking of the cervical vertebrae, and the traitor used his other hand to arrange her hair while strangling her.

Perturabo followed the traitor's gaze, and stared with him into Callifon's eyes. He witnessed the compassionate regret frozen in Califon's eyes, and his heart became extremely empty. As for the traitor, he had been knocked down by his own cruelty and fell against the glass, tears rolling down his self-proclaimed steel face. He proved he deserved the pain.

As for Perturabo, his heart no longer ached, only a silent pain remained, silently digging the hole in his body. He will remember this not only as a lesson learned, but also as a belated tribute that was too far away.

"Want to see more?" Morse asked.

The light stops trembling, the dust in the air stops, and the cross section of time is sealed. The golden light condensed, and the man in black robe walked out of nothingness. The decorative stripes on his clothes were the ones he designed for Morse not long ago.

He stretched out his hand and looked at Perturabo quietly inside his body.

"What happened next?" asked Perturabo.

"A lot," Morse said. "I've been waiting for someone to reread these stories with me."

Perturabo propped up his body, which was too heavy to move, and tried to hold Morse's hand.

After he escaped from the body of this first-person perspective, he found that tears were still flowing down his face. Then, a blink brings another falling tear.

"You can go to the Emperor. Or the Sealbearer." Perturabo closed his eyes and looked into those regretful dead eyes again. Let others see all this, it is not his shame. And if someone can supervise him more, that would be a good thing.

"The Emperor is too busy," Mors replied. "It will not be too late to find him when the Great Crusade is over and everything has settled."

"You are right," said Perturabo. "We still have a long journey ahead of us."