When the vanguard charged into the core zone, even the local Warlord had no options left.
Before the Primarch had walked into that mysterious chamber, the only mission he had been given was to hold this planet. However, the sudden appearance of Angron had thrown everything into disarray; with a massive tide of World Eaters, they were already on the verge of breaking through the entire defensive line.
At the same time, the Phalanx of the Imperial Fists was still applying immense pressure to their front. Many of the supposedly indestructible orbital facilities had been reduced to scorched earth under the might of that supreme fortress.
The psychic shields crackled, and the shields of the core zone were nearing overload. The capacitors, previously distributed across various bastions, were being conquered one after another by the World Eaters' legions.
In the past, these madmen were chaotic, but for reasons unknown, their current style of warfare was disciplined and orderly. Heavy armor led the charge, opening up the front line, while infantry armed with melee weapons quickly wove into the gaps. A massive amount of power weaponry quickly pulverized the slaves and soldiers hiding in the trenches.
Even the Iron Warrior veterans stationed there could not hold the line.
"Get up, you are liberated!"
Angron pressed the bolter in his hand against a slave's head. Even though the heavy bolter was larger than Angron's own head, he wielded the heavy weapon with ease.
"Yes, yes! Thank you, Red Sand Angel, Angron!"
Many of these rescued mortal slaves had not been severely affected by Chaos. Perhaps this was related to the Iron Warriors' management style; these slaves worked in the armories and also served as reserve manpower. Yet, their existence was miserable. Every so often, they were subjected to "decimation" (the execution of one in ten). If production quotas weren't met, it meant death—the only way to survive was to work oneself to the bone.
"Tell me, what's going on underneath this production base? I can feel another production facility down there," Angron asked.
Hearing the deep, rumbling mechanical sounds from below, he deduced there was another production line. He had expected it to be another slave factory, but what the slave said next left Angron in disbelief.
"My—My Lady!"
"That is a demon production base below; I don't recommend you go down there!"
"Only those with absolutely no utility value become fodder for those terrible creatures down there!"
"Anything that crawls up from below is liable to be executed by 'them'!"
Angron became interested, as he could sense intense psychic fluctuations underground. This was the Eye of Terror, where demonic entities could exist. Such strong psychic fluctuations meant there might be Daemon Engines or even Chaos Daemons below.
Angron signaled to his sons, who prepared to explore. However, the World Eaters were worried about their "mother" getting into trouble.
"Mother, let us go!"
"Don't worry, no matter what we see, we will keep our hearts resolute!"
"If there is a Chaos rift down there, it could be very dangerous for you. You have finally regained your sanity; we cannot let you fall back into that kind of dangerous madness!"
The soldier who spoke was a veteran from the 30k era, a loyalist. He had been recruited from Terra but had somehow arrived in the 41st millennium upon waking.
"Hmm, alright. Be careful!"
"I will personally check your mental states when you return!"
"The psychic fluctuations down there are intense. After you finish handling things below, you must come to my room, no matter what."
"I need to give you a proper psychological evaluation! Lest you get led astray by Chaos Daemons!"
Watching their "mom" mutter these things, the hundreds of warriors who had volunteered felt a sense of "dying for a worthy cause." They could feel the love emanating from their mother's heart—this type of "Loli Mom" was just too precious!
Suppressing the urge to fly into a frenzy, the Captain quickly led his soldiers into the abyss. As their vanguard squad descended, a massive demon factory came into view!
"Fast! Enemy attack, take them out!"
As soon as the World Eaters touched down, they were attacked by a demi-company of Iron Warriors. These warriors held massive shields and aimed their heavy weapons at them. However, the moment these Iron Warriors took aim, the machine spirits of their weapons pulled the triggers faster than they did!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The bullets seemed to curve, striking the Iron Warriors directly in the head! A massive amount of gore swept across the battlefield. Some bolters even fired with the speed of heavy bolter-machine guns; the machine spirits inside were humming, hoping to receive "psychological counseling" from Angron Mom!
"Jace, you feel the same way? It seems even as a weapon, you like a gentle Primarch!"
The Liberator Captain didn't say much, simply sighing that his machine spirit shared his personality. After a brief cleanup, the company took the position, suffering only a dozen casualties while downing over fifty of the enemy. It was mostly because the Iron Warriors stationed there were too dispersed to form a proper line.
"What the hell is this? Why is this place full of demons!"
A tense atmosphere spread through the company; the remaining 80+ warriors pointed their guns at the demons. However, strangely, these demons were simply continuing their work on the assembly line!
These pathetic demons clearly had their own physical forms, but they were not carrying out the missions given to them by the Chaos Gods. Their souls had actually been enslaved by the Iron Warriors; they were like precision machines, constantly producing on the assembly line.
"Is it because of these whips?"
The curious Captain took the risk and picked up a whip with a black shimmer. He gave it a forceful crack, and immediately, a demon on the assembly line snapped to attention and came before him!
"Master, what do you want us to do?"
Judging by the shell, this creature should have been a Bloodletter of Khorne. But their personality was vastly different; it felt like a very cowardly demon.
"Nothing. Continue your production here!"
"Keep meeting your quotas, or the price is death!"
The Captain had intended to mimic those slave owners, but to his surprise, as soon as he finished, the "cowardly" demon suddenly pulled out a small knife, attempting a sneak attack!
The Captain acted decisively, executing the demon with his weapon. Curiously, the other demons continued working on the assembly line, seemingly unafraid of death.
"Looks like I need to catch some prisoners to ask."
Having no choice, the Captain took a heavily wounded, dying Iron Warrior to the Primarch's side. After simple treatment by the Apothecary, the Iron Warrior's life was saved.
"Primarch!"
The Captain recounted everything that happened below. Upon hearing that these Iron Warriors were actually enslaving demons, even Angron's jaw dropped.
"Perturabo really has impressive methods!"
In terms of enslaving demons, even Angron had to admire Perturabo. Although Angron hated the act of enslaving others, if these Iron Warriors were only enslaving demons, he didn't feel as repulsed.
"Perturabo's cub, tell me, what exactly is going on?"
"For the sake of Perturabo, I can spare your life—but regarding these demons, you must tell me everything!"
The Iron Warrior remained silent. He kept the secrets in his heart sealed tight, never imagining that the current Angron possessed the means to read his inner thoughts.
The Iron Warrior prisoner thought to himself: Survival? Impossible!
Besides, I'm sick of it. Staying below every day supervising those demons in production tasks is boring as hell! If I had a choice, I'd rather be a designer in the Construction Department back home, drawing blueprints for exquisite buildings instead of being a War-Smith here!
Angron: ————
Hearing the prisoner's inner thoughts, Angron suddenly felt that all the cubs under his brother's command were "twisted" individuals!
They clearly had things they wanted to do in their hearts, but their actions were all repressed; they even did the opposite. With their current strength, they could have achieved the freedom they wanted. But they never acknowledged their inner worlds, never acknowledged what they needed.
Perturabo and Fulgrim were perhaps two extremes: one was extreme repression, suppressing oneself into madness; the other was extreme indulgence, indulging oneself into madness.
Angron had now read the minds of more than one Iron Warrior; he could be certain that Perturabo himself likely possessed the same personality.
"Sigh, you'd better be honest!"
"If you confess honestly, I can turn you into a Cogitator machine with a thinking personality!"
"In the future, you can go to an industrial planet and be a construction consultant!"
"Perhaps that will fulfill your ideals and ambitions!"
The prisoner looked at Angron in surprise. Angron had already left with his children, leaving behind a Tech-Marine to arrange the matter.
"You are lucky!"
The Tech-Marine produced a cutting tool, preparing to cut away the outer armor. Due to the recent battle, the prisoner's armor and flesh had melted together; he had to coordinate with the Apothecary to get him out of the armor first!
"Is this really Angron?"
"Are you still the World Eaters of the 12th Legion?"
The Tech-Marine didn't answer, just silently nodded. The Apothecary on the side was more talkative, as he had been enlightened by the Primarch to be quite cheerful; there was no need to care about too many things.
"Hehe, you 'twisted' people. Don't look at us with your old eyes!"
"Our Primarch is no longer a Daemon Prince; he has returned to his human form and is willingly playing the role of a mother."
"Whenever we fight until we lose our minds, there is always a voice that pulls us back."
"Our Gene-Mother Angron is so patient that it feels like a dream."
Hehe! The searing laser burned through flesh and armor. Although this would separate his flesh from the melted armor, the pain was something an ordinary person could not endure. Yet, the Iron Warrior, accustomed to endurance, made not a sound. He simply endured it silently, using his brain to think: Why did it become like this?
"Although I don't know what happened, I truly congratulate you from the bottom of my heart!"
"I have lived for so many years, and this is the first time I have felt what respect is. A Primarch is actually willing to realize my ideals and ambitions for a traitor like me!"
To a "twisted" person, being turned into a Cogitator consultant was not a punishment. On the contrary, a consultant who retains their personality was already a pretty good way to live.
"I hope one day our Primarch can become like this too!"
"I'm not afraid of losing face. To be honest, since seeing your Primarch, I just feel a bit envious of you!"
After saying this, the intense, stinging pain caused his consciousness to fade completely. Even with an iron will, he did not have an iron body. After receiving excessive stimulation, he still fainted from the pain.
And perhaps it was because this War-Smith's words were prophetic: at this very moment, the defeated Warlord was preparing to meet his Primarch, Perturabo. Everyone around felt deep fear at this choice. Ever since Perturabo withdrew from the world, basically no one dared to touch the Primarch's brow. The reason was simple: anyone who tried to disturb Perturabo never came out again.
This terrifying secret chamber had become the nightmare of the Iron Warriors, even though their own Gene-Primarch was inside.
Without a word, without any final testament—the several War-Smiths and the Warlord all walked in. When they entered, they heard music playing in a very leisurely and orderly fashion. It sounded a bit like the BGM of a simulation game. If one listened carefully, they would find that this BGM was accompanied by many sounds of placing or deploying objects.
When everyone looked up, they saw Perturabo playing a simulation game with an AI. If one were to describe what this game was, Caleb would definitely describe it as Cities: Skylines. Because this was a simulation game—just a simulation game set in the Warhammer universe.
"You dare to come in without my orders!"
"Good, very good!"
"Ten people—and you all took my orders as deaf ears?"
Cold eyes scanned every Iron Warrior. Under the Primarch's gaze, not a single person dared to raise their head.
Bang!
After a single gunshot, one of the ten was dead—and only then did the crowd report the current situation.
"Primarch, Angron has brought people and killed their way in!"
"They have assembled a huge army with extremely advanced equipment. They even joined forces with the Imperial Fists to attack us!"
"The fortress is in jeopardy, and all defensive modules are about to collapse!"
"Trash!"
Pressing the power-off button, Perturabo jumped down from the pipe-filled station. Originally, he had intended to continue building a nest-world full of art today, but these cubs came in with their blabbering and forced him to go out to fight a war.
Perturabo was deeply resistant to war at this moment. Because when he left home, he actually didn't want to fight; he only wanted to manage logistics. However, that black-hearted boss, the Emperor, whipped him every day, making him work overtime and forcing him to the front line.
Consequently, crushed by the desire for his father's approval and the pressure of endless overtime, Perturabo finally went completely insane.
To his sons, he was now an out-and-out tyrant. Because no matter if you were right or wrong, you would have to be "decimated."
"Get out! I will personally oversee the battle!"
"I want to see what a lunatic has to fight me with?"
"You can't even take down a brute who only knows how to fight; you guys are really becoming more and more useless!"
Sharp, caustic words kept popping out of Perturabo's mouth. These words inflicted serious psychological damage on the hearts of these warriors. The seeds of the Iron Warriors already longed for recognition; now, unable to obtain the Primarch's approval no matter what, their hearts could only become more twisted and distorted.