Escorting the two prisoners, Fulgrim quickly arrived on Terra, having already synchronized testimonies with his sons beforehand.
No matter what, he was determined to protect them. Even if Fabius had strayed into error, Fulgrim could not simply stand by and watch his genetic progeny perish.
He had verified with Fabius and Melusine that over all these years, Melusine was the sole successful subject. The other failed subjects had been integrated into the Chapter as ordinary serfs, and the underlying experimental records had been personally destroyed by Bile himself.
Provided no discrepancies emerged, Fulgrim and the others could align their stories. Coupled with the absolute news blackout enforced up to this point, Bile and Melusine stood a strong chance of survival, though they would likely face permanent confinement on Terra.
Yet survival remained paramount. Compared to losing one's freedom, life was undeniably far more precious.
So long as they survived, Melusine could remain hidden away—at worst, assigned the identity of a gene-servitor or a low-level aide. It all depended on whether the Imperial leadership intended to pursue the matter with absolute severity.
Fulgrim was confident he could persuade Perturabo and Guilliman, perhaps even enlisting Angron to plead for leniency alongside them. However, the true source of his apprehension remained the Emperor.
Having once demanded the most rigid adherence to the Emperor's will, the Emperor's Children understood better than most how the Master of Mankind reacted to such infractions.
The Emperor would tolerate no implicit threats within the course of human development—a reality crystal clear to Fulgrim and his inner circle.
At its core, the undisputed ruler of the Imperium remained the Emperor. Though Perturabo had previously staged a coup, strictly speaking, it was not a complete displacement of authority. Ultimate power within the Imperium still resided with the Emperor—a fact beyond debate.
If the Emperor refused to yield, Fulgrim had no idea how to proceed.
Should the Emperor remain resolute in executing the pair, Fulgrim would ultimately have to sacrifice his kin for the greater good. To a Primarch, the Emperor's authority stood above all else.
---
Fulgrim's arrival on Terra was unshielded by stealth; an entire Chapter fleet appearing above the Throneworld could hardly be concealed from view.
However, the specific reasons for their arrival were strictly suppressed by Perturabo and Guilliman, ensuring the broader public remained ignorant of the underlying cause.
Yet such measures inevitably carried a hint of trying to cover up a scene too obvious to ignore. This approach was intentional on the part of Perturabo and Guilliman; paper could not wrap fire forever. While baseline human bureaucrats and noble lords could be kept in the dark, keeping the truth from the other Primarchs indefinitely was impossible.
A total news blackout, therefore, served to delay the inevitable. Even if the other Primarchs suspected something was being withheld, it would buy critical time.
At the very least, the matter needed to be brought to a final resolution first. Once settled, the brothers—upon learning the truth—would naturally keep the secret, ensuring the Astartes across the major Chapters would never leak the incident.
---
Fabius had never felt Holy Terra to be so utterly terrifying. Stripped of his power armor, his physical frame remained massive, yet in this moment, he felt utterly powerless. Every step forward felt as though ten thousand pounds pressed down upon his shoulders, his legs as heavy as if filled with powdered ceramite.
He kept Melusine shielded tightly behind him—the only gesture of protection he had left to offer.
The Grand Senate of the Administration was vast, yet apart from busy servitors and Abominable Intelligences, only four figures sat upon the high dais.
The hall appeared no different from usual, yet Fulgrim could sense an unusual, suffocating atmosphere. The air felt heavy, and both his Father and Perturabo bore dark expressions.
Fulgrim's heart sank instantly. He could easily reconstruct the fierce argument that must have transpired between the two prior to his arrival.
"Father. Warmaster."
Fulgrim stepped forward first, taking a seat designated for Primarchs and key dignitaries. The chair was remarkably comfortable, perfectly calibrated by Guilliman.
"It has been a long time, Father, brothers... and dear Lord Regent."
Fulgrim assumed his most flawless demeanor, even using a respectful title for Malcador, whom he had previously disliked.
He wanted to open a line of dialogue to plead for leniency, yet despite his renowned eloquence, he found no entry point for his arguments. He knew two men before him were master tacticians, while the other two were volatile powder kegs.
Before Fulgrim could broach the subject to offer a defense for his sons, the Emperor cut him off directly.
"Come forward. Drop your lingering hopes; Fulgrim cannot help you here."
Perturabo's tone was icy cold, sending a deep chill through Fabius and Melusine, whose hearts sank instantly.
Vespasian escorted the two forward. He wished to speak, but meeting his Primarch's subtle gaze and slight shake of the head, his prepared words were choked back. He stepped aside in silence, assuming the post of a guard.
Only then did Vespasian notice that not a single Custodian guarded the Grand Senate—even the Captain-General, who usually remained glued to the Emperor and Malcador, was nowhere to be seen.
Does this mean there is still room for negotiation? Vespasian thought to himself.
Yet the Emperor's next words shattered all expectations held by the Emperor's Children.
"I care not what internal arrangements you devise; these two must be eliminated, leaving no trace behind. As a compromise, you will either enter Perturabo's Demon Forge, or I shall consume you entirely from the warp with psychokinetic fire. Choose between these two options."
Golden psychic flames began to flicker around the Emperor's form. He had long grown weary of debating this matter. Had his true powers not been constrained at present, he would have acted immediately without dialogue. When had he ever stooped to negotiation? In times past, two psychic slaps would have settled the matter on the spot.
Fabius panicked, opening his mouth to beg for mercy, but a surge of immense psychic power instantly bound his jaw shut, locking Melusine in identical paralysis.
The two subjects of the trial were stripped of the right to speak.
"I maintain my position," Perturabo interjected sharply. "Confining them to Terra under strict surveillance is more than sufficient. There is no need for such excessive alarm over a single female Astartes."
"One leads to a second," the Emperor countered coldness. "Once a second exists, how many more will follow? Do not attempt to quibble with me; I refuse to believe you are blind to the systemic implications of this precedent."
"What if a few female Space Marines exist?" Perturabo shot back. "Even the Custodes include females, yet you never purged their reproductive capabilities. Have you seen the Custodes cause any issues?"
"How can that be compared?" the Emperor barked. "Those were created by my own hand—"
"Save that rhetoric to fool children!" Perturabo sneered. "I know the fixed surgical procedures of the Custodes inside out—in fact, I completed several of those templates myself. Plenty of present-day Space Marines have undergone Custodes surgical modifications, and even a few Thunder Warriors received them. What of it?"
"Stop derailing the topic! We are speaking of the matter at hand! These two must be erased, without exception!"
The Emperor's patience was completely exhausted. What should have been a straightforward matter of eliminating a potential threat was being dragged out entirely due to redundant emotional attachments.
"I am addressing the core issue!" Perturabo pressed on. "The threat is nowhere near as dire as we imagine. The Astartes will not suddenly harbor unwarranted ambitions over a single precedent. Has their loyalty over all these years not proven enough?"
Pure nonsense—a fact Perturabo knew, Guilliman knew, Malcador knew, and even Angron, eavesdropping from the Golden Throne, knew. Yet apart from Malcador, no one stepped forward to expose the falsehood.
At their core, the Primarchs held their own quiet motives. They harbored no intentions of rebellion, yet subtle, deeply buried grievances lingered in their minds.
This represented a minor act of defiance against the Emperor—not out of pure rebellion, but as a subtle retaliation for the millenia the Emperor had used everyone as mere instruments.
The Primarchs possessed their own tempers. Aside from Lion, Russ, Dorn, and the long-deceased Horus, every Primarch harbored varying degrees of silent resentment toward their creator.
This stance by Guilliman and the others was a silent counter-strike.
Malcador considered speaking in support of the Emperor, but he recognized that his words would alter little, and Guilliman would only counter his arguments. Rather than entering the fray, it was better to keep the conflict contained strictly between the Emperor and Perturabo.
"I have no desire to argue semantics with you," the Emperor said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "You wish to preserve them, but I refuse. I will not leave two existential threats looming over humanity's future. This is not a matter of future technological advancement."
"Stripped of rhetoric, you simply fear we will seize ultimate power!" Perturabo scoffed. "I fail to comprehend why you fear a military force that won't even reach a hundred million in number threatening the galaxy. Do you truly expect us to rule five galaxies using a population that wouldn't even fill a minor hive city?"
Yet it remained a distinct possibility. The Astartes had no need to directly govern every baseline human; they merely needed to secure and maintain their supreme, elevated status.
"The power we have already granted them is vast," the Emperor stated flatly. "I will not risk igniting further ambitions within their ranks. You understand precisely what I am referring to."
"I care nothing for your assumptions!" Perturabo retorted. "I only know that these five galaxies were conquered through the blood of Space Marines, Abominable Intelligences, and endless expeditionary fleets! Even the civilian administration only stabilized thanks to the logic engines I engineered!"
"On that basis alone, the Space Marines seeking a minor concession is hardly unreasonable."
"It is not unreasonable now," the Emperor replied. "What we must prevent is their demand for more in the future."
"I can guarantee that scenario will never happen."
"A guarantee holds zero weight in an uncertain future. I will not gamble with a risk that could jeopardize all of humanity based on your personal assurance."
The argument between the Emperor and Perturabo remained at an absolute impasse. The others kept silent, knowing that intervening in this debate offered no good outcome.
Whether advocating for preservation or execution, their input would carry little weight.
"Let us reach a compromise," Guilliman finally spoke up, attempting to bridge the divide. "Place both of them in stasis and transfer them into the Demon Forge. In the future, should circumstances become more accepting—or should this matter no longer carry such weight—we can release them."
Guilliman recognized that securing total freedom for the two was impossible. Even if spared now, the Emperor might later dispatch the Custodes to execute them quietly. Cryo-stasis offered a means to freeze the issue, leaving final resolution to a later date.
As for the concept of female Astartes, none of them held grand expectations.
Even if natural reproduction were biologically feasible, Space Marines—lacking psychological inclination toward such matters—would rarely, if ever, pursue it.
Presently, a few Astartes were engaged in purely platonic relationships with certain Battle Sisters, but such instances were rare anomalies that signified little.
Without a significant population of female Astartes, any notion of an independent species developing was sheer fantasy.
Freezing the subjects offered a practical delay. Should a legitimate need arise in the future, they could be revived accordingly.
Furthermore, was a female Space Marine truly such a catastrophic issue? Guilliman doubted it; if Fabius Bile could engineer the procedure, Perturabo was undoubtedly capable of doing the same.
Had the Warmaster truly desired to pursue such an end, he would have done so long ago.
In fact, Guilliman harbored a subtle suspicion that Perturabo's covert projects were far more radical—and likely ongoing—merely kept perfectly hidden from view.
Were the Abominable Intelligences not a prime example?
Thus, Guilliman remained largely unbothered. The Emperor's absolute lines had been crossed repeatedly; it was merely a matter of waiting for the right moment to push the boundary slightly further.
Guilliman did not mean to malign his father's morality, but after millennia of interaction, he realized that perpetual beings like the Emperor and Malcador had long lost traditional moral frameworks across the vast expanse of time.
Nor was this limited to the Perpetuals; his fellow Primarchs were changing as well. Aside from Vulkan, who maintained a rich reservoir of humanity, the remaining brothers—including Sanguinius—were gradually detaching from baseline human concerns.
They might still throw themselves into danger for the abstract cause of humanity as a whole, even after ten thousand years, but expecting them to care deeply for individual mortals was increasingly unrealistic.
---
Guilliman's proposed compromise satisfied neither party fully, yet continuing the argument offered no resolution.
Ultimately, the council reluctantly agreed to the arrangement. After sealing Bile and Melusine in stasis units, Perturabo had them transferred deep into the interior of the Demon Forge.
Fulgrim's spirit remained somewhat subdued. Though his underlying objective of preserving their lives had been achieved, the outcome felt grim.
"Tell me truthfully," the Emperor said suddenly, turning to Perturabo with a deadly serious tone. "Do you harbor undisclosed motives behind this?"
"What motives could I possibly have?" Perturabo replied defensively.
"Why else would you fight so fiercely to stop me?" the Emperor pressed. "In the past, had you discovered such a threat, your methods would have been far more ruthless than mine."
"How do they constitute a threat?" Perturabo barked. "Are they traitors? Are they Chaos? Are they xenos? They are decorated servants of the Imperium!"
"Drop the act," the Emperor's eyes narrowed dangerously, fixed entirely on Perturabo. "Do you think I don't know you? Tell me the truth—have you already conducted this exact experiment? And succeeded, just like you did with those Abominable Intelligences!"
The Emperor's gaze turned razor-sharp, as though confirming a deeply held suspicion.
"No wonder you fought so desperately to block me. You were testing my boundaries step by step! Tell me honestly—was this entire incident engineered by you to test my reaction?"
"If I truly wanted to scheme something," Perturabo snapped back, "would I need to test you like this?"
"Then what devilish plot are you brewing?"
"What plot could I possibly be brewing?!" Perturabo raised his voice in frustration. "Executing two Space Marines without cause—what kind of precedent is that? If someone produces a female Eldar-Astartes hybrid in the future, are you going to tear the entire sky down?!"
The moment the words left his mouth, Perturabo froze. Dammit! Slipped up!
He watched as the expressions of everyone in the room shifted instantly from tension to a mix of complete speechlessness and profound shock. Wait... brother, did you really do that without considering the consequences first?!
The Emperor made no further attempt to suppress his fury. Golden flames erupted wildly around him.
"You brute! I merely threw out a random example, and you actually went and made one?!"
Unsheathing the Emperor's Sword, its blade roaring with radiant golden fire, the Emperor looked ready to engage in a mortal duel with Perturabo on the spot.
"Alright, calm down! It's a minor detail!" Perturabo raised his hands defensively. "What's the big deal? Quiet down first—it's not like the secret leaked out! What are you so afraid of?!"
"Tell me truthfully right now—how many more of these experiments have you conducted?!"
"None!"
"Like hell I believe you!"
Losing the last vestige of restraint, the Emperor swung the flaming broadsword directly at Perturabo's head.