Whenever Ahriman looked down upon Kalena from the highest point, he would always recall his homeland.
No, it wasn't Holy Terra, although he was indeed born there.
Though Ahriman also cherished the rolling hills, dry deserts, and warm valleys of the Achaemenid region, as well as the ancient, unique texts slumbering within the brick citadels, like all veteran Thousand Sons, from the moment he saw the homeland of their Gene-Father, Prospero, Ahriman had already come to view this isolated Eden as his new motherland.
In Ahriman's view, Prospero was the most beautiful place in the Galaxy, especially the soul of that world: Tizca, the City of Light, which gathered the efforts of countless wise individuals, including Magnus himself. It was the center of wisdom and art, an aesthetic embodiment of order and sensory pleasure, a magnificent paradise built of black coastlines and snow-white marble, belonging only to those who sought knowledge.
And in Kalena, Ahriman could vaguely see the shadow of his homeland. The city's history could be traced back to humanity's most glorious Golden Age. Its massive, elegant, and harmonious structure symbolized the infinite confidence and imagination regarding civilization and the future at that time.
"What are you looking at, Ahriman?"
A heavy voice broke the reverie of Magnus's son, who was immersed in his own world.
The newcomer was a rough piece of steel, encased in sturdy Mark III power armor, covered in simple yellow and black stripes, indicating he was a warrior loyal to Perturabo, the Olympia Lord.
Ahriman could smell the newcomer, a mixture of many foul odors: salty sea wind, the cries of refugees, the dust of war, the thick stench of blood and tears, and the pervasive unease that now filled the entire city.
"I'm observing this city, Felix."
Ahriman tried to make his voice sound as respectful and normal as possible.
"I believe we should act. This city and its countless mortals are in a dangerous state. Their hearts are filled with fear and uncertainty. My soldiers tell me that hundreds of mortals leave the safe zones every day and return to the dangerous wilderness on their own."
The Thousand Sons Captain's words made Felix nod uncontrollably. His eyes, like the finest machines, constantly scanned the crowd below, emitting an emotion that made Ahriman feel uneasy and resistant.
"You're right. We should make them move faster. The current efficiency is too slow."
As Felix spoke, hundreds of Iron Warriors continuously emerged from the landing craft. They formed a yellow and black torrent, with two warriors stopping every hundred meters to take over areas the Thousand Sons warriors were unable to manage.
The joy of strong reinforcements lingered in Ahriman's heart for less than a minute, because he soon discovered that as those god-like Iron Warriors stood by the roadside, the unrest among the evacuating populace seemed to increase rather than decrease.
These Peturabo's Sons had clearly performed similar tasks before: their blood-stained armor and unlowered gun barrels were enough to make even the most composed Imperial citizens whisper.
"I heard that a cult group called the Sons of Sithan is obstructing our evacuation efforts?"
Facing Felix's question, Ahriman merely nodded.
"Yes, they have extraordinary influence on this world, especially as a series of disasters has caused their power to grow very rapidly. Every day, people are lured by them to disaster areas to seek revelry and so-called divine grace."
"Then why not eliminate them?"
"Because objective conditions do not allow it."
This answer made the Iron Warrior scoff.
"Don't tell me it's difficult, warrior of the Fifteenth Legion. We can totally select all suspects and screen them one by one, or even go further, prioritize technical personnel and young laborers, then women and children of appropriate age, and then others."
"By classifying them this way, we can quickly transport everyone in batches, instead of wasting time like this."
"They are citizens of the Imperium, not livestock, Felix. Your method will only cause resistance, misunderstanding, and human tragedies."
Ahriman suppressed the urge to curse. He knew, of course, that Peturabo's Sons had little patience with mortals. They always took it for granted that everyone would bend before numbers and efficiency, or believed that anything could be achieved by methods such as whipping mortals.
Crude fellows.
This answer clearly did not satisfy Felix, but just as he was about to escalate the argument, a visible commotion suddenly erupted in the crowd.
The two Captains exchanged glances, then simultaneously jumped down from their hill, pushing through the increasingly panicked crowd, and rushed towards the source of the disturbance, while elsewhere, countless Legion warriors were doing the same.
------
"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! My compatriots!"
"Glory! Revelry! We are the blessed ones! The chosen of God! And now, we shall ascend! We shall become one with the great Storm Lord! Now!"
"Sons of Sithan implore you, my compatriots! In the distant past, we lost an opportunity, lost the favor of the gods! But the Storm Lord is merciful! He has bestowed his miracle upon us again, he has given us the chance to be with him!"
"Compatriots, I implore you! I implore you to look up at the sky! Rejoice! Be jubilant! For this storm is the revelation of his coming!"
When Ahriman arrived, the fanatical preaching had been going on for a while. The Thousand Sons Captain couldn't help but frown, for he sensed a strange fanaticism emanating from the surrounding crowd.
But this was not difficult to solve. Ahriman's two fingers slowly closed, and the crazed preacher involuntarily gripped his own throat. He seemed to suddenly be unable to breathe, falling backward off the platform, with only the sound of his body shattering.
"Problem solved?"
Felix's voice came through the comms, and Ahriman's unprecedented solemnity answered him.
"No, worse."
The Thousand Sons Captain was certain that the psychic power he had just used was limited to not enough to kill the man, only enough to make him kneel due to slight oxygen deprivation—but the scene before him looked like a premeditated sacrifice.
Yes, sacrifice.
Almost at the same time the preacher fell, Felix heard desperate shouts erupting from the crowd, from all directions around him.
"Murder!"
"These lackeys of the evil gods! They want to plunder our divine grace!"
"Kill them! In the name of the Storm Lord!"
Such shouts quickly appeared in large numbers. The Iron Warriors were astonished to find that the quiet civilians suddenly seemed to transform into another kind of creature: they shed their cold-weather outer garments, revealing ochre robes carved with golden serpents underneath, the very symbol of the Sons of Sithan.
Longswords, axes, autoguns, and even lumber-guns began to appear in their hands, firing mercilessly at everyone, whether Astartes or panicked civilians.
When Felix saw children as young as a few years old and even pregnant women screaming and raising weapons, his astonishment finally turned into a roar through the comms.
"What the hell is going on?"
Ahriman's bitter laugh answered him. The Thousand Sons' power surged wildly, building invisible protective shields for every fleeing resident to the best of its ability.
"Remember what we discussed earlier, Felix, just as I said..."
"Objective conditions do not allow it."
------
Even Astartes could not stop the flow of blood.
Screams filled the streets. The blades and bullets of the Sons of Sithan came from every nefarious corner, mercilessly slaughtering everyone. Hundreds fell within the first minute of the attack.
Dozens of Astartes were caught in a tide of tens of thousands of people, murderers and victims clashing before them. Even the most seasoned warriors dared not open fire indiscriminately at this time. Ahriman and Felix stood like towers in the most chaotic areas. Whenever one of their bolter rounds fired with indicators and intuition, it would reap the lives of three or five cultists, only to witness these deranged opponents kill more people with indiscriminate attacks.
"This can't go on."
Felix's bolter round tore apart another masked killer, and then he saw a rocket launcher aimed at him.
Damn!
The Iron Warrior mustered his courage. Amidst Felix's low roar, his massive shoulder plate successfully pushed away the deadly grim reaper, and Ahriman's shield activated at the most opportune moment, protecting the Iron Warrior and hundreds of mortals behind him from the storm of shrapnel.
Before the attackers could let out frustrated screams, they were torn to shreds by the furious counterattack. Scorching flames continuously erupted from the Astartes' muzzles, burning wicked souls to ashes.
Just as Felix ensured that the rocket launcher would no longer pose any threat, he suddenly heard a laugh—the Iron Warrior quickly confirmed it wasn't laughter, but a whisper, a wave, an inexplicable surge in the spiritual realm.
Ahriman's sigh reached his ears, a sigh of relief at the arrival of reinforcements.
Accompanying this sigh, a wondrous tableau suddenly unfolded before Felix's eyes: he saw the swords, spears, and clubs suddenly fall to the ground in unison, and their owners instantly lost their frenzied souls. He observed that the expressions on their faces had frozen, as if a calm deity had deliberately sculpted them into a composed state.
Then, the hands of these Sons of Sithan slowly dropped, blue light floating around them. All of them bowed their heads, as if their souls had been drawn out, standing motionless, allowing the survivors to flee past them.
Felix was still astonished, while Ahriman gestured to his subordinates. The Thousand Sons who had previously formed a human wall with the Iron Warriors to separate the safe zone stepped forward. They unhesitatingly shattered the skull of every Son of Sithan.
As all this happened, the stormbird finally landed in the very center of the street. Peturabo's Son watched a slender, tall woman emerge from it, also surrounded by blue light.
As this scene unfolded, an absurd thought began to surface in Felix's mind, until he saw Ahriman speaking to the newcomer with reverence, until the Thousand Sons' introduction reached his ears.
"This is Ms. Morgan, the Legion's Senior Advisor."
"I don't recall having that title."
She's a quiet person, Felix thought, looking at her face.
"Believe me, Morgan, just now, you saved thousands of Imperial citizens. Any hero who does such a thing fully deserves such an honor. Everyone here will testify for you, including Felix."
The Iron Warrior merely nodded blankly. His question was quietly transmitted to Ahriman through the comms.
"How did she do it, or rather, what exactly did she do?"
"Nothing complicated. First, you need to accurately predict every Son of Sithan from thousands of meters high, then use psychic power to control their minds and bodies until the ground troops' bolter rounds penetrate their heads. That's it."
"Sounds easy... Can you do it?"
"..."
"Everyone has their strengths. Ms. Morgan is a master of mind control. If it weren't for her gender, she would have been a Thousand Son long ago."
Felix's steel-forged face twitched intermittently. He still couldn't properly accept everything before him.
"A mortal who might be stronger than us, and you accept it so calmly?"
Facing the Iron Warrior's question, Ahriman merely let out an arrogant laugh.
"This is the wonder of psychic powers and the Warp... Of course, you wouldn't understand."
Felix's breathing continued to maintain a certain skeptical rasp, and only after the silver-haired lady slowly walked away did Ahriman pat his shoulder.
"It's alright, Felix, I know how you feel, but you absolutely don't need to—be wary of her."
"You see, I am her guarantor."
"If you still feel uneasy, it's fine. We are about to meet the Primarch together. You can absolutely come with us. Believe me, you will like her."
"Even your Primarch will too."
Felix narrowed his eyes. He felt something was off. The arrogant and reserved Ahriman seemed to think too highly of this mortal, as if he had been bewitched.
Bewitched...
As soon as the word appeared, Felix self-mockingly shook it out of his head. He opened his mouth, but in the end, did not voice any doubts.
The Dawn Star incident was written by the Black Library, taken from the book Prospero Lord, and its translation is available on Bilibili.
So, whether it's the joint disaster relief of the two Legions, or these restrained Astartes, or even the later appearance of Perturabo with an out-of-character personality, they were all written by GW themselves. Perhaps at this time, they just happened to be like this~