'Captain Loken,’ called Sindermann as he was marched off the practice deck, 'if you wish to understand more, read the Chronicles of Ursh again. There you will find illumination,’

Mersadie tried to look back. She could see Loken beyond Maloghurst's robed form, looking like a caged animal ready to attack.

The door slammed shut, and Mersadie stopped struggling as Maggard led her and Sindermann back towards their quarters.

Perfection

Iterator

What we do best

PERFECTION. THE DEAD greenskins were a testament to it. Deep Orbital DS191 had been conquered in a matchless display of combat, fields of fire overlapping like dancers' fans, squads charging in to slaughter the orks that the guns could not finish. Squad by squad, room by room, the Emperor's Children had killed their way through the xenos holding the space station with all the handsome perfection of combat that Fulgrim had taught his Legion.

As the warriors of his company despatched any surviving greenskins, Saul Tarvitz removed his helmet and immediately recoiled at the stench. The greenskins had inhabited the orbital for some time and it showed. Fungal growths pulsed on the dark metal struts of the main control centre and crude

shrines of weapons, armour and tribal fetishes were piled against the command posts. Above him, the transparent dome of the control centre looked onto the void of space.

The Callinedes system, a collection of Imperial worlds under attack by the greenskins was visible amid the froth of stars. Capturing the orbital back from the orks was the first stage in the Imperial relief of Callinedes, and the Emperor's Children and Iron Hands Legions would soon be storming into the enemy strongholds on Callinedes IV.

"What a stink,’ said a voice behind Tarvitz, and he turned to see Captain Lucius, the finest swordsman of the Emperor's Children. His compatriot's armour was spattered black and his elegant sword still crackled with the blood sizzling on its blue-hot blade. 'Damned animals, they don't have the sense to roll over and die when you kill them.'

Lucius's face had once been perfectly flawless, an echo of Fulgrim's Legion itself, but now, after one too many jibes about how he looked more like a pampered boy than a warrior and the influence of Serena d'Angelus, Lucius had started to acquire scars, each one uniform and straight in a perfect grid across his face. No enemy blade had etched them into his face, for Lucius was far too sublime a warrior to allow a mere enemy to mark his features.

They're tough, I'll give them that,’ agreed Tarvitz.

They may be tough, but there's no elegance to their fighting,’ said Lucius. There's no sport in killing them,’

You sound disappointed,’

'Well of course I am. Aren't you?' asked Lucius, jabbing his sword through a dead greenskin and carving a curved pattern on its back. 'How can we achieve ultimate perfection with such poor specimens to better ourselves against?'

'Don't underestimate the greenskins,’ said Tarvitz. These animals invaded a compliant world and slaughtered all the troops we left to defend it. They have spaceships and weapons we don't understand, and they attack as if war is some kind of religion to them,’

He turned over the closest corpse - a massive brute with skin as tough as gnarled bark, its violent red eyes open and its undershot maw still grimacing with rage. Only the spread of entrails beneath suggested it was dead at all. Tarvitz could almost feel the jarring of his broadsword as he had plunged it through the creature's midriff and its tremendous strength as it had tried to force him onto his knees.

You talk about them as if we need to understand them before we can kill them. They're just animals,’ said Lucius with a sardonic laugh. You think about things too much. That's always been your problem, Saul, and it's why you'll never reach the dizzying heights I will achieve. Come on, just revel in the kill,’

Tarvitz opened his mouth to respond, but he kept his thoughts to himself as Lord Commander Eidolon strode into the control centre

'Fine work, Emperor's Children!' shouted Eidolon.

As one of Fulgrim's chosen, Eidolon had the honour of being within the tight circle of officers who surrounded the primarch and represented the Legion's finest artistry of war. Although it was not bred into him to dislike a fellow Astartes, Tarvitz had little respect for Eidolon. His arrogance did not befit a warrior of the Emperor's Children and the antagonism between them had only grown on the fields of Murder in the war against the megarach-nids.

Despite Tarvitz's reservations, Eidolon carried a powerful natural authority about him, accentuated by magnificent armour with such an overabundance of gilding that the purple colours of the Legion were barely visible. 'The vermin didn't know what hit them!'

The Emperor's Children cheered in response. It had been a classic victory for the Legion: hard, fast and perfect.

The greenskins had been doomed from the start.

'Make ready,’ shouted Eidolon, 'to receive your primarch.'

THE CARGO DECKS of the deep orbital were rapidly cleared of the greenskin dead by the Legion's menials for a portion of the Callinedes battle force to assemble. Tarvitz felt his pulse race at the thought of setting eyes on his beloved primarch once more. It had been too long since the Legion had fought alongside their leader. Hundreds of

Emperor's Children in perfectly dressed ranks stood to attention, a magnificent army in purple and gold.

As magnificent as they were, they were but a poor imitation of the incredible warrior who was father to them all.

The primarch of the Emperor's Children was awe-inspiring, his face pale and sculpted, framed by a flowing mane of albino-white hair. His very presence was intoxicating and Tarvitz felt a fierce pride fill him at the sight of this incredible, wondrous warrior. Created to echo a facet of war, Fulgrim's art was the pursuit of perfection through battle and he sought it as diligently as an imagist strove for perfection through his picts. One shoulder of his golden armour was worked into a sweeping eagle's wing, the symbol of the Emperor's Children, and the symbolism was a clear statement of Legion pride.

The eagle was the Emperor's personal symbol, and he had granted the Emperor's Children alone the right to bear that same heraldry, symbolically proclaiming Fulgrim's warriors as his most adored Legion. Fulgrim wore a golden-hilted sword at his hip, said to have been a gift from the Warmaster himself, a clear sign of the bond of brotherhood between them.

The officers of the primarch's inner circle flanked him - Lord Commander Eidolon, Apothecary Fabius, Chaplain Charmosian and the massive dreadnought body of Ancient Rylanor. Even these

heroes of the Legion were dwarfed by Fulgrim's physical size and his sheer charisma.

A line of heralds, chosen from among the young initiates who were soon to complete their training as Emperor's Children, fanned out in front of Ful-grim, playing a blaring fanfare on their golden trumpets to announce the arrival of the most perfect warrior in the galaxy. A thunderous roar of applause swelled from the assembled Emperor's Children as they welcomed their primarch back to his Legion.

Fulgrim waited graciously for the applause to die down. More than anything, Tarvitz aspired to be that awesome golden figure in front of them, though he knew he had already been designated as a line officer and nothing more. But Fulgrim's very presence filled him with the promise that he could be so much better if he was only given the chance. His pride in his Legion's prowess caught light as Fulgrim looked over the assembled warriors, and the primarch's dark eyes shone as he acknowledged each and every one of them.