Dorn sighed. 'And the hatred planted in those you leave alive will pass from one generation to the next until this world is engulfed in a war the cause of which none of those fighting will remember. It will never end, don't you see that? Hate only breeds hate and the Imperium cannot be built upon such bloody foundations.'
'All empires are forged in blood,' said Curze. 'To pretend otherwise is naïve. The rule of law cannot be maintained by the blind hope that human nature is inherently good. Haven't we seen enough to know that ultimately the mass of humanity must be forced to into compliance?'
'I cannot believe I am hearing this,' said Dorn. 'What has got into you, Curze?'
'Nothing that has not always been there, Dorn,' said Curze, striding away from the mighty golden figure and hauling one of the few remaining prisoners upright In the front of his tunic. He scooped up a fallen bolter and thrust the heavy gun into the prisoner's trembling hands.
Curze leaned down and said, 'Go ahead. Kill me.'
The terrified man shook his head, the oversized weapon shaking in his hands as though his limbs were palsied.
'No?' said Curze. 'Why not?'
The prisoner tried to speak, but so awed by the terrifying proximity of the primarch that his words were unintelligible.
'Are you afraid you will be killed?'
The man nodded and Curze addressed his warriors, 'No one harms this man. No matter what happens, he is not to be punished.'
Curze had turned and walked back towards Dorn with his arms stretched out to either side of him and presenting his back to the prisoner.
No sooner had he turned away from the armed man than the gun had been raised and the hard crack of a bolter shot split the air. Sparks flew as the explosive shell ricocheted from Curze's armour and he spun on his heel to smash the prisoner's skull to splinters with his fist.
The headless corpse swayed for a moment before dropping slowly to its knees and pitching onto its chest.
'You see,' said Curze, his fingers dripping blood and bone fragments.
'And what was that supposed to prove?' asked Dorn, his features curled in distaste.
'That any chance mortals get they will choose the path of dissent. When he thought he would be punished, he dared not shoot, but the moment he believed himself free from consequence, he acted.'
'That was an unworthy deed,' said Dorn and Curze had turned away from him before he could elaborate, but the Imperial Fists' primarch caught his arm. 'Your warriors will stand down and withdraw, Curze. That is an order, not a request. Leave this planet. Now.'
Dorn's eyes were hard as granite and Curze knew enough of his brother's resolve to realise he had pushed him far enough. 'When this campaign is won, you and I will have words, Curze. You have crossed the line and I will no longer countenance your barbarous methods of war. Your way is not the way of the Imperium.'
'I think you might be right…' whispered Curze.
And he had led his warriors from the field of battle, their dark armour rendering them as shadows in the ruins.
He wondered what might have happened had he taken the debate to its logical conclusion.
Curze shied away from the violence inherent in such a line of reasoning and ran a hand through his dark hair, feeling like a caged animal as the door to his chamber - his prison - slid open and a warrior in gleaming, midnight-blue armour entered. Through the door, he could see the purple-armoured figures of Fulgrim's Phoenix Guard, their golden halberds and copper scale cloaks glittering in the wan light of the starfort.
Dorn and Fulgrim were taking no chances with his confinement.
The newcomer's head was shaven bald, pale and angular, with hooded eyes of jet beneath a prominent brown and pugnacious jawline.
Curze nodded in acknowledgement at the sight of his equerry, Captain Shang, and beckoned him in with an impatient wave of his hand.
'What news?' asked Curze as Shang bowed curtly before him.
Shang said, 'The Master of the Fists recovers, my lord. A lesser being than a primarch would be dead thrice over with the wounds you dealt him.'
Curze returned his gaze to the tracts of stars beyond the skin of the starfort, all too aware of the severity of Dorn's wounds, having clawed them with his bare hands and teeth.
'Then I must await the judgement of my peers, is that it?'
'With respect, my lord, you did draw the blood of a brother Primarch.'
'And for that they will demand blood in return, no doubt…'
He remembered Dorn coming to his chambers, enraged by the slaughters on Cheraut and incensed at what Fulgrim had told him - secrets Curze had told Fulgrim in confidence some days earlier. The fit had come upon Curze as the Phoenician had told him tales of Chemos, pitching him to the floor and wracking his mind with terrifying visions of a nightmare future of death and unremitting darkness.
Moved by Fulgrim's apparent concern, Curze had confided in his old tutor, telling him of the visions that had plagued him since his earliest days on Nostramo.
A galaxy at war.
Astartes turning on one another.
Death awaiting him at his father's hands…
Fulgrim's pale, aquiline features had remained stoic, but Curze had seen the unease that flickered in his eyes. He had hoped Fulgrim would keep his confession in confidence, but when Dorn had appeared at his door, he knew he was betrayed.
In truth he had little memory of what had occurred after Dorn's storming accusations of insult to the Emperor… the present had faded and the future had seized his mind with agonising visions of a galaxy locked in a cycle of unending war where the alien, the mutant and the rebel arose to feast on the rotting carcass of the Imperium.
This then was the future the Emperor was creating? This was the ultimate destiny of a galaxy where the fear of punishment was not the agent of control. This was the inevitable result of allowing weak men to craft the destiny of Mankind and Curze knew that, of all the primarchs, only one had the force of will required to mould the new Imperium from the soft clay of its present form.
'The time has come to forge our own path, Shang,' said Curze.
'Then this is the moment you foresaw?'
'Yes. My brothers will seize this opportunity to be rid of us.'
'I believe you are correct,' agreed Shang. 'My sources tell me there is talk, and not idle talk, of recalling the legion to Terra to account for our methods of war.'
'I knew it. Since they cannot kill me, the cowards choose to strike at me through my Legion. You see, Shang? They have been waiting for this opportunity for decades. They are weak fools who have not the stomach to do what must be done, but I do, oh yes, I do indeed.'
'Then what is our course, my lord?' asked Shang.
'Fulgrim and Dorn may have betrayed me, but we are not without friends amongst the other Legions,' said Curze. 'But first we must put our own house in order. Tell me, what news of Nostramo?'
'It is as we feared, my lord,' said Shang. 'The regime of Administrator-regent Balthius has failed. Corruption is rife, criminals govern from the ruined spires of Nostramo Quintus and lawlessness is endemic.'