"If you listen closely, you can hear the variation of each cycle of its mechanical heart," said Perturabo. He reached out and placed the miniature Warhound on the workbench in front of Fulgrim. "I have no interest in your toys," Fulgrim said. "Listen," insisted Perturabo. Fulgrim sighed and leaned in close to the workbench, turning his head to listen. Perturabo's hand flashed out and gripped Fulgrim's hair. With sudden force, he slammed his brother's face into the Warhound. The wondrous automaton shattered into a thousand pieces as Fulgrim's head crunched into the pitted surface of the workbench.

Bone broke and blood spattered. Cogs flew, tiny springs and gear levers spun off. Fulgrim cried out in painful shock and his captains surged forwards. The Iron Circle (Perturabo's robotic honour guard) smashed them aside with wrecking-ball blows from their energy shields and before the Emperor's Children could recover, the Trident (Perturabo's senior captains/advisors) were upon them. Perturabo hauled Fulgrim over the workbench, scattering drawings, fragile tools, schematics and half-finished sketches. Though Fulgrim was fully armoured, Perturabo lifted him by the neck with no more effort than lifting a mortal man. Fulgrim spat blood, and Perturabo slammed his fist into his brother's face, snapping his head back with a crack of bone. Fulgrim's eyes blazed back and his face glimmered with reptilian malice. He started to speak, But Perturabo didn't give him the chance. Like a fist-fighter going for the kill, he battered his brother's face with pistoning jabs until he had him backed up against an iron column. He pinned Fulgrim in place and drew back his free hand to reach for Forgebreaker. The hammer rose, but Perturabo left the blow hanging. Fulgrim's perfect face was a wet meat wound, leaking blood, snot and tears. His breath was hoarse and clogged with phlegm and broken teeth, his eyes were swollen shut. He tried to speak, but Perturabo cut him off again. "No, brother," he said. "I am speaking now, and you will listen to me". ..."I have bitten my tongue and allowed you to bring my Legion into this place," said Perturabo. "I have followed your lead in all things, I have listened to your tall tales and allowed you to set the pace of this expedition." Perturabo leaned forwards and said, "That ends now."

He released Fulgrim, who held himself erect in the face of Perturabo's cold anger. "Your warriors have no discipline, monsters fight your battles and you have allowed an entire vessel to be sacrificed in the name of vanity, but no more. From here onwards, I am in charge and for the duration of this mission, your Legion is mine to command. If you agree to that, then we will continue the Eye of Terror and finish this together. If you don't, then I will take my Legion and leave you here. Do you understand?" Fulgrim nodded and swallowed a mouthful of blood. "I understand brother," he said, his voice a gargled, mangled mockery of its once perfect cadence." I understand that you humble me and expect me to swallow my pride. To be your lapdog." I don't need a damn lapdog." snarled Perturabo. "I need an equal." "But, I am not your equal, brother," said Fulgrim, grinning through his bloodied features, as though this outburst of violence was somehow amusing. "I surpass you in every way."

"And yet I'm the one holding the hammer," said Perturabo.