JamesY wrote:@
DC he grew up in an environment where that was the only way people dealt with each other, and where murder and death was the only action that had any impact. He had watched the people around him and realised this before committing to a course of action. He is similar to Angron in that the world he landed on ruined him before he had a chance. We can never know what either would have been like if they had landed in more nurturing territory, like Guilliman or Dorn.
He started killing and torturing within a very short period of time, he lived off eating dogs, he was never actually wronged even as a child, they couldn't catch him. He thought to bring order he'd need to make a message. It was a conscious decision to torture etc. It was his first thought and never gave any other thought to bringing law to the planet. He knew this, when Sevatar pointed it out. The 8th were designed for terror tactics. Even after the
HH Kruze lamented what his legion became and what he became, but he couldn't change his nature, which was why he was suicidal. That's why I think he refused daemonhood, he never really cared about chaos in my opinion, Horus' way just let him be what he was made. Thats how I see him.
"Sevatar almost laughed. ‘Sire, you are no different. The Legion is disorderly and vile because it is
cast in your image.’
‘No.’ Curze drenched the single syllable in regret. ‘No, you don’t understand. I’ve never claimed to
be perfect, Sevatar. But I became the sinner, the monster, the Night Haunter, so my people would never
have to. And look at the result. Look at the recruits from Nostramo, less than a decade after I departed.
Look at the filth they sent me. Look at the disgusting dregs of humanity my own Apothecaries infused
with my genetic material and reforged into transhumans. The Eighth is poisoned, Sev. Generations of
men who are murderers in my image, yet devoid of my conviction. They are killers and abusers
because they want to be, not because someone had to be.’
‘The end result is the same,’ said Sevatar. ‘Fear is the weapon.’
‘Fear is supposed to be the means to the end. Look at the bloodshed my Legion has wrought these
last years, even before the Crusade was done. Fear became the end itself. It was all they desired. They
fed on it. My sons were strong" so they bled the weak for their own amusement. Tell me, captain,
where the nobility is in that.’
‘Where is the nobility in any of this?’ Sevatar gestured to the streets of Nostramo Quintus around
them. ‘You can claim a savage nobility, father, but this is far more savage than noble.’
Curze’s pale lips peeled back from his filed teeth. ‘There was no other way.’
‘No?’ Sevatar answered his father’s snarl with a grin. ‘What other ways did you try?’
‘Sevatar…’
‘Answer me, father. What politics of peace did you teach? What scientific and social illumination
did you bring to this society? In your quest for a human utopia, what other ways did you try beyond
eating the flesh of stray dogs and skinning people alive?’
‘It. Was. The. Only. Way.’
Sevatar laughed again. ‘The only way to do what? The only way to bring a population to heel? How
then did the other primarchs manage it? How has world upon world managed it, with resorting to
butchering children and broadcasting their screams across the planetary vox-net?’
‘Their worlds were never as… as serene as mine was.’
‘And the serenity of yours died the first second your back was turned. So tell me again how you
succeeded. Tell me again how this all worked perfectly.’
Curze was on him in the time it took to blink. The primarch’s hand wrapped his throat, lifting him
from the ground, stealing his breath.
‘You overstep your bounds, First Captain.’
‘How can you lie to me like this?’ Sevatar’s voice was a strangled growl. ‘How can you lie to
yourself? I stand here, inside your mind, witnessing a theatre of your own memories. Your way is the
Eighth Legion way, now. But it has never been the only way. Just the easiest way.’
Curze tightened his grip. ‘You lie.’
Sevatar narrowed his eyes, his last breath escaping as Curze squeezed. ‘You enjoyed this way,’ the
captain hissed. ‘You came to love it… just as we all did. The power… The righteousness…’
Curze released him. Sevatar crashed to the ground, his armour joints snarling as his ceramite
scraped the rockcrete.
‘Son of a…’ he trailed off, catching his breath.
‘The son of a god,’ Curze said softly. ‘Get up, Sevatar. Leave me be.’
The First Captain rose to his feet, his vision blurred. ‘I am going nowhere, sire. Not without you.’
Curze smiled. His son could see that much, at least. ‘I admire your tenacity. I always have. But you
are a shadow of what I am, Sevatar. You cannot match me. Go.’
‘N–’