Chapter 3: For the Golden God
A thunderous clang echoed within the cathedral.
Outside its towering doors, an army stood in ordered ranks—armored warriors bearing crimson and gold banners marked with burning script and holy sigils. The Word Bearers had arrived.
Lorgar Aurelian, son of the Emperor of Mankind, listened to the chaos unfolding inside with a deeply conflicted expression. Truth be told, even he could not comprehend what was happening within those sacred walls.
From the moment the city gates had opened to welcome him, Lorgar had sensed that something was wrong. The conservative priests of the Covenant—those who clung to the Old Faith—were nowhere to be seen.
When a trembling servant reported that the priests were conducting a blasphemous ritual, Lorgar had doubted the claim.
But now?
The deafening crashes. The roars of rage. The screams—some filled with pain, others with terror, still others with despair.
There was no longer any doubt.
The servant had spoken the truth.
What baffled Lorgar was why.
Why would the Old Faith turn upon itself? Civil strife among these conservatives made no sense. For a fleeting moment, he considered the possibility of a trap—but the city was already saturated with Reformists loyal to him.
Such a thing would be pointless.
At last, Lorgar resolved to see it with his own eyes.
Before he could advance, a hand caught his arm.
"My son," Kor Phaeron said gravely. "It may be a snare."
The old man stood in crimson robes, his expression solemn and cautious. Lorgar exhaled slowly and shook his head.
He understood his adoptive father's concern—but faith demanded confrontation. If the priests within truly clung to false gods, then it was Lorgar's duty to debate them… to save them.
He adjusted his golden armor with meticulous care, brushing away dust from his pauldrons as though preparing for a ritual rather than a battle.
Then he removed the olive branch hanging at his waist—a symbol of reconciliation.
With a branch in one hand, he pushed open the cathedral doors with the other.
The hinges groaned.
Lorgar froze.
Just inside the threshold stood a blood-soaked figure.
Erebus.
An old, frail priest was impaled upon a sacred candlestick, its metal spike driven clean through his torso. The priest's screams had faded into hoarse gasps. His eyes—clouded and desperate—locked onto Lorgar with a single unspoken plea: end this.
Before Lorgar could speak, Erebus sensed the door opening.
The man turned like a beast startled mid-hunt.
In the next instant, Erebus lunged forward, seized Lorgar by the collar, and yanked him bodily into the cathedral.
Caught completely off guard, Lorgar barely had time to react.
A fist hurtled toward his face.
He dropped the olive branch and raised an arm to block—
—and failed.
The blow struck home with a dull, thunderous impact.
Silence fell.
Lorgar stood stunned, one hand hanging uselessly in the air. Erebus stared at the man before him—tall, broad, radiating an aura strangely similar to his own—and hesitated for the briefest of moments.
Then instinct took over.
Erebus hooked Lorgar's shoulder and hurled him to the ground in a brutal over-the-shoulder throw.
"Stop! "Lorgar shouted, shielding his face. "Brother, I mean you no harm!"
The words accomplished nothing.
Erebus' fists came down like a storm, hammering Lorgar's crossed arms with relentless force.
"That's enough, you lunatic—!"
Just as Lorgar prepared to retaliate, Erebus roared:
"For the Emperor of Mankind!"
The words struck harder than any blow.
In that instant, Lorgar understood.
This man—this mad, blood-soaked priest—believed as he did.
The realization shattered Lorgar's resistance.
He stopped fighting.
He let the blows land.
"Praise be to the Emperor!" "Save us, O Divine Lord!"
The cries echoed around them.
Minutes passed.
Erebus slowed.
Something felt… wrong.
Why was the man beneath him growing increasingly animated?
Why did he sound almost—
Erebus froze.
Horror dawned.
Warp-spawned lunatic, he thought.
He leapt to his feet.
Just as Lorgar began to relax, believing the assault had ended, Erebus lifted his leg high—
—and brought it down with merciless precision.
A sound escaped Lorgar that no Primarch had ever uttered before.
Outside the doors, Kor Phaeron heard the scream.
Ignoring Lorgar's earlier command, he led his warriors inside.
The scene before him defied comprehension.
Erebus stood over Lorgar, one foot planted firmly between the Primarch's legs, twisting with alarming enthusiasm. Lorgar flailed weakly, eyes rolled back, hands clawing at the air.
Kor Phaeron had seen many things in his life.
This was new.
"Stop!" he roared. "You accursed heretic—stop at once!"
He charged forward and struck Erebus hard, sending him stumbling.
Erebus turned, only to find himself encircled by armored Astartes.
"My son—are you injured?" Kor Phaeron demanded, lifting Lorgar.
Lorgar waved him off weakly.
"Father… I am unharmed. And this warrior—this devout priest—will travel with us."
Kor Phaeron stared at him, stunned.
"My son… he assaulted you. This is no penance. He is an enemy. A heretic."
"Wait," Erebus interrupted, frowning. "What did you call him?"
Kor Phaeron turned, fury blazing.
"You ignorant pagan—"
"Enough," Lorgar said softly.
He looked at Erebus with reverence.
"My brother, I have received divine revelation. The gods guided me to you."
"You and I walk the same path. All my companions serve the Emperor of Mankind."
Erebus staggered back, rubbing his temples.
"This is impossible," he muttered. "You're telling me the Golden—no—the yellow-skinned god knows of my arrival?"
Lorgar blinked.
"The… yellow-skinned god?"
Erebus nodded solemnly.
Lorgar opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
For the first time in a long while, the Primarch of the Word Bearers found himself utterly speechless.