Chapter 5: Lorgar—Am I a Heretic?
History would later ask a simple question:
Why did Lorgar Aurelian fall?
Was it not because the Emperor destroyed Monarchia—his perfect city—and in doing so shattered the faith that sustained him? His certainty collapsed, leaving only confusion and grief in its wake.
Erebus understood this better than anyone.
Faith was a crutch, a weapon, and a wound all at once. And the man before him—calm, articulate, composed—was starving for something he had never truly been given.
Love.
"Very well," Erebus said at last. "I'll stop speaking in riddles."
"First, understand this: the Emperor does not love you. He does not love me. And he certainly does not love the old man beside you who keeps waving a sword like he's deciding where to cut me."
Lorgar glanced sideways.
Under that quiet, searching gaze, Kor Phaeron lowered his blade—but only a fraction. His jaw tightened. Every word Erebus spoke carved another scar into his patience.
He regretted not killing this man earlier.
Seeing Kor Phaeron hesitate, Erebus continued, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Let me tell you a story, my brother. A metaphor."
"Imagine a ruler seated upon a golden throne. He is ruthless. Relentless. He spends human lives like currency. War never ceases under his gaze, because war is the tool by which his dominion expands."
"That ruler does not ask if you are afraid. He tells you to stop crying, pick up a blade, and die properly."
Lorgar listened in silence.
"And now imagine beings who do the opposite," Erebus went on. "They tell you that you endured. That your suffering meant something. That you may become more than you are—stronger, wiser, changed."
"Ask yourself," Erebus said quietly, "which voice feels more just?"
Lorgar did not answer.
He only watched.
Erebus sighed.
"You're terrible at conversations," he muttered. "Fine. Then listen."
"A true god does not demand belief. He does not crave worship. He does not need your prayers."
"He intervenes only when necessary, when extinction looms."
"False gods," Erebus continued, "hand out power freely. Strength. Knowledge. Beauty. Gifts that make mortals feel chosen."
"When something divine looks at you, you should ask why. What do you have that it wants?"
He leaned forward against the ropes.
"The Emperor cares about humanity's future. Not yours. Not mine. Not even his son's."
"That is why He does not comfort you."
"That is why He does not answer."
"That is why He allows you to suffer."
"I believe in Him because of that."
"I will fight for humanity. If that makes me a tool—so be it."
"Glory is meaningless. Faith is meaningless. Only action matters."
Erebus stopped.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
He knew—objectively—that half of what he'd said was incoherent. Contradictory. Dangerous. But it wasn't the truth he was offering.
It was permission.
Lorgar felt his thoughts unravel.
The Imperium preached the Imperial Truth—no gods, no worship. And yet here he was, kneeling before a divine emperor he himself had exalted.
Erebus' words clashed violently with his own teachings… and yet they opened something inside him.
A door he did not know how to close.
Should I believe this? Should I not?
At last, Lorgar spoke.
"Then… how should we revere the Emperor?"
Erebus exhaled in relief. The silence had been unbearable.
"As you believe," he said.
Lorgar frowned. "As I believe?"
"Yes."
"That makes no sense."
"It makes perfect sense," Erebus replied. "You may deny it with your mouth. You may reject it in doctrine. But in your heart—there must be belief."
"Without belief, you become hollow."
Lorgar pondered this.
His mind simply could not keep pace with Erebus'. Only Kor Phaeron saw the truth clearly.
This man was spewing dangerous nonsense.
"Heresy!" Kor Phaeron roared. "Blasphemy!"
"I swear by the Emperor—one more insult, and I will kill you!"
Erebus snapped.
The ropes binding him broke.
He stepped forward.
Kor Phaeron advanced to meet him, blade raised, certain that Lorgar would intervene.
But Lorgar was frozen—lost in thought.
The blade came down.
Erebus caught it barehanded.
Blood spilled down the steel, but he did not flinch. Adrenaline drowned all pain. He drove his fist forward.
Crack.
Kor Phaeron collapsed, unconscious.
Only then did Lorgar react.
He rushed forward, checking Kor Phaeron's pulse—alive, breathing. Relief washed over him.
He turned—
—and Erebus seized his shoulders.
"Repeat after me," Erebus said urgently. "Son of the Emperor."
"Offer your life to humanity."
"Destroy the monsters."
Lorgar echoed him, dazed.
"Do you swear," Erebus pressed, "to serve humanity all your life? To never bow to another god?"
"I swear," Lorgar said.
"I will never betray the Emperor."
"Never betray humanity," Erebus corrected sharply.
The words struck like a hammer.
Lorgar's face drained of color.
Had he misunderstood everything?
Had his faith been… heresy?
Lorgar staggered.
Erebus caught him.
"Damn it," Erebus thought. I pushed too hard.
Some men are broken by lies. Others by truth. But those who are worshipped as gods are the most fragile of all.