Chapter 11: The Emperor Is No God—So Why Do You Kneel?
What is the most important quality of a true believer?
Strength enough to fight. Conviction enough to curse. Endurance enough to be beaten—and rise again.
In the great square of the city, a colossal statue of the Emperor had been raised.
It was unfinished. Faceless. Monumental.
At Erebus's insistence, Lorgar had ordered a mouth forged from steel and bronze to be set into the statue's blank face. It smiled—not warmly, but like a weapon.
"These are the Emperor's teeth," Erebus had said. "They exist to strike heresy."
Colchis was already sliding toward civil war. Old faiths clashed with the new. Lorgar now faced a familiar primarch's problem: how to grant authority to an outsider without provoking resentment.
He believed Erebus could manage it.
That belief lasted until Erebus was "invited" onto the public platform.
As Erebus climbed the steps, thousands of eyes followed him.
Jealousy. Suspicion. Hatred.
Now he understood why Slaanesh had once been described as desire given form. Being watched like this made his skin crawl.
Still, Erebus lifted his head.
"I know you envy me."
The crowd stiffened. Many looked away.
"I know your faith is impure."
This time, anger rippled outward.
Lorgar felt a cold sweat break across his back.
"Brother," he thought desperately, "just give a speech."
"So listen carefully," Erebus continued calmly. "Your belief does not come from the Emperor himself."
Lorgar shot to his feet, knocking aside the scribe's stool. He leaned over the record, checking frantically.
Good. That line hadn't been written down.
Then Erebus spoke again.
"You cling to old gods while pretending to follow the Emperor. You call him divine because it comforts you—not because it is true."
The square erupted.
"Heresy!"
"Blasphemer!"
Erebus sighed. His voice was quiet, but it carried.
"Tell me," he said, "did the Emperor ever stand before you and declare himself a god?"
Silence.
"Was it the Emperor who demanded worship—or was it his son who spoke those words for him?"
Lorgar's jaw clenched. He scratched furiously at the parchment, altering phrasing and omitting lines.
"I will tell you the truth you fear," Erebus went on. "The Emperor is a man."
Gasps.
"A man who left his throne. A man who walks among humanity. A man who bleeds, who suffers, who leads—not from the heavens, but beside us."
"This is why gods do not exist," Erebus said, spreading his arms. "Because the greatest of us chose to walk as one of us."
"You do not worship the Emperor because he is distant. You follow him because he is present."
"You fools cannot imagine the price he pays to lead you."
"There are no gods in this galaxy," Erebus declared. "Only liars who claim to be."
"Anyone who calls themselves a god is a falsehood given form."
"Our pilgrimage is not to kneel," he shouted. "It is to conquer. To spread truth. To carry humanity forward together."
"The Emperor's will is our will. His vision is our vision."
"He will come to Colchis," Erebus finished coldly. "And those who cling to false gods will answer for it."
He pointed into the crowd.
"Now tell me—what is your choice?"
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then Lorgar raised his arms.
"For the Emperor!"
The square broke.
Men wept openly. They shouted. They fell to their knees.
What god would abandon the heavens to walk beside them?
"For the Emperor!"
"For the Emperor!"
When Erebus judged the moment ripe, he lowered his hand.
Four statues were dragged forward—the old gods of Colchis, cracked and defiled.
"Brothers," Erebus called, voice sharp with delight. "Your first test begins now."
"Curse them."
Lorgar hesitated—then distributed small slips of parchment.
Prepared words.
None of the crowd knew that Erebus himself wrote them.
Insults layered like poison—mockery disguised as reverence. Praise twisted into blasphemy.
One line read:
The youngest daughter is pure and obedient—she desires nothing, and so pleasure itself recoils from her.
It sounded almost kind.
It was not.
The square was filled with shouted curses.
The Warp listened.
Erebus smiled.