Chapter 12: The Emperor Does Not Want to Be Worshipped
This was Erebus's first true look inside the inner workings of what had once been called the Covenant Church.
That name was already dying.
Lorgar intended to replace it. He had proposed several alternatives: The Emperor's Cult, The True Faith, even The Emperor's Chosen.
Erebus rejected them all.
He especially rejected Lorgar's first suggestion.
"Do not name it after the Emperor," Erebus had said flatly. "And never imply he desires worship. If you do, he will crucify us both — and then apologize to humanity for the inconvenience."
Lorgar had laughed nervously, unsure whether Erebus was joking.
He was not.
Another matter troubled Erebus more deeply.
Every night, without exception, his sleep ended the same way.
Glass.
A coffin of perfect angles.
Beyond it, four presences pressed and scraped, their colors bleeding into one another like oil on water. They struck the surface, whispered, left offerings like refuse at his feet.
And each night, Erebus felt himself grow stronger.
He did not enjoy that.
"Erebus."
Lorgar's voice pulled him back to reality.
The primarch entered the chamber wearing white ceremonial robes — newly adopted, still awkward on his massive frame. Behind him walked Kor Phaeron, wrapped in bandages, muttering curses beneath his breath as he leaned on a staff.
"As you warned me," Lorgar said grimly, "many of the old believers remain defiant. When ordered to renounce the old gods, they revealed themselves."
Erebus nodded. That had been inevitable.
Then he noticed the young man standing just behind Kor Phaeron.
The youth's posture was rigid. His eyes burned with fervor.
"And this one?" Erebus asked.
"Jarulek," Lorgar replied. "During the baptism, he cursed the old gods more fiercely than any other."
Jarulek stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"May the Emperor guide you, his chosen messenger."
Erebus studied him.
Ten thousand years from now, this man would be called a Dark Apostle.
He should have been an acolyte somewhere. Obscure. Unimportant.
Yet here he stood.
Curious.
"What do you believe the Emperor is?" Erebus asked.
Jarulek hesitated, glancing at Lorgar. The primarch gave a subtle nod. A test.
"The Emperor is what he declares himself to be," Jarulek said carefully. "If he says he is a man, then he is a man. If he says he is more, then he is more. It is not our place to judge."
Erebus smiled.
Talent.
"If the Emperor destroyed a city," Erebus continued, "what would that mean?"
Jarulek did not hesitate this time.
"That the city was unworthy."
"And if you had founded that city?"
"Then I had obstructed humanity's progress."
Erebus's eyes gleamed.
"One final question," he said softly. "If the Emperor rejected your faith publicly — humiliated you — how would you respond?"
Jarulek faltered.
He had never considered such a thing.
"I… do not know, lord."
Erebus leaned closer.
"When you worshipped the old gods," he said, "did they ever answer you?"
Jarulek swallowed.
"No."
"Then why," Erebus asked quietly, "would you need the Emperor's permission to believe in him?"
"The Emperor is human," Erebus went on. "He understands nothing of faith. If he scolds you, it is because he walks among you. Which god would bother to do that?"
"Only the Emperor," Jarulek whispered.
Understanding dawned in his eyes — warped, radiant, absolute.
To be rebuked by the Emperor himself.
What greater honor could there be?
Erebus straightened.
"You will be useful," he said. "Remain loyal. Perform the rite three times daily. Speak to no one of what you truly believe."
Jarulek beamed, bowing again.
Lorgar turned to Erebus, troubled.
"We will soon march to spread the Imperial Truth," he said. "But heretics hide among us. We cannot watch everyone."
Erebus waved a hand dismissively.
"That is not our greatest problem."
"What is?" Lorgar asked.
"You lack structure. Discipline. Unity. Most of your followers cannot curse properly, and half of them faint at the thought of violence."
"These things can be corrected."
Erebus paused, then gestured for privacy.
Lorgar dismissed the others.
Kor Phaeron remained.
Erebus eyed the old man.
"You may stay," he said. "It makes no difference."
Kor Phaeron frowned.
That was not reassuring.
"This revelation is for you alone, Lorgar," Erebus said. "If a third hears it, kill them."
Kor Phaeron raised an eyebrow.
"You could just say you want me dead."
"Patience," Erebus replied.
He turned back to Lorgar.
"The Emperor does not want humanity to know that gods exist."
Lorgar froze.
The room fell silent.
And somewhere, beyond glass and color, something laughed.