Chapter 31: "Strike Erebus on the Emperor's Orders! Conveniently, I Wanted to Do That Anyway."
Curse you, Erebus.
Curse your ancestors, Erebus.
Someone bring a bolter. Shoot him.
Shoot him now.
The Emperor did not say these words aloud.
But they passed through His mind with remarkable clarity.
The chamber was thick with psychic pressure. The Emperor's restraint was beginning to fray, and even the two Primarchs present could feel the crushing weight of His will leaking into the room.
Lorgar and Magnus stood beneath the broken imitation of the Golden Throne.
Above them hung Erebus.
The Word Bearer spun slowly in the air, suspended within a cage of burning golden psychic flame. Magnus stood nearby, wielding a whip formed from disciplined Warp energy, striking Erebus again and again under the Emperor's silent command.
The scene was… educational.
Lorgar swallowed.
In his mind, he reviewed every plan he and Erebus had ever devised.
Plan A had clearly failed.
Plan B now appeared suicidal.
Plans C through G suddenly seemed poorly thought out.
That left only one option.
Improvisation.
"Father," Lorgar said suddenly.
"We do not believe you."
Magnus paused mid-strike.
The Emperor slowly turned His gaze toward him.
The words carried no deception. Lorgar spoke with absolute sincerity.
"I do not believe in you as you are now," Lorgar continued earnestly. "I believe in the God-Emperor humanity will one day need."
The Emperor said nothing.
Lorgar pressed on.
"This faith exists to unite mankind on this world. Just as you spread the Imperial Truth across the stars, we must spread the legends of your deeds."
Sophistry.
The Emperor recognized it immediately.
But he also understood something else: Lorgar believed every word.
Rather than argue, the Emperor increased the intensity of the flames surrounding Erebus.
Erebus screamed.
The Emperor observed something curious.
Each time the flames intensified, faint green warp-light flickered beneath Erebus's skin—brief pulses like distant lightning.
Interesting.
The emperor's mind shifted from irritation to calculation.
If the Imperial Truth could starve the Chaos Gods by denying them belief…
Could Erebus serve another purpose?
A living receptacle. A psychic sinkhole. A place where the refuse of the Warp accumulated.
The Emperor did not oppose belief itself.
Faith directed toward ideas, ideals, or humanity itself was harmless.
Faith directed toward gods was poison.
But perhaps Erebus represented something… new.
The Emperor closed His eyes and reached into the currents of fate.
Fragments appeared.
Broken futures.
Humanity is burning.
Primarchs betraying their father.
The same dark ending, again and again.
Then the Emperor noticed something extraordinary.
Erebus was absent.
In every dark future, he observed that Erebus did not exist.
It was as if the man had slipped sideways from the threads of fate.
Invisible.
Unrecorded.
The Ruinous Powers had not noticed.
Of course, they had not.
To them, Erebus was merely a psychic refuse pit—something to toss scraps of power into when convenient.
The Emperor's mind sharpened.
Opportunity.
If Erebus could absorb what the Warp discarded…
If his existence remained invisible to fate…
Then he might become a weapon humanity had never possessed.
The Emperor made a decision.
Erebus must live.
But under absolutely no circumstances could Erebus realize his importance.
The flames intensified again.
Erebus howled.
"False Emperor! Burn the false Emperor! Let the galaxy—"
Golden fire surged through his body, cutting the words short.
"Enough," the Emperor said calmly.
He turned to Lorgar.
"There is no need to rush the Great Crusade, my son. Your loyalty is acknowledged."
Lorgar's face lit up with a blissfully foolish smile.
Beside him, Erebus continued roasting like a sacrificial grox.
Eventually, the emperor ended the punishment.
Erebus dropped to the floor.
He was bald.
Completely bald.
His skin was blackened with soot, and his expression resembled that of very confused roasted poultry.
Magnus stood nearby, breathing heavily. Even for a Primarch, sustained psychic exertion demanded concentration.
The Emperor departed with Lorgar, speaking quietly with him as they left.
Erebus lay on the floor.
Before leaving, the Emperor sent him a final psychic message.
[Fight Magnus.]
[If you lose too easily, I will roast you again tomorrow.]
Erebus twitched.
That golden tyrant held grudges.
Magnus adjusted his robes, several curls of his red hair having been singed by psychic heat.
"I apologize," Magnus said calmly. "But the Emperor has commanded that I teach you a lesson."
Erebus slowly stood.
"A duel, then?"
Magnus blinked.
This mortal… was challenging him?
How quaint.
Magnus had faced daemons, psykers, and alien sorcerers older than civilizations.
Still, the Emperor had said a lesson, not execution.
Mercy, then.
"Very well," Magnus said.
Erebus smiled politely.
"My lord Magnus, may my followers observe our battle? It would be… educational."
Magnus considered this harmless request and nodded.
Soon, Kor Phaeron, Garrulek, and several members of the Dark Emperor Brotherhood gathered in a plaza.
Some gasped at the sight of Erebus's roasted appearance.
Others looked thrilled.
Garrulek summoned artists to sketch the duel while he prepared parchment to record every detail.
Magnus beckoned with a single finger.
"Come."
Erebus shifted awkwardly.
"My fighting style may be… unusual."
"It matters little," Magnus replied.
He had seen every kind of combat imaginable.
"So… I begin?" Erebus asked.
Magnus nodded.
"In the Emperor's name, I forgive your coming mistake."
Erebus exhaled in relief.
Good.
Very good.
Jarulek leaned forward excitedly.
He knew what was coming.
Lord Erebus's most infamous technique.
Erebus took a deep breath and charged.
"YOU RED-SKINNED OGRYN! YOUR MOTHER WAS A MUTANT AND YOUR FATHER A FAILED SERVITOR!"
Magnus froze.
For half a second, his brain simply stopped processing reality.
Was this mortal… insulting him?
Erebus sprinted forward at full speed.
Magnus reacted instantly, conjuring a psychic barrier and launching a bolt of Warp energy toward the charging mortal.
High above the plaza, unseen by most observers, the Emperor watched from a balcony beside Lorgar.
His golden eyes shifted slowly toward the Primarch.
The look clearly asked a question.
Do all your followers fight like this?
Lorgar sighed wistfully.
"Alas," he admitted, "I have never been able to master Erebus's battle cry."
For the briefest moment, the Emperor considered a new strategic policy.
Perhaps Lorgar should remain on Colchis.
Permanently.
Running a religion.
Far away from the Great Crusade.
The galaxy might actually survive it.