Chapter 20: Kor Phaeron Has Decided — It Is You
"The Emperor of Mankind is human.
He is the only true savior of humanity."
"The Emperor walked as a man.
And thus, He alone understands mankind."
"Death to the heretic.
Let them curse the day they were born."
Morning sermons thundered across the square.
The faithful of the Imperial Creed recited the newest canon authored by Lorgar Aurelian, their voices filled with zeal and fury. Each phrase was repeated with growing conviction, each condemnation of the heretic spoken with righteous hatred.
From a high window, Erebus observed the scene below.
The square was packed. Orderly. Fanatical.
Behind him, Lorgar wrote without pause.
Sheets of parchment littered the floor like fallen leaves, ink still wet. Erebus stooped, lifted one page, and read the Primarch's hurried script.
As I have written before, the Emperor of Mankind chose to walk among us as a man.
As a man, He bears imperfection—not as weakness, but as understanding.
Through this, He knows the suffering of humanity.
We require His guidance… and He requires our devotion.
Erebus nodded slowly.
It was effective. Dangerous—but effective.
Within a year, the Emperor would come to Colchis. Erebus was certain of it. And within that year, this world would be utterly transformed.
Not only faith, but industry had surged. Manufactories ran without rest. Workers labored until collapse. Some refused food or water, convinced exhaustion itself was a holy offering.
Fanaticism, Erebus reflected, was the most efficient fuel ever discovered.
"Erebus!" Lorgar called. "Look at this one."
Erebus crossed the chamber and took the offered text. It was cleaner. More confident. Still centered on the Emperor—still safe.
For now.
"He may not approve," Lorgar said quietly.
Erebus shrugged. "It doesn't matter whether the Emperor approves. What matters is whether the people believe. Faith is not forged by gods—it's forged by men."
Lorgar exhaled slowly.
"I will compile it all," he said. "A single volume. I will call it The Sacred Words."
Erebus nodded. "Good."
Lorgar rose, his robes still ill-fitting upon his massive frame.
"There is one city left," he said. "Gahwara. The last stronghold of the old faith. Reports speak of weapons unknown to us."
"Victory requires no justification," Erebus replied. "The false gods deceived humanity. We merely return the favor."
The last trace of hesitation faded from Lorgar's expression.
"You understand me," he said.
Erebus smiled thinly.
They fought later.
It was not ceremonial. It never was.
Lorgar lay on the stone floor afterward, blood trickling from his nose.
"You said you would restrain yourself!" he snapped. "You nearly shattered my face."
Erebus watched him rise, unimpressed. "I did restrain myself."
That only made it worse.
Each time they sparred, Erebus grew stronger. It was undeniable. Warp energies brushed him constantly—golden light most often, violet sometimes, blue and green in passing, red arriving like a hammer to the skull.
He endured. He adapted.
"You are weak," Erebus said bluntly. "Hardly fitting for a future divine herald."
Lorgar laughed, wiping blood from his lip. "The Emperor does not choose incorrectly."
They returned to strategy.
"The Dark Apostles grow in number," Lorgar said. "But they lack experience."
"They'll learn," Erebus replied. "We need more warp entities. The daemons are becoming cautious."
"How do you propose we draw them out?"
Erebus considered. "There are nomadic cult-priests beyond the city. We send envoys."
"I'll lead them," Erebus added.
"No," Lorgar said immediately.
Erebus raised an eyebrow.
"If something happens to you, there is no replacement," Lorgar said. "Kor Phaeron will go. With Jarulek."
Erebus stared at him.
"You trust Kor Phaeron with this?"
"I trust him to survive," Lorgar replied. "And Jarulek will watch him."
The decision was final.
Erebus sighed inwardly. This will end badly.
Kor Phaeron did not share that concern.
"You want me," he snarled, "to allow heretics to summon daemons?"
Jarulek nodded carefully. "That is the order."
Kor Phaeron's lips curled into a smile.
"Then bring me my sword."
"Sir," Jarulek said cautiously, "the goal is to lure them first."
Kor Phaeron laughed, gripping the hilt.
"Once the ritual is complete, I will cut them down. Efficient. Clean."
Jarulek watched him with quiet awe.
Whatever Kor Phaeron had lost—memory, restraint, subtlety—his hatred remained pure.
And absolute.