Chapter 53: Ka'Bhanda — "Angel, I Come for You!"
The world of Isstvan's lesser twin—Isdan—burned beneath a choking sky.
It was a world of faith.
Not the disciplined compliance of the Imperium—
—but the wild, fractured devotion of a thousand competing creeds.
Just like Colchis once had been.
And just like Colchis—
It was now being corrected.
Crosses burned along the streets.
Icons shattered.
And in the heart of the city—
thirteen statues of the Emperor rose, newly erected, their golden surfaces gleaming with unsettling radiance.
"Heretics!""Burn them!""Purge the faithless!"
The cries echoed—
—but they were not the voices of the faithful.
They were the hunted.
The so-called devotees of Chaos fled in terror.
Not in defiance.
Not in zeal.
But in sheer, animal panic.
"Run!""Get back here!""Fight me, cowards!"
Because behind them—
Angron had arrived.
The Primarch of the World Eaters carved a path through the streets, Gorefather roaring in his grip.
The Butcher's Nails sang in his skull.
Every swing—
another body broken.
Every step—
another life ended.
Behind him, the World Eaters surged like a tidal wave of slaughter.
Khârn's orders had been simple:
"Drive them to the central square."
A simple order.
A difficult execution.
Because Angron was not driving them.
He was harvesting them.
And yet—
through fear, bloodshed, and relentless pursuit—
the population was forced inward.
Toward the city's heart.
Toward destiny.
Elsewhere—
three Primarchs observed.
Magnus stood amidst the psychic currents of the city, his single eye narrowed.
"The warp is thin here," he murmured. "Unstable. Fertile."
Lorgar moved among the dying, his crozius raised.
"Witness!" he proclaimed. "The truth of the Divine Emperor!"
Even in death—
he preached.
Perturabo stood apart.
Silent.
Watching.
Calculating.
Demonstrating the precision of Iron Warriors warfare with cold efficiency.
Gun-lines.
Kill-zones.
Perfect control.
And Erebus—
Erebus built a throne of skulls.
Beneath one of the Emperor's statues, he stacked severed heads with meticulous care.
Blood pooled at the base.
Still warm.
Still fresh.
High above—
unseen—
the Emperor watched.
Faith gathered.
Not from devotion—
but from action.
From ritual.
From symbolism.
It began to coalesce around Him.
Golden.
Faint.
Unwanted.
With a flicker of will—
He redirected it.
Back.
Into Erebus.
If not for His constant attention—if not for His open, almost absurd endorsement of Lorgar's growing "cult"—
Erebus might have already crowned himself something far worse.
Careful, the Emperor thought.
Very careful.
Below—
Lorgar approached.
He studied the pile of skulls.
Then sighed.
"This is… inelegant."
Erebus raised a brow.
"If you are going to offer devotion," Lorgar continued, "it should at least be orderly."
He gestured.
"Thirteen piles. Properly arranged."
Without waiting, Lorgar began reorganizing the skulls himself.
Carefully.
Reverently.
"Good," he murmured. "Much better."
Then, bowing before the statue:
"All glory to the Divine Emperor."
Erebus stared.
"I have a proposal," Lorgar said suddenly.
"Go on."
"In the perfect city… every statue should bear His true face."
A pause.
"A faceless god is… incomplete."
Erebus considered it.
Then nodded.
High above—
the Emperor nearly lost control.
Absolutely not.
You will not carve my face onto every surface in existence.
I will personally reduce that 'perfect city' to atomic dust.
Below—
Erebus turned.
Raised his arms.
"Blood for the Emperor!""Skulls for His throne!"
The Word Bearers answered as one:
"Blood for the Emperor! Skulls for His throne!"
Then—
they charged.
The battlefield changed instantly.
The Iron Warriors paused—if only for a moment—as the Word Bearers surged past them in a wave of zealotry.
Not disciplined.
Not precise.
But utterly relentless.
They cursed the heretics.
Praised the Emperor.
And demanded—
loudly—
that statues be built immediately.
Perturabo's eye twitched.
"I will not issue such an order," he said flatly. "Lorgar, control your Legion."
Lorgar turned.
His expression… pleading.
"This is the truth of the galaxy, brother."
A glance toward Erebus.
"And they follow him."
Perturabo froze.
Him?
Slowly—
reluctantly—
he exhaled.
"...Fine."
Orders shifted.
Iron Warriors began constructing.
Amidst battle.
Under fire.
Statues rose.
Erebus, meanwhile, carved a path through fleeing cultists.
Chainsword roaring.
Each strike—
clean.
Efficient.
Final.
No mercy.
No hesitation.
To him—
these were not allies.
Not pawns.
Only fuel.
A signal came from Magnus.
Enough.
At the center of the square—
a ritual circle burned.
Runes etched into stone.
Warp energy gathering.
Erebus stepped forward.
Raised his arms.
"Hear me, servant of the Blood God!"
His voice rang—
—but shifted.
Twisted.
Magnus's sorcery altered it.
Refined it.
It became—
something else.
"I am Sanguinius of Baal."
Even the warp seemed to hesitate.
"I offer this world in blood and fire. Come forth. Answer my call!"
The ritual ignited.
Reality tore.
A wound opened in the sky.
From it—
they came.
Bloodletters.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Pouring forth in a tide of crimson fury.
And then—
He stepped through.
Towering.
Monstrous.
Wreathed in fire.
"I am Ka'Bhanda!" the daemon roared. "Slayer of angels! Scourge of Baal!"
His burning gaze swept the battlefield.
"Where is he?" he growled. "Where is the Angel?"
Silence.
Confusion.
Ka'Bhanda turned.
Scanning.
No wings.
No halo.
No golden son.
Only—
them.
Realization struck.
"You dare deceive me?"
His voice shook the heavens.
"I will tear your souls apart!"
Behind him—
the warp rift surged—
And then—
stopped.
Golden light pressed against it.
Crushing.
Closing.
Sealing.
Ka'Bhanda froze.
"No…"
The Emperor's will descended.
A single—
casual—
psychic blow struck the daemon.
Not enough to destroy him.
But enough to remind him—
who truly ruled here.
"You speak boldly," the Emperor's presence echoed, "for something I could erase."
Ka'Bhanda staggered.
For the first time—
fear flickered.
He turned—
to retreat—
Too late.
The closing rift sheared through lesser daemons still emerging.
Bodies split.
Souls torn apart.
Ka'Bhanda barely held himself together.
Trapped.
Below—
Lorgar stepped forward.
Crozius raised.
Eyes burning with revelation.
"Behold," he said to Perturabo.
"The truth."
Perturabo stared.
At the daemon.
At the warp.
At the impossible.
And for the first time—
He did not deny it.
End of Chapter 53
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