"Erebus, you deserve to die!"
"Erebus, I'll kill you a thousand times and still not be satisfied!"
Erebus ran.
He did not look back.
Behind him, a pack of Night Lords gave chase like hunting raptors, armour painted midnight blue, lightning sigils flickering under starport lumens.
Erebus truly could not understand why fate insisted on tormenting him precisely when his plans began to move smoothly.
The Promotion
The Word Bearers had rejoiced at Lorgar's return.
They held prayer-vigils that lasted entire night cycles. Hymns echoed through the XVII Legion's ships.
To outsiders, Erebus' tears appeared devotional.
In truth—
They were relief.
Lorgar's return meant the great design could proceed properly.
If the Primarch had delayed any longer, Erebus might have been forced to conduct matters alone. And that would have been… inconvenient.
There was only one obstacle.
Erebus was not yet positioned high enough.
Within the XVII Legion hierarchy, advancement was not automatic. The Word Bearers possessed a complex religious chain of authority: Chaplains, Dark Apostles, Coryphaus, and inner-circle elites.
Erebus needed elevation.
He approached Veteran Sergeant Velitas carefully.
"Instructor," he began mildly, "does rank truly matter? Are we not all servants of the Emperor?"
Velitas did not look up.
"Say what you mean."
Erebus forced moisture into his eyes.
"I wish to serve more directly. I… long to guide my brothers."
Velitas studied him.
"Then you may assume duties as Company Chaplain."
Erebus blinked.
"That is… granted?"
"You never asked directly before."
Erebus froze internally.
All those manipulations. All that probing.
And blunt honesty would have sufficed.
He smiled gratefully.
Inside, he added Velitas to a very long list.
The Opportunity
Erebus needed distinction.
When informed that elements of the VIII Legion would be coordinating operations nearby, he volunteered to oversee reception logistics.
Merit.
Information.
Strategic positioning.
Perfect.
At the starport, deep-blue Thunderhawks descended, engines howling.
From the lead gunship emerged a towering figure.
Talos Valcoran.
Captain of the Tenth Company of the Night Lords.
His helm came off.
Cold eyes scanned the Word Bearers.
"Talos Valcoran. VIII Legion."
Erebus bowed slightly.
"Erebus. XVII Legion Chaplain."
Talos paused.
"…What did you say your name was?"
"My name is Erebus."
Talos nodded slowly.
Then drew his blade.
The first swing would have bisected a lesser Astartes.
Erebus twisted just in time.
"Bro—"
Talos turned and roared:
"It's Erebus!"
Every Night Lord's head snapped toward him.
Red optics flared.
They charged.
Canonical Night Lords Logic
"Erebus, you deserve to die!"
"You vile serpent!"
Chainswords ignited.
The Word Bearers hesitated.
Was this Legion-level conflict?
Or personal vendetta?
One Word Bearer grabbed a Night Lord mid-sprint.
"Brother, what grievance is this?"
The Night Lord snarled.
"He is Erebus!"
"Yes, but—"
"He conspires with xenos, manipulates uprisings, instigates Legions against each other, engineers catastrophes and blames others!"
"…He was not even present at—"
"Doesn't matter!"
The Night Lord tore free.
The Word Bearers looked at one another.
Some accusations made little chronological sense.
Others—
Disturbingly plausible.
They moved to intervene before diplomatic catastrophe erupted.
Talos' Suspicion
Erebus was dragged back eventually, armour scorched and dented.
Talos lowered his blade reluctantly.
"Something is wrong."
One of his warriors asked, "We may have misjudged him."
Talos shook his head.
"I did not hold back."
He had aimed for joints. Throat seals. Armpit seams.
Erebus had evaded every lethal vector.
"For a mere company chaplain, he is too capable."
The Night Lords nodded.
Suspicion was their default state.
Talos resolved to report this to his Primarch.
Konrad Curze valued patterns.
And Erebus' name appeared in too many.
Elsewhere — The Nineteenth Legion Fractures
A Terran-born Raven Guard spoke quietly in a private chamber.
"We fought beside Horus for decades. We know Abaddon personally. The Luna Wolves fight openly, decisively. That is strength."
Another added:
"We respect Corax. But his methods… concealment, sabotage, evasion…"
Corax heard of it all.
The Terran veterans of the XIX Legion had served under Horus long before their Primarch's rediscovery.
They admired direct assault.
They gloried in frontal breakthrough.
Corax believed war was about survival.
Minimize losses.
Strike surgically.
Disperse and vanish.
The ideological divide widened.
Some Terran officers openly questioned him.
Corax attempted reconciliation.
It failed.
He forged weapons personally for them before releasing them to transfer.
No public condemnation.
No retribution.
Only quiet severance.
Alpha observed all of this.
"If they were mine," Alpha said, "I would have excised them."
Corax had not.
He remained merciful.
Perhaps excessively so.
Yuki watched thoughtfully.
"We will not block their transfer," she said.
Alpha nodded.
Then she added—
"But pain inflicted upon my brother cannot pass unanswered."
Alpha suppressed a smile.
The Lesson
Orders were issued discreetly.
To the XIX Legion's training cadres.
The Terran Raven Guards assembled on the drill field without armour.
They expected commendation.
Instead—
Thunder Warriors awaited.
Carrying heavy shock-staves.
The first blow dropped three Astartes instantly.
The Thunder Warriors fought with terrifying efficiency. Pre-Astartes brutality honed during Unification.
"Disobedience to a Primarch?"
Strike.
"Contempt for your gene-sire?"
Strike.
The Raven Guards fought back.
They were veterans.
They were not weak.
It did not matter.
Thunder Warriors were engineered to win ugly.
Minutes later, the Terrans lay scattered across the training ground.
Bruised.
Broken.
Alive.
On a balcony above, Corax stood rigid.
"Sister… was this necessary?"
Yuki rested a hand on his shoulder.
"You forgave them."
Her eyes were calm.
"That does not mean they escape consequence."
Corax was silent.
A mechanical raven perched on his shoulder shifted softly.
After a moment, Corax withdrew something from a pouch.
A bracelet.
Crafted from common minerals of Deliverance.
Each bead polished by hand.
Humble.
Precise.
Sincere.
"For you."
Yuki accepted it.
Placed it around her wrist.
"It is perfect."
Corax smiled faintly.
The mechanical raven tilted its head.
"Thank you, sister."
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