"Praise the gods!"
Lodosk knelt devoutly before the idols in the Pantheon, his forehead pressed against the cold marble tiles.
"I, Lodosk, devoutly follow the divine oracles, observing the rites of Olympia. Yet now, the traitor Perturabo, in his arrogant blasphemy, has committed sins that reach the nine heavens!"
"Firstly, He despises heaven and defies its will!"
"That whelp, relying on his intellect and talent, wildly claims 'the gods are nothingness,' measuring the vast sky with the eyes of an ant, using mortal tools to fathom divine machinations."
"The rising sun, the rain that nourishes the earth, he attributes all to 'natural phenomena,' daring to excise the sacred from the heart, causing the people to doubt divine grace!"
"Secondly, He confuses the masses with sophistry!"
"Clutching heretical doctrines, he proposes the 'Allegory of the Cave,' slandering the gods as mere fire-cast shadows, deceiving the people into abandoning the temples to pursue the stars."
"Furthermore, he uses the infernal device 'cogitator' to bewitch the ignorant masses, fabricating star charts, upending the natural order, causing the faithful to be dazzled and their hearts shaken!"
"Thirdly, He profanes divine majesty!"
"In open court, he dares to challenge, 'Where is divine punishment?' presuming to fathom heaven's wrath with his mortal frame."
"The gods' silence is born of mercy; yet he slanders Them as cowardly!"
"He even incites the common people, 'If the gods do not aid you, why not overthrow Them?' This is poisonous blasphemy that would tear the heavens asunder!"
"Fourthly, He destroys the foundations and ends the rites!"
"Upon the debating platform, he humiliates the priests like straw dogs, shattering sacred words like dust."
"The incense smoke of the temples withers; the prayers at the altars nearly fall silent."
"If this continues, people will not pray to the gods, but kneel before this villain!"
"I beseech the gods to bring down punishment, to strike this villain with thunder, to manifest heaven's might across Olympia!"
"If such blasphemy is allowed to run rampant, then the sacred foundations will crumble, and the faith of ten thousand generations will be lost!"
"In fear and trepidation, I bow again and again, reporting this with tearful blood, only hoping the gods will show pity!"
Lodosk collapsed onto the ground, weeping bitterly, his voice choked with tears, "Now the guardian temples of every city-state have been violated by him, his crimes equaling Antaram's act of defying the gods."
"Gods above, why do you not punish him? Is it not... is it not true that our gods are indeed illusions?"
Year after year, day after day, he enumerated Perturabo's sins daily before the pantheon. But the gods never answered him. This caused Lodosk immense inner torment. Why was this happening?
"If even a madman like him is not punished, if he is allowed to roam free, then what will become of us, the devout faithful of the gods?"
Lodosk was wracked with sobs, his hoarse voice filled with despair and bewilderment.
"Gods! Save your devout children!" ...
Soltarn Vore Bron glanced into the temple. "Zoris, is this lunatic really worth wasting our men to watch?"
Since the outbreak of full-scale war, the Anvil Camp's size had multiplied many times over. Though still called a 'camp' in name, its actual scale rivaled a proper Legion. It was filled with youths, not only Lochans but also boys and girls from various city-states.
After the Unification War, the Anvil Camp's function had changed. It was now divided into five battalions, Anvil, Sword, Shield, Hammer, and Dagger.
The Anvil battalion consisted of new recruits still undergoing basic training with Miltiades.
Perturabo personally commanded the Hammer, controlling Olympia's only armored division.
Barabas was in charge of the Sword, training the warriors' daily drills.
Hakor commanded the Shield, protecting the palace and Lokos's security.
And Zoris commanded the Dagger, responsible for internal security, primarily targeting priests and nobles.
Bron was one of the first hundred and seventy-four children to join the Anvil Camp. He was supposed to have inherited his father's stonemasonry; indeed, he was exceptionally talented at carving. But to save his family a loaf of bread, he joined the Anvil Camp. When the battalions were formed, he felt he should have joined the Hammer, or at least the Sword or Shield. But fate played a cruel joke on him; somehow, he ended up in the Dagger.
Zoris was his superior, but all the Anvil Camp children were siblings to each other. They strove for the same ideal; their bond was tighter than blood. Bron would strictly follow every order, but in daily interactions, they still addressed each other intimately by name.
"Don't let your guard down, Soltarn." Zoris lowered his voice. "He's a lunatic, but the beings calling themselves 'gods' may not all be illusions."
Bron frowned. "Our Lord explicitly said the gods don't exist."
Zoris said, "But evil entities can disguise themselves as gods. The Lord's father warned us to be especially vigilant against such beings."
"What are they?" Bron's voice held a hint of unease. The unknown is the most frightening.
Zoris shook his head. "No one can say their true form."
"How do we identify them?"
"Be vigilant. Observe. Wait. When they show their fangs, we will know."
"But when a beast shows its fangs, it hurts people."
"If evil entities could be easily eliminated without cost, they wouldn't pretend to be gods."
Zoris said, "Continue the surveillance. This is the Lord's direct order."
Bron nodded silently. If the Lord himself hadn't specifically requested attention to this fanatical priest, elite warriors like them wouldn't be assigned such mundane tasks.
Bron stared at the man kneeling and weeping deep inside the temple, his fingers stroking the dagger at his waist. "Why not just kill him?"
"The Lord hasn't given such an order."
"But the Lord hasn't forbidden it either."
A fanatical priest, cursing the Lord daily in the temple. Such a person deserved to die!
Zoris reminded, "Evil entities cannot directly tear the Veil to manifest in reality. To manifest in the material universe, they must drill 'holes' in the Veil through desecration rituals."
"Psykers are walking holes. If they are corrupted or possessed by daemons, it can bring disaster to their world."
"Lodosk is not a psyker. He would need to use a desecration ritual to open a hole, and such rituals often require blood and souls as sacrifices."
"Lodosk can't cause much harm. He would need to contact more people to conduct the ritual."
"Surveillance can allow us to follow the trail and round up the hidden cultists."
Killing one person is not the goal; killing a group is. Killing doesn't solve the problem; killing everyone does. Lodosk is merely a trigger, bait to lure in the catch. To eradicate pollution from the soil, Perturabo must uproot the toxic weeds growing in it. Simultaneously, Perturabo is curious whether the 'gods' will heed Lodosk. If they do, how will they bless him?
The gods cannot affect the material universe directly; they need a medium. The medium could be a psyker, a Chaos-corrupted desecrated object, or a fragment imbued with evil energies. These mediums can open small holes, allowing Them to bewitch people. Those so bewitched can then widen the hole, allowing a daemon to manifest in reality. But without a medium, They cannot convey even a single word to Their followers in the material universe.
.....
"My God!"
Lodosk wept before the idols until he fainted, then revived, dried tear-tracks etched onto his haggard face. When he tremblingly raised his bloodshot eyes, the cold stone effigies of the gods still gazed down at him with their eternal, unchanging expressions.
The King of Kings, Gozek and Karafes, towered above the other gods. Their bronze-cast muscles gleamed with a false luster in the eternal flames. Dust accumulated in the folds of their iron-cast robes. The Fates' spindles were worn, the Goddess of Life's golden cup long dry, the Goddess of Love's bowstring broken, the God of Death's sword rusted...
At this moment, all the gods of Mount Telephassa seemed gathered here, yet more fearsome than the deepest darkness.
"Why is this?"
Lodosk trembled, collapsing onto the ground, his pupils contracting in terror. Before he fainted, the statues had shone with extraordinary majesty in the golden sunlight. Now, they were unrecognizable.
CRACK!
The statues of Gozek and Karafes were covered in cracks. Their heroic bronze bodies were covered in corroding moss. Their iron-cast robes had crumbled into rotten fragments. On the Fates' spindle sat a blue double-headed eagle. From the Goddess of Life's golden cup oozed viscous pus.
The Goddess of Love's silver bowstring and arrows were broken. The rose-gold arrowheads were covered in mold. Only the inscriptions symbolizing love on the bow arms were still discernible.
The God of Death's sword blade was covered in honeycomb-like holes. The victory gem set in the hilt had shattered into dust.
Bizarre, colorful hues slowly seeped from behind the statues, twisting and writhing, intertwining, extending into tentacle-like forms in the air. Worse, the faces of all the statues had twisted into something hateful, as if eroded and corrupted by some unspeakable entity.
A suffocating stench filled the air, the smells of blood and pleasure grotesquely intertwined.
Lodosk vaguely heard the statues let out twisted chuckles. Gentle whispers suddenly turned into piercing shrieks. Just as he was about to break, the vision suddenly dissipated.
The statues regained their majesty. Their bronze bodies were clean and new again, their iron-cast robes spotless. The Fates' spindles were intact, the Goddess of Life's golden cup gleaming.
But Lodosk still scrambled back in fear. In that moment, he seemed to have glimpsed the truth of the world, the gods were dead. "No... it's not true, not true!"
But Lodosk scrambled backward on all fours as if witnessing the most horrible nightmare, because he had distinctly seen the statues of the gods reveal ferocious smiles!
Lodosk stumbled out of the temple, his bloodshot eyes bulging as if to tear from their sockets, his laughter maniacal like a hysterical madman.
"Hahahaha! False! It's all false! You can't fool me!"
Zoris's pupils contracted sharply. "Soltarn, you watch him. I'm searching the temple with my men!"
Zoris quickly turned and rushed into the temple, his sharp gaze sweeping every corner.
But inside, everything was normal. The bronze statues of Gozek and Karafes stood majestically as before. The stone Fates' faces were cold as frost. The Goddess of Life's golden cup shimmered with a warm glow in the eternal flame's light.
To the faithful, they were the majestic gods. But to Zoris, they were merely cold stone. He had once believed, but since following Perturabo into the Anvil Camp, that ignorant faith had been replaced by the light of reason.
Zoris and his men thoroughly searched the temple, not missing the crevices beneath the statues' pedestals, but found nothing unusual.
"What exactly happened?"
Zoris frowned deeply. Lodosk couldn't have gone mad without reason.
Zoris didn't think Lodosk was faking it. Faking madness would only make Zoris watch him more closely. But his breakdown was so sudden, so complete, as if his faith had collapsed.
'What had he seen in the temple?'
'Why only Lodosk? How had he seen it?'
Zoris turned, his gaze sweeping the dome, pillars, and statues, seeing only cold stone and flickering eternal flames.
He turned again. Still nothing. No mirrors here either.
...
"False... it's all false!"
Lodosk stumbled back to his quarters, not even taking off his clothes before collapsing onto his bed, wrapping himself tightly in heavy quilts. Cold sweat soaked his priestly robes, clinging stickily to his skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill within.
"The gods are dead?"
"How could the gods die?"
"Who could kill the gods?"
"Impossible! Who could kill them? It's false, all false!"
"But if the gods aren't dead, why don't they punish him? Why don't they punish the blasphemer?"
Lodosk curled up tighter, as if to ward off the erosion of the truth. "The gods simply don't wish to descend to the mortal realm. Yes, that's it!"
"No! They're dead! Long dead!"
"They're not dead!"
"Dead!"
"Not dead!"
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
Lodosk covered his ears tightly, his teeth grinding, as if to block the cacophony of whispers in his mind.
But the voices remained, like countless versions of himself arguing inside his skull. Some were sharp and piercing, some whisper-soft, some gentle and slow, some frantic and raving. They chattered endlessly, tearing at each other, refuting each other, like countless flies buzzing around his ears, never to be dispelled.
"Shut up!" He roared.
"You shut up!" a shrill voice mocked.
"You shut up too!" another voice raged.
"I won't shut up!" a third voice snorted.
"Everyone stop. How about sitting down for some soup?" a fourth voice was gentle.
"Shut up!" Lodosk punched his own temple, trying to drive away the maddening babble with pain.
But they just paused briefly, then returned with a vengeance, mocking his crumbling sanity even more fiercely.
A voice chuckled lightly, "Why not accept it?"
Another voice hummed, "Accept what?"
"Accept that the gods are dead."
"They're not dead. They've just been eaten!"
"They weren't eaten. They are us!"
"We are them!"
"Liar! They were clearly eaten!"
A sad voice said, "Don't believe them. They're mad. We are family, after all."
"What a pitiful person. His own gods are dead, yet he sells himself to the evil gods who killed them. So despicable. Unlike me."
"You're one to talk!" an irritable voice roared.
"So what? Tasty! Love it!"
"Are you here to cause trouble?" a voice stopped laughing.
"Yes! What else?" the voice was unrepentant.
"Get out!"
"Kick him out!"
"Get out!"
"Out!"
"Out!"
"Out!"
Three voices briefly agreed and kicked out a certain voice.
Then they started fighting again amongst themselves.
"Poor child. I will grant you a healthy body."
"Spineless child. Summon your courage, and I will give you strength!"
"Foolish child. I will lend you wisdom!"
Lodosk's voice was exceptionally hoarse, "Who... who are you?"
A gentle voice, with compassion, said, "We are your gods!"
A voice was as tender as a mother caressing her child, "I am the Goddess of Life, Hefne."
"Hee hee." Another voice chuckled lightly, with mockery and playfulness. "I am the Goddess of Fate, Ananke."
"I am the God of Death, Tanatoi!" a third voice roared irritably, like a blade scraping bone, chilling to the core.
Finally, three voices overlapped.
"We are the Kings of the Gods, Gozek and Karafes!"
...
"The Four Gods?" Perturabo frowned.
"Had Chaos finally arrived?'"
Caelan reassured him, "Probably not the real ones."
"Why?"
"Simple. Lodosk isn't worthy."
Caelan said, "The Four Chaos Gods are terrifyingly powerful, but They are also mind-numbingly boring."
"They are constantly self-rewarding, rarely idle."
"The Four rarely truly direct Their gaze at mortals, unless you can amuse Them or show potential that catches Their attention."
"The Emperor and you have that potential. I think I do too."
"But those cultists... they are not worthy."
"The gods they devoutly kneel to are likely mere fleeting thoughts of the Four, or some cunning Greater Daemon under Them."
"A thought of the Four is still of the Four, yet not truly the Four, unless a mortal can amuse Them."
The gods are ruthless. Whether righteous or evil, They do not pity insects. The God-Emperor of Imperium 40K does not protect all mortals; 'the soul returns to the Golden Throne' is a kind lie.
The Four are bored and seeking amusement. The Great Game provides amusement, but mortals do not, only bore Them further. They won't waste time watching mortals, at most, planting or casting aside a passing thought. If that thought finds amusement, They will devour it and seek amusement Themselves.
When a Chaos worshipper prays for daemonhood, having successfully amused the Four, it is often the true Four watching them. But below daemonhood, hardly ever.
Perturabo looked up at the night sky, staring at the twisted, rotating Star Vortex.
"Father, is it Them watching us now?"
"I think so."
A Primarch deserves the Four's personal attention. His amnesia was likely related to Them. Caelan, now somewhat of a figure, wasn't strange to have Their attention. But he wasn't too afraid, as long as he didn't actively seek death in the Eye of Terror. They couldn't just forcibly devour him, could They? What, do They think the material universe is pointless? Even if the material universe is rather pathetic, there's still the Veil, isn't there?
Perturabo asked, "We are in the same world. Why isn't it the real Four watching him?"
Caelan answered, "It's not about Their ability. They can watch countless beings simultaneously, but only if they are worthy of Their attention."
"If he could open a 'hole,' They might watch him. But now, he isn't worthy."
"Still, we shouldn't be complacent. Even if it's not the real Four, it's still dangerous."
...
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