Chapter 22: Kor Phaeron — For the God-Emperor
Within the nomadic encampment, Kor Phaeron observed the assembled tribal chieftains as they indulged themselves—drinking, boasting, and celebrating their shared corruption. Their faces were daubed with crude sigils of the Dark Gods, their eyes gleaming with fanatic hunger.
Some even dared raise their cups to him in reverence.
Kor Phaeron returned none of it.
He regarded them with cold disgust. The sight of these Chaos worshippers made bile rise in his throat. If not for necessity, he would have burned them all where they stood.
As the orchestrator of the gathering, Kor Phaeron had—inevitably—been acclaimed as supreme leader of the united tribes. They believed that only under his command, as a mighty champion of Chaos, could they overthrow the so-called heresy of the God-Emperor's faithful within the city.
Garulek stood at Kor Phaeron's side, watching him closely.
Doubt gnawed at him.
This gathering had grown far larger than intended. At times, Garulek wondered whether Kor Phaeron had planned it this way from the beginning—or whether events had slipped beyond even his control.
Though the general intelligence had been transmitted to Erebus and Lorgar, the truth remained: tens of thousands of armed heretics now formed a formidable Chaos host. With a single gesture, Kor Phaeron could unleash them against the Imperial faithful.
Among them lurked fewer than a hundred Dark Emissaries.
Garulek's unease deepened.
"Do you think I intend to betray you?"
The psychic voice struck Garulek without warning.
He stiffened, instinctively resting a hand on his blade, then slowly shook his head.
Kor Phaeron's lip curled.
"Young fool. You wear your thoughts on your face. Learn discipline—or someone sharper than me will carve them out of your skull."
He leaned closer, his psychic presence crushing.
"If I intended betrayal, you would already be ash."
Garulek exhaled slowly.
"My lord, it is my duty to ensure your loyalty to the God-Emperor."
Kor Phaeron snorted. "Loyalty is proven through action, not words."
Their silent exchange was interrupted as one of the tribal leaders rose unsteadily to his feet, goblet raised toward Kor Phaeron.
"Great lord," the chieftain slurred, "your deeds inspire us. Your devotion to the gods is unmatched."
He grinned wildly.
"Why wait until tomorrow? Let the sacrifice begin tonight. Summon the divine apostle, and we will slaughter every Imperial heretic in the city for you."
A roar of approval swept the gathering.
All eyes turned to Kor Phaeron.
Internally, Kor Phaeron cursed the man, his ancestors, and whatever gutter spawned his stupidity.
Outwardly, his expression did not change.
"Very well," Kor Phaeron said evenly. "If you are so eager to witness the gods' messenger… I will oblige."
Garulek's heart sank.
"My lord," he whispered, "this is dangerous."
Kor Phaeron glanced at him.
"Calm yourself. It will be a lesser Warp entity. Even without Erebus or Lorgar, I can bind it."
Then, colder: "Just do not hinder me."
The ritual began at once.
Tens of thousands of slaves and willing fanatics were driven toward the altar. Executioners worked tirelessly, blades rising and falling. Heads rolled. Blood soaked the stone. The chanting—hoarse, blasphemous, wrong—scraped against Kor Phaeron's senses like rusted blades.
The stench of death thickened the air.
As souls were torn from flesh, the veil between realspace and the Warp began to thin. Above the altar, reality split open, leaking sulfurous light.
A sound like a furnace inhaling echoed across the plain.
Golden eyes flared within the rift.
The crowd erupted in hysterical cheers.
"It demands more blood!" someone screamed.
Kor Phaeron's expression hardened.
A Blood God's servant.
Powerful—but perhaps manageable.
Then the corruption intensified.
Warriors turned on one another, eyes blazing crimson. Blades rose. Screams replaced chanting. The ritual collapsed into slaughter.
Kor Phaeron felt it then.
This was no lesser daemon.
"Damnation…"
He spun and struck Garulek across the face with a psychic-infused blow.
The shock snapped Garulek out of the Warp's grip. He staggered, horrified by the blade raised in his own hand.
Kor Phaeron brushed past him.
"Run."
"What?"
Kor Phaeron was already moving, psychically jolting other hidden Emissaries back to sanity as he fled.
"Lord Kor Phaeron!" Garulek shouted, chasing him. "You said this could be controlled!"
Kor Phaeron did not slow.
"That thing is beyond us!"
He bared his teeth. "We find Lorgar and Erebus—now."
Behind them, the Warp tore fully open.
A voice like grinding iron and thunder boomed across the battlefield.
"I am Artash, Skull-Taker of the Blood God! I drink worlds dry! I am your annihilation!"
A Bloodthirster.
A true one.
Kor Phaeron raised his psychic defenses just in time as the pressure slammed into him.
Garulek vomited blood, barely conscious.
Kor Phaeron exhaled slowly.
"Yes… I may have exceeded expectations."
He turned to Garulek and the surviving Dark Emissaries.
"Warn Erebus. Warn Lorgar. This is no minor threat."
"And you, my lord?" Garulek asked, shaken.
Kor Phaeron turned back toward the carnage.
"An old man still knows when he must stand."
He paused, muttering bitterly, "And when cowards abandon him."
Then, straightening his back, he spat blood onto the ground.
"For the God-Emperor."
And walked into hell.