Chapter 43: Dorn Speaks… Briefly
Damn it all.
Even as a man, the Emperor had far too many flaws.
The goblet upon Lorgar's desk trembled with every furious tap of his fingers—a relic vessel, fashioned in gold, bearing the likeness of the Emperor seated upon a throne. Each strike made it shudder like a thing alive.
Lorgar was furious.
No—incandescent.
His gaze swept across the chamber.
Magnus. Erebus. Angron.
And, off to the side like spectators at a gladiatorial farce—Rogal Dorn and Fulgrim.
The latter two had come merely to watch.
"My brother," Lorgar said, voice tight with restrained wrath, "I have no intention of stealing your sons. This is the Emperor's design—to divide us."
"Blasphemy!" Erebus snapped instantly. "The God-Emperor is perfection incarnate! Even if He is… incomplete now, He will ascend. He must ascend!"
Angron scratched at the Butcher's Nails embedded in his skull, confused—but strangely lucid.
He didn't understand Erebus' fervor.
But for once, his mind felt… clear.
"Lorgar," Magnus said calmly, "the Emperor intends to remove the Nails from Angron. A surgical excision. Perhaps it would be wise for him to remain with the Word Bearers during recovery."
Angron frowned.
He didn't trust the Emperor. Not after everything.
But Magnus… Magnus he could tolerate.
Still—
"No. Absolutely not."
"Erebus, think carefully," Lorgar interjected sharply. "The Word Bearers already walk alongside the Thousand Sons. Two Legions intertwined. If we add the World Eaters… what will the others believe?"
Silence fell.
Heavy. Oppressive.
They all knew the truth.
Word Bearers within the Thousand Sons.
Thousand Sons within the Word Bearers.
If the World Eaters joined them—
It would look like the beginnings of a faction.
A fracture.
"I can appoint another to lead my Legion," Angron muttered.
"No! Father—no!" Khârn dropped to one knee instantly. "If that happens, the World Eaters might as well disband!"
"Brothers," Fulgrim suddenly announced, stepping forward with theatrical grace, "allow me to say just two words—"
BOOM.
The door slammed shut.
Fulgrim blinked.
He stared at the door.
Then realization struck.
He had been thrown out.
Psychically.
By Magnus and Lorgar.
"Wait—my sons are still inside!"
Panic overtook him.
"Open the door! OPEN IT!"
He pounded against it, frantic.
Inside the chamber—
No one cared.
Not even slightly.
They stood locked in a strange circle of tension:
Khârn stared at Lorgar.Lorgar at Angron.Angron at Erebus.Erebus at Magnus.Magnus at Dorn.
Dorn…
…was staring into space.
"…Can you offer a solution?" Magnus finally asked. "Or—"
BOOM.
The door opened briefly.
Dorn stepped out, glancing at Fulgrim.
"Dorn! Where are your sons?" Fulgrim demanded.
"I didn't bring any," Dorn replied flatly. "What kind of idiot brings his Legionaries to something like this?"
Then, without another word, he left.
There were no walls here to fortify.
No sieges to break.
This was pointless.
Behind him, Fulgrim screamed in despair.
"My sons! Hold on, Antias! Father will save you!"
Inside the Chamber
Angron exhaled heavily.
"You see?" he growled. "The Emperor could have healed me. He had the power. But he didn't."
His voice darkened.
"He took me from my brothers. Left them to die."
Silence.
Even Erebus didn't interrupt.
"And when I returned…" Angron's nails throbbed. "All I knew was slaughter. Kill. Kill. Kill."
His fists clenched.
"There are cures. There are ways to remove this pain. But he leaves me like this."
He looked up.
"Is that what a father does?"
For once—
No one laughed.
Erebus placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You speak truth, brother. Continue."
Then, quietly, to Lorgar:
"Write it down."
Lorgar hesitated.
Then began recording everything.
Angron snorted.
"That golden tyrant—what is he even supposed to be?"
Erebus smirked.
"Dressed in gold, radiant like some false deity… what else could he be but a Golden God?"
Lorgar paused—
Then wrote:
The Emperor, clad in gold, presents Himself as divine. A false god draped in radiance.
Angron's eyes lit up.
"Yes! Exactly!"
Khârn buried his face in his hands.
We are all going to die.
Outside the Door
Footsteps approached.
Measured.
Calm.
Ancient.
"Fulgrim," came a voice like dust and memory, "this display is unbecoming of a Primarch."
Fulgrim turned.
Malcador the Sigillite stood behind him.
And beside him—
The Emperor.
Flanked by Custodians.
"Father, I—"
The Emperor raised a hand.
Silence.
He gestured toward the door.
He wanted to listen.
Inside
"That golden bastard!" Angron roared. "He abandoned my brothers! Tore me away! My heart still burns for them!"
Outside—
The Emperor's expression did not change.
Inside—
"And when I returned, he made me a weapon! A butcher!" Angron snarled. "I cannot accept this!"
Magnus closed his eye.
Lorgar kept writing.
Erebus nodded enthusiastically.
"Excellent. Keep going."
The Door Opens
Squeak.
The chamber fell silent.
A presence entered.
Overwhelming.
Absolute.
"Magnus," the Emperor said calmly, "your wards are insufficient."
"Lorgar, your devotion is… misguided."
A pause.
"And Erebus…"
The Word Bearer froze.
The Emperor stepped forward.
Slowly.
"Run."
Erebus didn't hesitate.
He turned—
—but space itself locked.
He couldn't move.
The Emperor clapped once.
CRACK.
The psychic pressure hit like a collapsing star.
Even Angron winced as the Nails shrieked in protest.
"It seems," the Emperor continued, "you've all been enjoying yourselves."
He turned to the Custodian Guard.
"Prepare a containment rig."
Erebus struggled.
Failed.
"Where… are you sending me?" he rasped.
The Emperor considered.
Briefly.
Then smiled faintly.
"To your brother."
A pause.
"Perturabo could use the company."
Erebus went pale.
End of Chapter 43
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