"I'll concede this one. Here — take this."
Ferrix unclipped the massive Gauss rifle from his hip and handed it to Phakus.
Phakus struggled somewhat to lift the heavy weapon. Ferrix's strength was beyond their comparison — this Gauss rifle had been forged by the Lord of Iron to Primarch specifications, a weapon made for his own son.
"I'll accept it on behalf of our commander. Thank you, Commander Ferrix."
"How is Abaddon?"
"Seriously wounded. The medical servitors and the Apothecary brothers are working on him at full effort."
"Good enough. Going toe-to-toe with a Primarch — that took some nerve."
After hearing the full account of Abaddon's feat from Phakus and the others, Ferrix found himself thinking this brother had let his thirst for revenge get a little out of hand.
That was the Wolf King — the most savage and frenzied of all those who had given themselves to the Blood God — and Abaddon had just charged at him alongside the Exterminatus Relics, leading from the front no less.
Almost on par with himself. The kid really was made of something.
Ferrix shook his head with a quiet admiration. No wonder he managed to keep the Legion together on his own after losing his Primarch. He had what it took. Hard as iron.
"Commander, that was forged by Father himself. If he finds out you gave it away, won't he—"
First Company Commander Cherno felt uneasy about the whole affair.
"What are you worried about? That rifle in Abaddon's hands won't disgrace it."
"Besides, it's just a gun. I'll ask Father to forge me another one when the time comes."
Cherno found his commander's casual nonchalance faintly insufferable — but since it had already been said and done, there was nothing left to add.
"Father, the Iron Warriors and the Luna Wolves have transmitted their battle reports. 'Leman Russ' and 'Corax' have been exiled, their Legions annihilated. The Iron Warriors suffered minimal losses. The Luna Wolves suffered heavier losses. Commander Abaddon was seriously wounded during the exile of 'Leman Russ' and is currently receiving treatment — his condition has stabilized."
Matthias delivered the reports to Dorn. At the mention of Abaddon's serious wounds, a faint shift finally crossed Dorn's face.
"What is the state of the Luna Wolves? Are they still capable of continuing combat operations?"
What Dorn cared about most was whether the Luna Wolves had sufficient numbers remaining. In truth, throughout this revenge crusade, every Legion had tacitly agreed to look after the Luna Wolves.
They were the Legion their brother had left behind. By every bond of feeling and duty, they owed it to him to take care of his sons.
"Cypher sends word that the Luna Wolves retain the capability to continue fighting. Reinforcements from the rear will arrive shortly — there is no need to worry about their numbers or their fleet."
Dorn did not actually want the Luna Wolves to keep going — but he could not stand against a Legion of sons determined to avenge their father, and by the reports, they were indeed still combat capable.
"Then let them continue. But tell them — without my direct order, they are not to advance on the Solar Reach. Tell them not to let emotion override judgment."
"Yes, Father."
"You should know that I will never tolerate a traitor standing before me."
The Anathame in Lorgar's hand had already been drawn, its tip resting at the throat of the traitor, a thread of blood already welling at the point of contact.
"I only know that this will be the first step of my road to atonement — and the last. I will pay for my disloyalty to the Father and for every sin I have committed with my life."
"Lorgar" looked at the figure before him — himself, and yet taller by a considerable margin — even the scriptures covering every surface of that body were radiating a faint golden light.
He felt envy. And deep remorse. If he had never listened to the words of "Erebus" and "Kor Phaeron," would he still be that loyal Legion Master of the Word Bearers?
But that was impossible now. That son of the Emperor, full of honor, could never exist again.
"Why would I trust a traitor's few words?"
Lorgar felt a profound loathing for all traitors from the very bottom of his soul — and doubly so for a fallen Primarch who happened to be himself.
The golden flames of the Anathame licked toward "Lorgar's" body — but to Lorgar's astonishment, the figure before him showed not the faintest sign of being burned.
The golden flames died away inexplicably the moment they drew near to "Lorgar," and at that same instant, the Chaos scripture covering "Lorgar's" body began to glow.
Those words — saturated with faith and loyalty — blazed into a brilliant golden radiance.
The Word Bearers standing nearby stared in stunned disbelief. How could a traitor be immune to the Father's attack?
"You and I are the same in essence. And I came here with you this time to help the Father resolve the problem of Chaos."
"Lorgar" closed his hand around the blade of the Anathame, and neither the keen edge nor the surging golden fire dealt him the slightest harm.
He gently deflected the sword point and stepped closer to the "himself" before him. The two figures — one taller, one shorter — stood face to face, and neither held any fear.
"Traitors deserve death, certainly. But the true threat was never these traitors. Humanity's true threat lies within the Warp — that is the problem that troubles Father most deeply."
"And our greatest usefulness lies precisely there. The time has come. I go for my atonement. You go for the Father's ideal. Our purpose is the same."
Lorgar stared into those golden eyes — identical to his own — as the golden flames curled and wound around the Anathame yet could not approach the man before him by even a fraction.
"What game are you playing?"
The sword point did not lower, but the killing intent in his voice had lost some of its certainty.
"Lorgar" extended his hand. A battered, weathered book appeared in it — most of its pages rotted away, yet the surviving text still emitted a faint golden glow. On the cover, three characters were written: The Book of Holy Words.
"The power of faith has never belonged to Chaos. It belongs only to humanity, to the Emperor. Chaos merely borrowed it — and twisted it."
"But it is more than faith alone. Their essential nature can no longer be explained by faith. They are the aggregate of all the emotions of every living being in the material universe — which is why no matter how hard we work to weaken them, they are never truly killed."
"Yet they are not without weakness."
He paused. An expression of indescribable complexity crossed the face covered in Chaos scripture.
"They can be wounded. They can die. And it is even within our power to erase them from every level of existence entirely."
The Word Bearers in the command room exchanged glances. Legion Patriarch Bathusar gripped his Gauss rifle instinctively, but no one dared to move.
Lorgar stared at "himself" for a long time. Outside the viewport, the Warp shadow shrouding the galaxy seemed to shift and curl in silence.
"You say you want to atone."
Lorgar finally spoke, not taking his eyes from the figure before him.
"How do you intend to atone?"
"Lorgar" smiled. It was a smile that held relief, and resolution — and something Lorgar recognized with a bone-deep familiarity: the sincerity of faith.
"You and I are the most singular of all the Emperor's sons."
"Lorgar" said slowly.
"We were born touched by the power of faith. Every step we have ever taken is bound to the souls of humanity. And it is precisely because of that — the harm my betrayal caused the Emperor runs deeper than that of any other brother."
He raised his arm. The Chaos scripture was peeling away from it piece by piece, like a serpent shedding old skin, revealing beneath it fresh golden inscription.
"The Father trusted me. He gave me more than enough grace. But the man I was then was deceived — I could not see the weight of his expectations for me, and so I committed an unforgivable wrong."
"Lorgar's" fingers trembled faintly. Those memories were too close, too heavy.
"The City of Monarchia was a gift we offered him — yet I misread his intent, defied every command he gave, inverted all of his priorities. Then he delivered his divine punishment — and still, in the end, I betrayed his trust one final time."
"You destroyed everything."
Lorgar's voice was slightly hoarse.
"I know."
"Lorgar" lowered his head, as though a painful memory had just surfaced.
"I even brought harm to the Legion of an innocent brother. In the very moment our Legion launched its assault, he had prepared a grand feast and invited us — trying to ease some small measure of his own guilt."
"And you betrayed their trust a second time. And shamelessly used them."
"I have no intention of making excuses for myself. No intention of washing these sins away. Sin does not disappear through subsequent compensation."
He raised his head again. Golden flames burned in his eyes.
"So I will make some small, insignificant recompense for my sins in another way."
"What do you mean? What plan do you have?"
Lorgar frowned at "himself." He could not quite read this traitor who appeared to have undergone a genuine change of heart.
"The essential nature of Chaos is an endless abyss in which contradictions are unified."
"Lorgar" turned to face the viewport and the galaxy beyond, draped in Warp shadow.
"Khorne is honor born within the violence of war. Tzeentch is fate within constant, unceasing change. Nurgle is vitality within the corrosion of despair. And Slaanesh is the void at the heart of absolute pleasure."
"They are four eternal echoes, together forming a cycle that even Father and Perturabo cannot completely break."
"Even with Perturabo having claimed his place among them. Even with Father being the Dark King of prophecy. Even they have no way to resolve Chaos entirely."
"Because at their most fundamental level, they are part of the same thing. That cycle contains them as well."
His voice grew lower and lower — like a truly devout preacher delivering his final sermon.
"Even if the Father and Perturabo win in the end, the Chaos Gods will not truly die. Even if they seal the Warp in the aftermath — that does not mean the Warp holds no further threat."
"In some unwary moment of humanity's future, they will slip back into the material universe — and they will return stronger than before."
"Every loyal warrior of the Imperium, whether Custodian or Astartes, mortal Auxilia or ordinary citizen — they will only find themselves plunged into endless war once again."
Lorgar wanted to refute him, but found he could not speak. Because every word "himself" had said was true.
He had discussed this very matter with Perturabo long ago — but Perturabo's answer had been nothing like this.
"If it truly comes to that, I will exhaust everything I have to seal the Warp completely. Humanity can develop freely during that time."
"And if after all that time they still haven't amounted to anything — then if humanity is gone, it is gone. It doesn't matter."
Perturabo was extreme. Lorgar could not accept his view — and he knew the Father would never accept it either.
Yet right now, Lorgar found himself partly agreeing with the Warsmith. The resurgence of Chaos was genuinely unavoidable — but that did not mean humanity would have no time to grow. And if when that time came they were still just as helpless, still requiring the Emperor to step in and save them — then perhaps humanity truly would not be worth saving.
"You've told me all of this because you already have a solution in mind?"
"No."
"Lorgar" shook his head.
"Then why tell me any of this?"
"I have no way to solve it. But together, we can bring the sealing of Chaos forward — and buy humanity a little more time to develop."
He turned back to face Lorgar, and extended his hand. The Chaos scripture on that hand had faded entirely, replaced by golden inscription — every character of it content that Lorgar knew more intimately than anything, because the same words were written on his own body.
"You know better than anyone how singular we are. In the same moment, with the purest faith, with the resolve to die — to take Chaos with us into obliteration. That way we can carry at least one Chaos God with us. Even if it only seals one of them."
"But even that would ease the burden on Father and Perturabo. Will you come with me?"
"Lorgar" extended an invitation that meant certain death, to himself.
"Father, he is a traitor — he cannot be trusted—"
Bathusar was alarmed. What did this traitor intend to do?
Lorgar raised a hand to silence the Legion Patriarch. His gaze had not left the "himself" before him.
"Your meaning is — the two of us. Together?"
"Together. With our most fearless and loyal faith — bring about the death of a god."
He smiled. A smile of piercing calm.
Lorgar was silent for a long time. Every son in the command room watched him. They did not want their father to be deceived by this traitor — who could know what these cunning traitors were really thinking?
"Are you certain this will work?"
Lorgar asked. He was moved, despite himself.
If the two of them alone could claim a Chaos God that would otherwise require enormous effort from both the Father and Perturabo to even seal — by any measure, that was a bargain worth taking.
"Father—"
"I will decide this for myself, Bathusar."
"I am not certain. No one can be certain whether this will truly seal a Chaos God. But someone has to do it, don't they?"
"What I can say with certainty is that together, we will deal a devastating blow to this Chaos God."
"Which one?"
"The Pleasure God. Slaanesh."
"She was born last and is the weakest. Even among the Chaos Gods themselves, She cannot truly compare to the other three in power."
"But that is enough. If we succeed, Chaos's erosion of the material universe will be delayed by at minimum ten thousand years — and—"
"We will die there. Won't we."
Lorgar looked into those golden eyes — identical to his — and said it plainly.
"Death is not an ending. For those like us, perhaps this is simply the fate we were always meant to meet."
Lorgar fell silent again. Outside the viewport, the Warp shadow had begun, faintly, to disperse.
At last, he sheathed the Anathame. The sound rang out in the quiet command room with the clean finality of a contract sealed.
"When?"
"Whenever you are ready."
"Lorgar's" answer was immediate.
"Bathusar — from this moment forward, you will take my place as Legion Master. Also — inform Roboute and the Imperium of my situation, truthfully."
"Father, we—"
Bathusar did not want his father to go off to his death with this traitor on such a casual decision — but he could find no words. He did not know how to persuade a father who had already made up his mind.
Lorgar was stubborn. Once he had decided something, he would not change it easily. Every Primarch had this fault — and it ran bone-deep.
"What about the Verity sisters, Father? She has been waiting for us in the City of Grey Flowers all this time."
Lorgar did not fall silent this time, but his expression became deeply complicated.
"With all of you there beside her, she won't be alone."
In the end, even this was not enough to make him abandon what he had decided.
"Let us go."
"Lorgar" nodded, then swept both hands apart. A rift in the Warp opened before him — not enormous, but sufficient.
Lorgar looked back once at his sons. Then, without hesitation, he stepped through.
"Lorgar" followed immediately. The Warp rift sealed behind them and was gone.
"Are you afraid?" "Lorgar" asked suddenly.
"Of what?"
"Death."
"No."
Lorgar answered without a moment's hesitation.
"Lorgar" stopped walking and turned to look at "himself."
"I am not afraid either."
"Lorgar" extended his right hand — every surface covered in scripture — the golden light now barely concealed at all.
"Let us go and meet the ending that was always meant for us."
Lorgar looked at that hand. Nearly identical to his own — the same lines, the same scripture.
He took it. A flash of light — and they vanished into the depths of the Warp.
Here, there was no concept of time or space. No division of dimension or direction.
But the chaos of the Warp right now was almost visible to the naked eye. Perturabo and the Emperor's ferocity had thrown the Warp of all four galaxies into complete upheaval.
In this moment, the Khorne of all four galaxies was receiving the most savage beating imaginable. The Emperor's golden greatsword swung without any restraint whatsoever, and the domain of Khorne had already been diminished by a full fraction. Khorne's power was considerably diminished as well.
And Perturabo had opened up to full firepower. At this very moment, for instance, his enormous bolt cannon had been emptied into both Slaanesh and Nurgle across every galaxy at once, the thunder of detonations rolling through all the Warp simultaneously.
Just as Perturabo was about to continue scorching with melta weapons, a blue staff came cracking down hard from behind, forcing him to abandon that next step forward.
"Damned giant blue bird — the moment I finish dissolving and fully absorbing Greed, you are the first one I am dealing with completely!"
Perturabo swung his warhammer with savage force, not remotely on the back foot despite being surrounded by three Chaos Gods, fighting more ferociously with every exchange — the enormous iron body unleashing a torrent of fire from countless weapons against all three at once.
And just as Slaanesh was threading through the gaps in that barrage, two blazing points of light appeared within Her Six-Ring Labyrinth.
Slaanesh did not notice them immediately. The Lord of Iron's overwhelming power allowed Her no attention to spare for anything else.
But the radiance of these two lights was too brilliant to ignore. The Daemonettes and Keepers of Secrets were set ablaze one after another by the golden fire spreading outward from the lights.
Even the Greater Daemons dared not approach those golden flames — they abandoned all thought of pleasure and fled the Six-Ring Labyrinth at the fastest speed they could manage.
Only then did Slaanesh notice that something had gone very wrong in Her own rear.
"Lorgar" looked at Lorgar. His gaze was terrifyingly calm. Lorgar nodded.
No words were needed. No communication was required. The two Lorgars reached complete agreement in the same instant.
Two beings who shared the same soul, the same blood, the same faith — in the same moment and with the same resolve — transformed their loyalty and their faith into golden fire and directed it toward the shattering of Slaanesh.
The two points of light merged into one. They swelled steadily within the Six-Ring Labyrinth, growing and growing — until at the final moment of expansion, the great golden sun detonated.
Like a supernova erupting within a galaxy cluster, it reduced everything to dust.
The Six-Ring Labyrinth — the very embodiment of Slaanesh's essential nature — began to collapse. The endless, never-satisfied pleasure and desire all dissipated in that single instant.
The daemon armies of Slaanesh across all four galaxies let out simultaneous shrieks of agony — and then dissolved into cinders and vanished entirely, from both the galaxies and the Warp.
Slaanesh screamed too. For the first time, She felt no pleasure. Golden flames began consuming Her from every surface.
The spectacle of Slaanesh's agony instantly drew the attention of all Chaos — and Perturabo and the Emperor both looked over as well. This aura was one they recognized beyond any doubt.
At once, with no prior agreement, everyone began reaching out with psychic senses to find out what had happened. And when Perturabo and the Emperor both glimpsed the Six-Ring Labyrinth now reduced to nothing but scattered rubble and broken walls, they were struck simultaneously — a feeling that overwhelmed them completely.
"Lorgar!"
"No!"
Every psyker present felt the same shockwave crash through their minds at the same instant. The terrible pressure made their very souls tremble.
And all the Primarchs too sensed that something was deeply wrong at the same moment, and all began asking questions of their own.
Aboard the Ash Annals, Bathusar and the others seemed to sense something. They turned as one to look out through the viewport.
The boundless stars ahead flickered once — and then a tiny point of light came hurtling toward their fleet at extraordinary speed.
Bathusar and the others had not even had time to react before the point of light had punched through thirteen warships and two star-fortresses and come to rest aboard the Ash Annals.
Bathusar immediately led the others to investigate what had happened. And when they found the figure — burnt black all over, motionless, human in shape — the Word Bearers' composure shattered in an instant.
"Father!"