"No! Why? Why treat me like this, Father? I did everything right—yet you punished me—and now you let a clone replace me?"
Lorgar's eyes went blood-red. Terrifying warp energy burst from him—rage and jealousy twisted his face.
"Hahaha! Father did another fine thing! Do you know?
Horus returned—Magnus too. Both traitors were forgiven—and welcomed home.
So, Lorgar, want to go beg Father's forgiveness? He might forgive you!" Fulgrim continued.
He told them Horus and Magnus had returned. Even Corax lost his composure.
Father resurrected Horus! The man who split the Imperium, ended the Great Crusade early, and chained him to the Golden Throne!
"To hell with him! I just want to butcher him—drag the false Emperor off his chair and tear him apart.
I'll kill him. I'll kill that clone of mine—that impostor—mince him to paste," Lorgar roared.
What humiliation—what cruel irony! Father would rather enthrone a counterfeit clone as Ecclesiarch—
Than spare him a glance—than say a single "I'm sorry."
Am I worth less than a clone?
"You lie! Father would never bring back Horus—or the traitor Magnus.
They fell utterly. Horus was slain by Father's own hand. This is all lies!
Lorgar—use your head. How could a clone replace you? Fulgrim is deceiving you—he always loved to lie," Corax shouted.
Newly grasping god-power and already sowing temptation? Such clumsy lies.
How could we believe such absurdities?
"Won't believe till you see the coffin? Then let me show you truth." Fulgrim's laughter made the warp shudder.
He tore open a rift to reveal the golden domes of the Imperial Palace—displaying the Ecclesiarchal basilica.
A magnificent cathedral carved with saints and the Emperor. People praised the God-Emperor. The sight stirred a strange familiarity in Lorgar—like his Monarchia.
"Behold this ridiculous Imperium! Those new Cosmic Beast Primarchs, those pathetic machine constructs, those new-age Astartes," Fulgrim declaimed.
The scene shifted—to the Golden Throne. The Emperor's body was withered, skeletal.
Magnus sat beside Him, sharing the Throne's torment—sealing the webway, lighting the Astronomican, guiding Imperial ships through the warp.
The sight broke Corax—he stared at the traitor seated by the Emperor.
Then the scene spun to a strange world. A tall, bald man in silver-white armor stood, radiating holy light—illumining the planet. Chaos warriors within the light were purged of warp taint—reverted to baseline humans.
That holy figure was once the Warmaster of the Imperium—Horus.
"See how Father loves Horus? Even after his crimes, He forgave him—and granted him greater light. Look how biased He is," Fulgrim added fuel.
He deftly hid that Magnus had been Father's mole, bringing daemon true names and binding sorceries—he only said Father forgave him.
And Horus likewise—Fulgrim did not say the original Horus had been possessed; that the Warmaster's seat corrupted any who sat upon it.
"Lies! Even if it's true, unless I return to Holy Terra and see with my own eyes, I won't believe a word. Give it up, Fulgrim," Corax said.
"Return to Holy Terra? Do you think you can? Return as a Daemon Prince—Chaos Undivided—back to the Imperium?" Fulgrim said.
Naive, brother. You're not going back.
Corax's will was iron—hard to corrupt. Better to work on Lorgar.
The view shifted again—to a holy world, the Ecclesiarchy's bastion—seat of the Ecclesiarch.
A shrine world—where the Primarch-turned-Ecclesiarch, Lorgar, was composing a hymn to praise Rhodes and the Emperor.
Lorgar in the warp froze. The rift showed the scene that haunted him—the grand cathedral—an identical him writing scripture.
Then that self rose, in ornate papal regalia, and stepped outside.
Amid a million prayers, "he" wore a robe sewn with scripture, holding a staff set with Emperor's holy relics—gently addressing the people—bestowing blessings of the Emperor and of the Imperial Heir Apparent Rhodes.
"That… my clone?" Lorgar's voice broke. Ashes of the Monarchia flared in memory.
The holy canon he penned now crowned an imposter. Worse—the false Emperor had washed that imposter's sins away!
What sin? He had never been wrong! If anything, he'd been too loyal!
Fulgrim savored his brother's collapse like an art connoisseur.
"What exquisite irony! The citadel of faith you built with your heart—became someone else's ladder to godhood."
He leaned to Lorgar's ear, daemon whispers stabbing the soul: "Do you know why Horus and Magnus could return? Why your clone could be Ecclesiarch?
Because Father never wanted true sons—only obedient tools. You, my brother, refused to be a tool.
Hahahaha!"
"You're right. I want revenge. I'll destroy that clone," Lorgar said, eyes hard.
"Finally thought it through, my dear Lorgar." Fulgrim spread his arms to receive the surging chaos. Space behind him ripped, revealing the phantom of the Palace of Pleasure.
"Join my dark crusade! We'll nail the clone to the Golden Throne, and drink revenge from the false Emperor's skull!"
"You're right, brother. We'll drink from that false Emperor's head," Lorgar said.
A purple-red energy invaded Lorgar, shifting him from Chaos Undivided to a Slaanesh Daemon Prince.
Corax's claws dug deep. He saw Lorgar's skin peel, baring writhing warp runes beneath.
Worse were the futures Fulgrim displayed—Imperial citizens screaming beneath Chaos treads; their flesh twisted into warp nurseries; Custodians turned to walking corpses in violet fire, frozen still in kneel.
A vision of utter horror.
"You're mad! You'll set the galaxy ablaze!" The Raven Lord hurled a spear of shadow.
It dissolved into reeking rose petals before reaching Fulgrim.
Fulgrim caught a petal, watched it melt to slime in his palm, and sighed in pleasure.
"Ablaze? No, dear Corax—ascension." His form multiplied into afterimages, each playing a different nightmare future: "Humanity will bathe in ultimate delight. Their pain will be my sweetest wine."
He swept his serpent-scale cape across Corax's helm. "Stubborn raven—don't you want to know the truth? Is that dried corpse on the throne… truly our Father?"
"Silence!" Corax's wings exploded open—tens of thousands of ravens poured forth, a black hurricane. "I'll hear no more blasphemy!"
Fulgrim only laughed, more delighted. "Then rot with your loyalty, dear Corax." His voice became a choir.
The Raven Lord was sealed by Fulgrim's god-power and hauled to his flagship. Lorgar became his newest Daemon Prince.
He would continue to lie low, waiting for Slaanesh's godhead to fully merge with him.
…
On the Cosmic Beast world, in Rhodes's consorts' palace, the love-goddess Asha was pale—but smiling in relief.
She had forced out about seventy percent of Slaanesh's godhead—only thirty percent remained to sever.
She could also feel a new Slaanesh had been chosen—a new vessel for the god-power—soon to replace her as Slaanesh, and die in her stead.