Horrifying warp-chaos power poured off the man, making the nearby daemons of the Immaterium too afraid to approach.
The palace gates were shut tight. The people inside cowered in their rooms, not daring to look at the man outside.
Damn it, how long has it been? So long he'd lost track—but Corax was stuck to him like a burr, refusing to let go.
If you want revenge, go find someone else! Like Horus's son, the current Warmaster of Chaos, Abaddon.
Or other fallen Primarchs—like Angron, Mortarion, Magnus, or Fulgrim.
Why keep fixating on me? I'm just a useless preacher. Among the Primarchs, I was the weakest in combat—by far.
If the Monarchia hadn't been destroyed, he would never have betrayed the Emperor, because the Emperor was his god!
But when his god abandoned him, he had no choice left. How could a god forsake His faithful?
So he chose betrayal, and set out to find his true god. Yet the more he pondered, the more he realized the Four Chaos Powers were no good either.
Thus he chose none of the four, and instead, in the warp, became a Chaos Undivided Daemon Prince.
Countless years passed—he hadn't even seen his own offspring. No one dared approach this region.
Because there were two evils here: two powerful daemon princes!
Lorgar looked helplessly at his brother. My brother, look at yourself—right now you're even more like a daemon than I am. Have you noticed what you've become?
"How long are you going to hide? I'll stay here with you, until the end of the world."
Corax didn't know how long he'd stayed here. Only one thought filled his mind: revenge.
He'd been in this warp region who knew how long, but the Imperium had Rogal Dorn, Guilliman, Vulkan—even without him it would not fall apart. No matter what, he would bring this traitor to justice!
Every so often, some short-sighted Chaos Astartes came to make trouble, trying to meet their Primarch.
Swarms of Chaos Astartes attacked him, but Corax merely waved his hand and endless shadow flew out from him, devouring them all.
Over time, no one dared to come. Even the Word Bearers stopped coming to pay respects to their gene-father.
"Corax, you're the same as me now. If you don't stay here—if you return to the Imperium—maybe there's still hope. But as you are now, you've become a monster like me." From the castle, Lorgar poked his head out and spoke.
He only dared to speak to the man outside like this; if he stepped out, he'd be beaten senseless.
Only by hiding here, with strong warp defenses and sorcery blessed by the Changer of Ways, could he barely hold his brother off and keep him out of the castle.
"No matter what I become, it doesn't matter. I only want you dead." Corax's cold, merciless words drove Lorgar to despair.
"Why don't you hunt the other traitors? Why are you fixated on me? I wasn't the only one who betrayed you—I only incubated Horus. Which of them did less damage than I did?" Lorgar roared.
He repeated this every day—who knew how many times. He longed for his brother to leave—just for a moment—so he could enjoy a sliver of peace!
"Don't even think about it. I'll repeat this to you every day. I only want you dead," Corax said.
Bang!
The castle windows slammed shut. Powerful psychic wards activated, sealing the entire castle.
Seeing the windows close, Corax snorted coldly, then looked at his shadowed, monstrous arm and sighed.
In the warp he felt no discomfort. On the contrary, a comfort beyond words—like… like going home.
That feeling told Corax he likely could never return to the Imperium.
His human shell, his Primarch body—under endless warp corrosion and saturation—
Had begun transforming into something else. Ten thousand years had passed—he hadn't eaten anything.
No nutrients, no energy—and yet in the warp he was full of vigor, even better than ever.
But his body had changed—a pair of vast wings of shadow-energy had sprouted from his back.
His flesh had warped—stained pitch-black like a daemon's, corrupted by the warp!
In this state, what human aspect remained? He was a daemon through and through.
Sometime, somehow, Corax had completed an apotheosis ritual—without even realizing—becoming a Daemon Prince.
Like this, how could he face returning to the Imperium? How could he face his brothers?
So the Raven Lord decided to remain in the warp. After killing Lorgar, he would hunt the other daemon-primarchs—until every last one of them was dead.
All of them dead—the whole of Chaos eradicated. Extirpate them all!
Now, Corax clung to a sliver of will to remain rational, to keep from becoming utterly a daemon prince in mind as well as form.
Time felt frozen in eternity. Whatever happened outside, nothing here changed. But today, something different occurred: a squad of Noise Marines in purple armor appeared.
Their leader stood over five meters tall, with daemon wings and horns.
"Looks like I won't be bored today. You'd better keep me entertained for a long while." Corax snorted at the approaching Chaos Astartes and their massive daemon leader.
Though he'd become what he was, he had no mercy for traitors and warp-spawn. If they appeared before him, they would die.
A raven of shadow shot from Corax toward the giant daemon.
Seeing the onrushing shadow-raven, the massive daemon snorted, drew a purple longsword, and cleaved the construct in one stroke—lightly dissolving all of Corax's attacks.
The Noise Marines and their giant daemon advanced. Corax finally saw the daemon's face.
It was both familiar and strange: familiar because it was Fulgrim's visage; strange because of what he had become.
Horns on his brow, wings at his back—this was a Daemon Prince.
"My brother! Ten thousand years gone, is this how you welcome me? I came to celebrate your rebirth—I even brought wine. Will you share a drink?" Fulgrim said with a sly smile.
"I'll never drink with you, Fulgrim. I only want your head. You've come at a good time—saves me a trip." Corax moved to strike.
"Then let's play, Corax." Fulgrim coldly smiled and drew his purple runeblade.
Shadow and violet flame crashed upon the warp's wasteland. Two utterly different chaos powers tore reality into webbed fissures.
Corax's shadow-wings unfurled—each feather a vortical eddy of dark matter—while Fulgrim's serpentine tail seeped syrupy Slaanesh fire between its barbed scales.
"Look at your wings, brother." Fulgrim flicked aside a diving raven with his blade, voice dripping a sweet venom. "More… complete than at Isstvan. And prettier."
He drawled on the last word, mocking the loyalist brother who had become what he most loathed: a Daemon Prince.
The daemonblade screamed. Hundreds of imprisoned souls shrieked in resonance, forcing Corax back three steps.
The Raven Lord's heels ploughed smoking furrows. His black-gauntleted hand plunged into his own chest, wrenching out a heaving mass of shadow and hurling it skyward. It split into a storm of ravens, each beak crackling with warp lightning.
"At least my feathers are real. At least my power is my own." Corax's voice spoke from a thousand beaks as the storm swallowed Fulgrim whole.
Corax's true form coalesced behind Fulgrim—shadow talons tore open the left wing-membrane.
The Prince of Excess shrieked in a note between pain and ecstasy. His serpent tail coiled Corax's waist, barbs scraping away tarry, uncanny matter.
It was the blood of two Primarchs—one a starlit black fluid thrumming with shadow power—
The other a fragrant, pink-violet crystal. Mixed together, it squirmed on its own, forming micro-rifts in the warp.
Round one was near even.
"Ten thousand years have passed, Corax. Do you know what the outside is like now?" Fulgrim pressed close to Corax's rotting raven-helm; a forked tongue licked the crack in the mask.
It made the Raven Lord retch—he kicked his brother away. Once an aesthete who loved beauty, he was now a depraved pervert.
"You taste wonderful, brother. Let me lick you again?" Fulgrim leered.
Corax's shadow power surged, nauseated to the point of fury.
His wings became light-devouring singularities, dragging every Noise Marine within kilometers into twisted ribbons of metal.
As they were about to die, violet energy flared from Fulgrim, shielding his gene-sons and saving them.
"Fulgrim, the power of Excess has made you a complete monster. I will grant you death, so you can find peace in it."
"Hahaha! No, Corax, you're mistaken. My power isn't a gift of Slaanesh—I am Slaanesh." Fulgrim laughed queerly, his words bearing deep implication.
To Corax, he looked every inch a madman—a pervert.
Lorgar, in the castle, was also startled by the battle. He opened a window and saw his two brothers dueling.
"Fulgrim, is that you? Help me—help me defeat Corax."
Lorgar clutched at a straw. He wanted desperately to escape his pursuer.
"Haha, my brother, of course I'll help—but with conditions, as you know." Fulgrim smirked up at Lorgar.
"What conditions?" If it was too harsh—like becoming Fulgrim's slave—he wouldn't accept.
He could just keep holing up; he'd been a shut-in a long time anyway.
"You will become my Daemon Prince. No other demands. You'll be free to do anything you want." Fulgrim smiled.
"You want me to become a Slaanesh Daemon Prince?" Lorgar blurted.
He knew the Four wanted Primarchs. Being targeted by Slaanesh wasn't surprising.
"No, no, brother, you misunderstand. I'm no longer that woman's slave. I've slipped her leash.
And soon I'll seize her power. I am the new Slaanesh—the new Prince of Dark Delight." Fulgrim laughed.
At some point, Slaanesh seemed to have abandoned Her divine mantle. The one chosen to inherit that Chaos godhead was Fulgrim.
He could feel it—the Chaos pantheon's alignment was already half-divorced from that woman. Soon, when she fully relinquished the mantle, he would be crowned.
"What did you say, Fulgrim? Are you mad?" Corax said.
"Hahaha! I've only obtained a portion of the god-power so far—but let me show you!"
Fulgrim waved his hand. The gray, undivided warp region was instantly wrapped in a violet aura. Slaanesh power manifested around him.
This godly might immediately suppressed the two Daemon Primarchs.