Cyrene Valantion's prayer for retribution was answered two months after the destruction of the Perfect City. Grey warships returned to Kur.
One hundred and sixteen vessels, carrying one hundred thousand furious Word Bearers.
Zadkiel, recently elevated to "Baron of Corruption" by the Black Emperor, stared in shock at the quarter of a continent reduced to blackened ash.
An authorization signal of higher authority intruded upon the 17th Legion's communication network. A cold, low voice broke Zardu's shock.
"Warriors of the Word Bearers. I am Guilliman of the 13th Legion, Lord of Macragge."
"You are commanded to descend immediately to the planet's surface and assemble in the center of the ruins of what was once Monarchia."
"Coordinates are being sent. This order is not subject to dispute. Your entire Legion is required to assemble. That is all."
.....
Among the rubble of millions of marble buildings, drifting dust coated the armor of the hundred thousand Word Bearers.
The accumulating dust turned the scripture scrolls and prayer papers on their grey armor to a dusty grey-white.
A hundred thousand red eye-lenses stared straight ahead. Grey gauntlets gripped boltguns.
Sergeants led their squads, standing in precise order behind their captains. Companies assembled under their Chapter banners.
"Prepare yourselves," growled Kor Phaeron, First Captain of the Word Bearers, his form even thinner than theirs within his Terminator armor.
"The Primarch is coming."
A faint, reverent chant echoed over the comm channel. The Word Bearers, sorrowful yet expectant, awaited this moment.
For most of them, it was the first time they would bask in their Primarch's light. They considered it a blessing of fate.
The smoke and dust weighed heavily on their hearts. This moment of anticipation should not be happening in a desolate graveyard.
The golden Stormbird descended slowly. The ramp at the bottom of the cockpit slid open.
"Aurelian," the Word Bearers murmured as one.
The 17th Legion's Primarch had many titles. On the worlds he had visited, he was called the Chosen One by the God-Emperor's faithful.
Warriors of other Astartes Legions most often called him Urizen.
In the hearts of the Word Bearers, the golden Lorgar was their gene-father.
"My sons," Lorgar's smile was tinged with sorrow. "Seeing you lifts my spirit."
"Blood for blood!" The grey of his eyes, like winter on Colchis, turned to charcoal. "Blood for blood!"
Lorgar gripped the Illuminarum, the mace Ferrus Manus had forged for him after they fought side-by-side on Galadon II.
Its ivory haft, reinforced at the grip with black steel, led to a ballistarian adamantium head inlaid with silver runes.
Equidistant spikes, each as long as a man's arm, projected from the head.
The Gorgon's-stave of Medusa, a source of the Tartaros pattern Terminator armor, was one of its kind. The crozius of an Astartes Chaplain was a crude replica of the Illuminarum.
Lorgar looked towards the distant Thunderhawks. This new pattern of gunship was smaller than the Stormbird.
The Ultramarineswere among the first Legions to field them in great numbers. The Luna Wolves preferred the larger, more heavily armed Stormbirds.
"Guilliman, you and I may have never seen eye to eye, but we share the same blood."
"Come and face me. Take responsibility for your madness."
Steam hissed. The piston-driven ramp descended.
Zadkiel watched in surprise as the Honour Guard escorted Roboute Guilliman down the ramp. At his side walked a gaunt figure in simple attire.
His form seemed frail in Guilliman's shadow. In his hand, a black steel cane clinked with chains.
The Regent, Malcador.
He was the supreme, ever-present Lord of the War Council.
He was the Emperor's chief advisor, His right hand.
"What is this madness?" Kor Phaeron's snarl was full of disgust.
"Be calm, my friend," Lorgar murmured. "We will soon have our answers."
"Company Captains, to me."
One hundred captains stepped forward, grey gauntlets gripping boltguns and blades.
Behind them came one hundred Chaplains, their distinctive gold-trimmed armor and crozius arcanum unmistakable.
"Brother. Regent." Lorgar hid the tremor in his voice.
"Welcome to Monarchia."
"Lorgar," Guilliman's tone was without emotion. He added no further word.
"Primarch Lorgar." The Regent nodded in response.
"This meeting brings us all sorrow."
Lorgar stepped forward. "Does it? All of us? You do not seem very grieved, my brother."
Guilliman said nothing. Lorgar shifted his gaze, looking at Malcador.
"Answers, Regent."
"I want answers. What is the meaning of this?"
"Why have you done this?"
The Regent pulled back his hood. "Can you not guess, Lorgar?"
"Answer me!" Lorgar roared.
"I demand you explain your actions!"
"What have you done to my city?"
"It was not a compliant world," Malcador said, his tone measured. "This civilization, this world, was not..."
"Lies! Blasphemy!" Lorgar roared.
"It was the very model of compliance!"
"They chanted our father's name!"
"They honored Him every dawn!"
Lorgar's wild eyes fixed on Malcador. "Answer me, mortal!"
"Statues of the Emperor stand on every corner. By what right did you do this?"
The Regent, only half Lorgar's height, looked up. He sighed softly.
"The people of Kur worshipped Him."
"They worshipped Him as a god!"
Boom!
The dull thud of a weapon striking the ground. Lorgar's fingers curled into hooks, as if to gouge out his own eyes.
"You stand in the ruins of the Perfect City and say it was destroyed for no reason?"
"You came here only to show me the collapse of your frail mortal mind?"
"Lorgar..." The Regent stepped forward, trying to calm the enraged Primarch.
Bang!
Lorgar's hand struck the Regent, sending him flying twenty meters.
He tumbled and crashed into the dust. Every ear heard the crack of breaking bone.
Lorgar stood face-to-face with Guilliman, his features contorted, his breath ragged.
"Why... did you... do... this..."
"I was ordered."
"You follow the orders of this craven?" Lorgar laughed, pointing at the Regent. "This worm?"
He shook his head and turned to walk back to his sons.
"I will lead my Legion to Terra. I will speak to our father personally..."
"He knows." The Regent rose unsteadily.
"What?" Lorgar pressed. "What did you say?"
"I said, he knows." The Regent closed his eyes, leaning on the staff that symbolized his office.
"Your father knows."
"You lie!" Lorgar gasped.
The Regent did not argue. He raised his face to the sky, moved his mind, and every living being within ten kilometers heard the psychic voice echo in their minds.
One hundred thousand Word Bearers.
Every Ultramarine.
Seven survivors, including Cyrene Valantion.
"My liege. He will not listen to me."
A thunderous sonic boom. The filtermers of Lyman's Ear reduced the roar to a tolerable level.
A blazing golden light struck even the Astartes blind, even as their visors dimmed.
Zadkiel, the "Baron of Corruption," unlike the hundred thousand Word Bearers who lost their sight, saw a towering figure, shimmering in a glorious white light.
"Lorgar." The Emperor's voice fell somewhere between hatred and love, in an unreadable place.
"Kneel."
A tidal wave of low psychic force slammed into the hundred thousand Word Bearers, a hammer blow that drove them to their knees.
Though many were unwilling, they could not resist.
This was not devotion, not loyalty, not worship. It was servitude.
Ekket Tarr, a Word Bearer, Captain of the 7th Assault Company of the Serrated Sun Chapter, instinctively tried to resist the enforced reverence. His body disobeyed.
Zadkiel, instantly ascended to the First Level of the Thelema mindstate, his jaw clenched, his temples tense.
The conflict between his will and his body's instinct made his armor hum.
'Forgive me, my Lord!' Zadkiel closed his eyes, praying silently. He did not ascend to the Second Level, lest the light from his spine draw the Emperor's attention.
Bang!
His resistance held for only a moment. His knees slammed into the dust of Monarchia.
"Lorgar. Kneel."
Lorgar looked at Guilliman, standing tall. He dabbed at his eyes, as if to wipe away an illusion.
Slowly, he went to one knee.
Zadkiel, Ekket Tarr, and the others ground their teeth as they saw the Ultramarines, at Guilliman's command, rise from their kneeling positions.
The Ultramarines stood beside the Emperor. The Word Bearers knelt among the blackened bones of the ruins.
"My son. You are a commander, not a priest." The Emperor's voice was low.
"You were made for war, for conquest. Your task is to hold aloft the shield of Truth, to protect the human race."
"I..."
The Emperor cut him off. "This is worship. It poisons the Truth."
"You call me a god. You have spread, across so many worlds, the lie that has driven humanity to the brink of extinction time and again."
"The people rejoiced..." Lorgar protested.
"The people were deceived."
Lorgar rose to his feet. "My Legion has given your Imperium the most fervently loyal worlds!"
"This is not my Imperium." The Emperor's words struck the soul of every Word Bearer.
"This is the Imperium of Man. It belongs to the human race, enlightened by the Truth."
"You are a god!" Lorgar retorted.
"I will not be silent just because you deny a word. Tens of thousands of worlds operate at your command. Millions of ships carry out your will."
"You are perpetual. You see all, know all."
"You are only a god in name!"
Lorgar stood in the midst of the energy storm. The scripture scrolls on his armor fluttered and scattered.
"You are a god!"
"End the lie. Admit it."
The Emperor shook his head. His refusal was cold.
"I am no god!"
"Enough."
Zadkiel looked at his gene-father, his body trembling, blood trickling from his ears.
'My father, you do not understand. He is not a god. The Black Emperor is.'
He suppressed the urge to bow, his hands clasped. The Emperor's thunderous voice echoed.
"Word Bearers. Remember the lesson of this place, of the ruin at the end of the path of lies."
"Your Legion will be reborn here."
"Embrace your nature. Throw yourselves into battle. Fulfill your duty. Serve the Imperium."
"Father..." Lorgar's plea stopped short. The crackle of displaced air, and the Emperor was gone.
Zadkiel rose immediately, looking around at the suffering Word Bearers.
Humiliated, they stood among the ruins, lifeless.
Boom!
As the Word Bearers struggled to their feet, Lorgar collapsed to his knees.
Zadkiel saw other captains and Chaplains surge forward. He pushed into the crowd.
His form, more powerful than any other Word Bearer, pushed the others aside.
"Aurelian," he murmured.
Lorgar looked up, his eyes vacant. He did not recognize this son, whom he had personally praised.
Zadkiel glanced at Guilliman, watching silently.
"My Primarch, we must return to the fleet."
Zadkiel reached out, touching Lorgar's shoulder, where a prayer scroll had once hung.
Lorgar ignored him. Suddenly, he raised his face to the sky and howled.
A long, guttural cry aimed at the uncaring heavens.
Zadkiel, the "Baron of Corruption," gripped the trembling body with his powerful arms.
Lorgar's cry finally ended. He scooped up a handful of black dust and smeared it on his face.
The fused, ashen bones of the Perfect City covered his features.
Supported by Zadkiel and Kor Phaeron, Lorgar rose. His gaze was venomous as he looked at Guilliman.
"Guilliman."
"You bask in our father's favor. Do you savor seeing me brought low?"
Guilliman, unruffled, spoke calmly.
"Our father has charged me with one final message."
"Speak it and leave!" Lorgar raised the Illuminarum, its spiked head raining dust.
"Five Custodes, and fifteen more aboard my ship." Guilliman gestured to the golden-armored warriors.
"Brother, our father commands that they accompany you."
"I refuse!" Lorgar cried.
"I have no need of them."
Guilliman's tone was calm.
"Our father has a different view. When your Legion rejoins the Great Crusade, they will serve as the Emperor's eyes and ears."
Lorgar gripped the Illuminarum. "Does our father also send his hounds to watch over you?"
"Do they also lurk in your precious Five Hundred Worlds, to secretly report your every move?"
"You should return to your fleet, my brother," Guilliman reminded.
"There is much for you to do."
Lorgar snorted. His features twisted with disgust.
"Someday, you will know how I feel."
"Will you still be able to laugh when a world of Ultramar is burned?"
"Ardum? Iax? Espandor?"
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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