Chapter 52: The Emperor — "I Love You."
The valley had not yet recovered from the shock.
Dust still hung in the air.
The echo of that slap—that impossible, reality-bending psychic strike—lingered like a wound in the fabric of the world itself.
Erebus stared.
Not at Perturabo.
Not at Magnus.
Not even at Lorgar.
But at Him.
The Emperor of Mankind.
Why is He here?
Erebus's mind raced.
Does He have nothing better to do? No Golden Throne to build? No Imperium to conquer? Why is He watching me every moment like this?!
His lips twitched in irritation.
The Emperor's gaze fell upon Perturabo.
Cold.
Unyielding.
"Perturabo," He said, voice like distant thunder, "you raised your hand against your brothers."
Erebus blinked.
So I'm not included? I'm an outsider now?
"I did not!" Perturabo roared, fury rekindling. "They conspired against the Imperium!"
Crack.
Another psychic blow.
Clean. Precise.
Utterly humiliating.
Erebus nearly laughed.
"Magnus," the Emperor said calmly, "discipline him."
There was not a moment's hesitation.
Magnus the Red stepped forward, expression unreadable—but his eye gleamed faintly with something dangerously close to satisfaction.
Warp-light gathered in his hand.
It coalesced—
—into a crackling psionic lash.
"As you command, Father."
The lash struck.
Flames of the immaterium flared—not enough to destroy, but enough to burn.
Perturabo clenched his teeth.
He did not scream.
But the pain was real.
Erebus folded his arms.
Good. Very good.
"You disappoint me, Perturabo."
Magnus paused slightly at those words.
They sounded…
Familiar.
Too familiar.
"Father—" Perturabo began.
The Emperor raised a hand.
Silence fell instantly.
Then—
something changed.
The Emperor stepped forward.
Closer.
Closer still.
Until He stood before Perturabo.
The Lord of Iron closed his eyes.
He knew what came next.
Judgment.
Punishment.
Rejection.
But it never came.
Instead—
He was embraced.
Perturabo's eyes snapped open.
The sensation was… impossible.
Cold.
And warm.
Like iron left beneath a dying sun.
Like the void… touched by fire.
"I am sorry," the Emperor said softly.
The words struck harder than any blow.
"My son."
Silence.
Absolute.
Shattering.
"Magnus. Lorgar. Perturabo…" the Emperor continued, voice quiet but carrying across the valley. "I have failed you."
No one moved.
No one spoke.
"I love each of you. As a father should. And yet—I have allowed division to grow between you."
Golden light flickered.
And then—
Tears.
Liquid gold fell from the Emperor's eyes.
Erebus froze.
His expression cracked.
"What… is this?"
His voice rose, trembling with disbelief.
"No. No, this is wrong. This isn't Him!"
He staggered back, eyes wide.
"The Emperor does not act like this! He does not feel like this!"
His voice turned almost hysterical.
"This is a trick! A deception of Tzeentch! Magnus—wake up! You're being played!"
Magnus said nothing.
Lorgar said nothing.
Perturabo…
said nothing.
They only watched.
"I should not have tested you, Perturabo," the Emperor said.
Erebus blinked.
Slowly.
"…Tested him?"
He tilted his head.
"Wait. That was my plan."
"I am not a perfect father," the Emperor continued. "And I will not pretend otherwise."
He turned slightly.
"Erebus has been punished."
Erebus frowned.
Have I?
"Perturabo," the Emperor said, voice firm once more, "you will apologize to your brothers."
A pause.
"And you will mean it."
Without hesitation—
Perturabo bowed his head.
"I was wrong."
His voice was heavy, but steady.
"Magnus. Lorgar. I allowed anger to rule me. I spoke without restraint."
A brief pause.
"I am… sorry."
Erebus's jaw dropped.
"I too apologize," Lorgar said softly. "I allowed suspicion to cloud my judgment."
Magnus sighed.
"And I… may have escalated matters unnecessarily."
A beat.
"Also, I owe you a birthday gift."
"It is not my birthday," Perturabo muttered.
Erebus clutched his head.
This isn't real.
This is not Warhammer.
This is not how this is supposed to go.
The warp flickered faintly.
Distant.
Unseen.
Watching.
This has to be a conspiracy.
Even Shaeluna would not twist reality like this…
Erebus stared at the Emperor.
Who are you?
The Emperor, meanwhile, seemed entirely at ease.
In truth—
He was thinking about something else entirely.
Acting.
Ancient Terra.
Long before Unity.
Before war.
Before gods.
He had once performed.
Not for glory—but convenience.
A role well-played could solve many problems.
And if tears were required—
Then tears would fall.
Even now.
"Erebus."
The Emperor's voice cut through his thoughts.
Erebus stiffened.
For a moment—
he expected something absurd.
Another speech.
Another emotional revelation.
Instead—
"It is time you understood the truth of this world."
Something snapped.
Power surged.
Dark.
Golden.
Defiant.
Erebus broke free.
The Emperor's restraint shattered like glass.
He rose into the air, aura blazing.
"You fraud!" he roared. "You damned golden tyrant! Do not think you can deceive me!"
The response was immediate.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Psychic force hammered him from the air.
Again.
Again.
Again.
When it ended—
Erebus lay on his back.
Staring at the sky.
Broken.
Silent.
What is wrong with this world…?
Later
Peace.
Somehow—
peace.
Perturabo sat with Magnus and Lorgar.
Speaking.
Calmly.
Openly.
Erebus watched from across the chamber.
Unmoving.
Unblinking.
Nearby—
Angron sat with a cup of tea.
Reading.
Erebus paced.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Like a man walking the edge of madness.
Angron's eye twitched.
More than once.
"Stop," Angron finally growled. "You're going to break something."
Khârn stepped forward, offering a cup.
"Tea, Lord Erebus."
Erebus accepted it.
Sat down.
Stared into it.
He's watching me.
That golden… thing… is watching me.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Why is the Emperor like this?
Why is He… human?
Shouldn't He be distant?
Unreachable?
A cold architect of destiny?
Instead—
He spoke.
He listened.
He even…
loved.
Then what about me?
Erebus drank.
Slowly.
Deeply.
If this continues… there will be no Heresy.
He inhaled sharply.
Once.
Twice.
Thirteen times.
No Black King.
No great rebellion.
No fall…
His gaze drifted.
Toward Perturabo.
Laughing.
Talking.
At peace.
Erebus's eye twitched.
Give me back the bitter one.
He stood abruptly—
—and a massive hand stopped him.
Angron.
Their eyes met.
For once—
the Butcher of Worlds looked… conflicted.
"Don't," Angron said quietly. "If you keep pushing…"
A pause.
"…something's going to break."
Behind them—
Khârn sighed, almost mournfully.
"My lord," he muttered, "if even you give in… what are we supposed to call him now?"
Erebus said nothing.
For the first time—
he did not have a plan.
And that—
terrified him.
End of Chapter 52
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