"In the Imperial calendar year around 1800, the Eternal Drakenfels led an undead army and nearly decimated half of the Duchy of Parravon, all for the sole purpose of collecting enough blood tax," Lorgar recounted, as he perused the forbidden book he'd effortlessly retrieved from the Cathedral of Justice in Altdorf, the Imperial capital. "According to the text, subjects under vampire rule must pay three types of taxes: the bone tax, blood tax, and the head tax."
"The Eternal was a necromancer?" the Emperor's gaze fixed on Lorgar. From the villagers, Lorgar had learned much about the Eternal Drakenfels, whose existence had once been a well-kept secret. However, after Prince Oswald of Ostland defeated him, details about the Eternal had been shared publicly. "Supposedly, yes. He could command both Chaos Daemons and undead armies," Lorgar replied.
"A willing servant of Chaos," the Emperor coldly remarked.
"In around Imperial Year 2470, Prince Oswald of Ostland assembled a small party with the intent to finally rid the world of the Eternal Drakenfels, who resided in the Dragon Rock," Lorgar continued, rolling out a scroll. "He recruited several skilled individuals: a Bretonnian knight—not a Grail Knight—two Dwarf rangers, a thief, a vampire, a dancer, and a few other irrelevant figures. Together, they set out."
"A fool's errand, yet commendable courage," the Emperor nodded slightly, though his main interest remained the Eternal. "The Eternal wouldn't be so easily defeated. To kill such a being requires... Continue, Lorgar."
"Oswald and his group paid a great price, but in the end, they miraculously destroyed Drakenfels' physical form. For a moment, the Old World trembled as hundreds of undead and daemons masquerading as humans revealed their true forms. Many dark castles cloaked by magic were exposed. The prince and his companions were hailed as heroes throughout the Empire."
"....." The Emperor remained silent, prompting Lorgar to reveal the inevitable twist. "But in truth, Oswald had not truly defeated the Eternal. He merely destroyed his physical body. The Eternal Drakenfels lived on, much like the Necrons—undying but never truly gone."
"For twenty-five years, the prince basked in his heroic reputation across the Old World. Then, after that, he grew weary—or perhaps it was Drakenfels who tired of it. In Imperial Year 2495, Oswald set his sights on a grander scheme: to gather the Empire's elite, including the Elector Counts and high nobility, and wipe them all out at once."
"This plan took years to prepare."
"In the end, it failed. Just as the plan was on the verge of success, Oswald's soul cried out to the gods, and somehow, the gods answered. It is said that divine intervention occurred at that moment. The prince seized the opportunity to take his own life, averting the Empire's collapse. The Oswald family of Ostland died out, and Grandmaster Vamir von Zhukov of the Bull Knights was appointed as the new Elector Count by Governor Luitpold. Thus, the Zhukov family took over as the Elector Counts of Ostland." Lorgar set down the scroll. "That's the extent of the information."
"No doubt about it—another figure akin to Oltar Pison, but unlike Oltar, who sought to use his peculiar psychic abilities to carve out a future for humanity, this Eternal must have given in to Chaos for power and immortality. Like all immortals, he was strong enough to manipulate Chaos Daemons," the Emperor concluded. "He must have arrived in this world before the Iron Men's rebellion, back when our civilization was as bright as the stars."
"The Golden Age? The Iron Men's rebellion? Father, could you tell me more about that era? You were a witness to the Golden Age, weren't you?" Lorgar's curiosity was evident.
"A distant age, filled with memories. I once believed humanity would ascend to become the masters of the universe, reigning over all. Back then, I was merely an observer," the Emperor's tone held rare sentiment. "Have you seen the 'Great Game' of the Chaos Gods in the Eye of Terror? The endless war?"
"Yes, a ten-thousand-year war of extreme intensity. The Daemons of the Four Gods are innumerable—hundreds of billions, perhaps more. Every day, multiple daemon worlds are destroyed in the conflict, but countless more daemons are constantly spawned from the realms of the Four," Lorgar confirmed.
"The war of the Iron Men rebellion was even worse than the Great Game," the Emperor closed his eyes. "It was a battle of gods—indescribable, incomprehensible. A war beyond words. You only need to know that a single Titan from the Golden Age could obliterate you with a single shot—or simply crush you underfoot."
"And what of the Eldar Empire? I've heard it was even stronger than our Golden Age?" Lorgar's interest deepened.
"The Eldar Empire was indeed stronger, more powerful than humanity. But by then, they had already fallen into decadence. Yet, we must acknowledge that if not for their involvement in the Iron Men rebellion—assisting humanity out of self-preservation, much like the Eldar's Death Spectres plan to aid Guilliman now—humanity would have faced even greater challenges," the Emperor explained casually. "The Death God Ynnead represents the Eldar's last hope. Forced by circumstance, humanity's fate is now intertwined with the Death Spectres. At least until we solve the Chaos problem, the Death Spectres are an ally we need. Ynnead's power can directly harm Slaanesh."
"But the Eldar are treacherous, unreliable. They act only based on their prophecies," Lorgar stressed. "They aren't dependable allies!"
"You still don't understand? Prophecies can be manipulated, Lorgar," the Emperor's voice turned cold. "For now, our pact with Ynnead holds. Before Chaos is dealt with, the Death Spectres are crucial allies. Compared to Ynnead, the Laughing God Cegorach is nothing but a coward, always acting cautiously only when he has a way out."
"Well, I suppose. After all, the galaxy is just us now," Lorgar sighed. "Oh, and the Necrons, those skeletal creatures, along with the eternally ravenous Tyranids, and the ever-resilient Orks."
Their conversation continued as they traversed the mountains, approaching the border between the Empire and Bretonnia.
Before them loomed the dark and menacing Dragon Rock Castle, an eerie, Gothic structure dotted with broken statues—once home to the Eternal Drakenfels.
However, the area was anything but quiet. In fact, it was quite the opposite—chaotic.
At the castle's gates, a three-way battle was unfolding.
Beastmen had overrun the once-abandoned Imperial outposts surrounding the castle. Led by a Beastlord and a massive Doombull, the horde of Ungors, Gors, and Minotaurs rained arrows down on their enemies from fortified positions.
On the other side, a Skaven horde was attacking the Beastmen's fortifications. Though vast in numbers, the Skaven's assault was disorganized, with Plague Catapults hurling diseased projectiles.
"Peshtilan! Peshtilan!" A horde of Plague Monks shrieked as they charged the Beastmen, their bodies covered in festering sores. The pus oozing from their wounds caused the Beastmen to break out in red welts before disintegrating into pools of slime.
If no other force intervened, the Beastmen's camp would eventually fall to the relentless Skaven horde. The rats' sheer numbers overwhelmed the Beastmen's defenses.
However, a third force also entered the fray—an army from the greenskin tribe known as the Bonecrushers, descending from the Grey Mountains. Thousands of goblins and hundreds of orcs charged at both the Skaven and the Beastmen, indiscriminately attacking anyone in their path. For the greenskins, it wasn't about victory—it was about the thrill of battle.
"Go, Lorgar," the Emperor ordered coldly as he surveyed the chaotic battlefield. "Deal with them."
"???" Lorgar was taken aback. "Me? What about you?"
"Horus once asked me a similar question," the Emperor replied icily. "You handle the enemies outside the castle. I'll deal with those inside."
"You take the easy part and leave the hard part to me?" Lorgar grumbled. "Fine, I always knew you only had nineteen sons."
"Twenty-one now," the Emperor responded as he began summoning his immense golden psychic power to prepare for teleportation.
"Why even bring me along if you won't fight beside me?" Lorgar fumed. "Also, I'm still missing one brother!"
"Or we could switch—you could deal with the traps, the evil curses buried deep within the castle, and the Greater Daemon of Chaos whose true name has been bound by the Eternal," the Emperor's face remained expressionless.
"Leave it to me, Father!" Lorgar immediately relented, bowing respectfully. "I'll handle the enemies outside."
Without another word, the Emperor vanished in a flash of golden light, leaving Lorgar alone.
Lorgar nodded to himself, his expression becoming serious.
Many viewed Lorgar as nothing more than a charlatan—a sentiment even he shared. He often accompanied Ang
ron, but unlike Angron, Lorgar was far more calculating and measured. While Angron was impulsive, Lorgar was thoughtful and scheming. He lived by his faith and was willing to risk everything for it, as he had with Angron. Yet, Lorgar also schemed to push Angron into his transformation as a Daemon Prince of Khorne.
Now, after ten thousand years, Lorgar had forced the Emperor to concede that a state religion was necessary. His goal was clear: to become the Emperor's tool, the willing instrument of his father's will. Unlike Angron, who had rejected further service to the Emperor, and unlike Guilliman, who took up the mantle with reservations, Lorgar embraced his role as the Emperor's devout tool, prepared to kneel and offer everything.
The battle was reaching its climax. The Skaven were fighting with reckless abandon, sending wave after wave of Plague Monks and Clanrats to assault the Beastmen's encampment. The sheer numbers of slaves and Clanrats overwhelmed the Beastmen's defenses, despite their strategic position.
The Beastmen had the advantage of terrain. This particular tribe was well-versed in mountain warfare. They had fortified their camp along the path leading to Dragon Rock, using rudimentary wooden barricades. While the camp was not particularly sturdy, it made excellent use of the surrounding terrain. They had set numerous traps along the path, and their defensive lines slowed the Skaven assault, allowing the Beastmen to hold their ground and mount counter-attacks with their Minotaurs.
But time was not on the Beastmen's side. The Skaven's numbers would eventually overrun them, and the wooden fortifications were no match for the Plague Catapults.
As for the greenskins, Lorgar watched for a moment and concluded that they were fighting for fun rather than victory. The Goblin Warboss had yet to commit his Wolf Riders, likely saving them for a decisive strike or a quick retreat if things went south.
Amusing, Lorgar thought, as he began reciting a chant. Gripping his staff tightly, the golden psychic energy encircled his form. An invisible force field began to cover the battlefield.
In an instant, the battlefield erupted into frenzied chaos. The Skaven, Beastmen, and greenskins all seemed to lose their minds, overtaken by a madness that pushed them into an all-out assault.
"WAAAAAGH! For Gork an' Mork!"
"For the Horned Rat! Yesss-yes!"
"Kill… maim! EAT!"
The battle became a bloody melee, with all sides suffering heavy losses. The Beastmen finally unleashed their Minotaur reserves, massive creatures standing over four meters tall, wielding twin axes to cleave through Clanrats and devour their flesh. The greenskins unleashed their Wolf Riders to charge the flanks of the Skaven, while the greenskin Boyz hacked through the Plague Monks.
Lorgar waited for about twenty minutes. The time was right. Drawing a deep breath, Lorgar summoned the full extent of his power. The golden glow surrounding him flared, and in the next moment, he shot forward like an arrow.
"I am the Emperor's word made flesh!"
"I will destroy all that is impure!"
Golden light flooded the battlefield as Lorgar's psychic storm engulfed everything.
Two hours later, Lorgar regrouped with the Emperor inside Dragon Rock.
The castle was littered with the charred remains of dark creatures. The Emperor, standing over the smoldering corpse of a Greater Daemon, held a sealed bookcase in front of him. His fists crackled with platinum fire. Lorgar, covered in gore and pieces of flesh, approached, his staff still dripping with blood. "What have you found, Father?"
Lorgar noted that the Daemon was truly dead, its form burned beyond return to the Warp.
"The books have been taken by the humans, but the modules remain. This is an Entropy Engine," the Emperor held up a technological relic. "As I suspected, Drakenfels was an immortal from the Golden Age who arrived in this world. This is a war machine from that time, lost for twenty thousand years. No wonder the Skaven and Beastmen were so desperate to claim the castle's treasures… Our spoils here are more valuable than we could have imagined."
"What does it do?" Lorgar asked, intrigued.
"It's used to pull… or ignite an entire planet," the Emperor explained, attaching a mechanical eyepiece to his right eye to scan the blurred STC module. "Its efficiency surpasses Cyclonic Torpedoes by an order of magnitude. I suspect Belisarius Cawl will be thrilled with this gift. Spire will likely use it against Abaddon's Blackstone Fortress."
"The newly appointed Lord High Admiral of Cadia?" Lorgar asked.
"Give us three hours, Lorgar," the Emperor commanded. "Let's turn this castle upside down and find every scrap of valuable knowledge. After that, we'll cleanse this place. Ryan's head courtier requires a new assembly hall."
"Understood!" Lorgar saluted.
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