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Chapter 115: The God of Fries and Ketchup
Kor Phaeron had been Lorgar's adoptive father and spiritual guide on Colchis, a priest of the Covenant Church who ruled over decaying religions in the name of absent gods. Despite years of physical and emotional abuse, Lorgar remained intensely loyal to the man who had raised him from infancy.
Under Kor Phaeron's zealous influence, Lorgar became an unwavering defender of the Covenant's faith, his formidable eloquence and preternatural gift for inspiration drawing fanatical followers to his cause.
But then came the dream that would shatter everything.
In his vision, Lorgar beheld a golden-armoured figure spreading divine truth across the star-scattered void. Legions of angels served this being in an incomparably glorious kingdom where all souls found eternal peace.
Upon waking, tears still wet on his tattooed cheeks, Lorgar felt the certainty of revelation burning in his chest. This golden figure, this was the one true God and Saviour his soul had always sought.
He declared it so immediately, severing all ties with the Covenant Church that had shaped his youth.
The betrayal cut deep. The Church that had molded him branded Lorgar heretic and traitor, vowing his destruction with the fury of the spurned faithful.
What followed was a brutal holy war that consumed entire continents, with brothers fighting brothers in the name of competing truths. The carnage continued until the thunder of Imperial dropships split the sky.
Using the Emperor's forces as a manifestation of divine providence, Lorgar conquered his world completely. Then, with hope burning bright in his heart, he departed Colchis to meet the father he had seen in golden dreams.
Emperor's Flagship
The Emperor stood with quiet authority on the boarding deck of his flagship, his recovered sons arrayed beside him in all their transhuman magnificence. As Lorgar's gunship settled onto the deck, hydraulics hissed their mechanical hymn. The hatch cycled open with ceremonial slowness.
A towering figure emerged, clad in religious vestments that spoke of most profound devotion. Sacred scriptures covered every inch of his robes in flowing Colchisian script, prayers and benedictions wrapping around his massive frame like armour made of faith.
His skin bore the ritual tattoos of his world's most devout, marking him unmistakably as a true believer. Behind him walked a retinue of followers, their eyes bright with religious fervour.
Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Thirteenth Legion and Lord of Ultramar, felt his expression sour as he studied his newly returned brother. "A religious fanatic?"
The words came out harsher than intended, but Guilliman had spent years building rational civilisations founded on logic and practical governance. Religion was superstition, useful perhaps for controlling primitive populations, but ultimately a crutch that prevented true enlightenment.
"Every Primarch walks his own path, brother," Sanguinius murmured diplomatically, the feathers of his great wings rustling as he nudged Guilliman with gentle reproach.
"Try not to make your disdain quite so obvious. We are here to welcome him home, not make him feel alienated."
Guilliman forced his features into a more diplomatic arrangement, though scepticism still clouded his eyes. Around them, the other Primarchs studied their returned sibling with varying degrees of curiosity and judgment. Each wondered what manner of man this scripture-wrapped giant would prove to be.
The reunion proceeded with formal grace. Each son of the Emperor stepped forward in turn, offering greetings weighted with the dignity of their station. Names were exchanged, hands clasped in brotherhood, words of welcome spoken with varying degrees of sincerity.
Lorgar responded to each with courteous dignity that spoke of noble upbringing, his voice carrying the trained cadence of a born orator.
But it was when he reached the Emperor himself that Lorgar's true nature blazed forth. Both he and his followers dropped to one knee in perfect synchronisation, a gesture of absolute submission and reverence.
"Father," Lorgar's voice thrummed with religious ecstasy, each word shaped by decades of prayer and worship.
"All-knowing and omnipotent Messiah, universe's sole God, please accept our humble faith and unwavering loyalty."
The Emperor regarded his most devout son in thoughtful silence. Something flickered in those ancient, terrible eyes, disappointment perhaps, or the weight of foreseen tragedy.
Then his gaze drifted to an unusual but expected sight: a large black corvid standing nearby, casually demolishing a container of French fries with single-minded dedication, utterly oblivious to the solemnity of the moment.
The Raven suddenly looked up from his feast, fixing Lorgar with an indignant glare.
"There is indeed a God in this universe," the Raven declared with absolute conviction, puffing out his chest feathers importantly. "But it is not him. It is the great God of Fries and Ketchup!"
Lorgar's scripture-covered features twisted in confusion so profound it bordered on physical pain. Around them, every single Primarch maintained expressions of such perfect, deadpan neutrality that the silence became deafening.
Guilliman's eye twitched almost imperceptibly. Sanguinius examined his fingernails with sudden fascination. Even Perturabo found the ceiling architecture unexpectedly compelling.
The Emperor gestured toward the food-obsessed corvid with something approaching fond exasperation. "This is Lord Raven, as you shall address him. Offer him fries and ketchup, and he shall answer all your questions with... varying degrees of accuracy."
"I am the messenger of the God of Fries and Ketchup!" the Raven continued dramatically. "Bow before the universe's one true deity!"
"Father," Lorgar's voice cracked slightly, seventeen years of certainty crumbling in real-time. "Surely this... surely this cannot be..."
The Emperor placed a reassuring hand on Lorgar's shoulder, his ancient eyes holding infinite patience. "You can ignore that part, my son."
The Raven's head snapped around with righteous indignation. "Hey! What do you mean by 'ignore that part'?!"
Without ceremony, the Emperor raised his other hand. Golden light shimmered in the air as the most impossibly perfect container of French fries materialised, each fry golden and crispy beyond mortal comprehension, alongside a small cup of ketchup that seemed to contain the essence of every perfect tomato that had ever grown.
The aroma alone could have converted entire worlds.
The Raven's protests died mid-screech as his enhanced senses locked onto the miraculous feast. His eyes widened to impossible proportions.
"Is that...?" he whispered in reverent awe.
"The perfect fries," the Emperor confirmed, clearly amused but didn't show it on his face.
The corvid launched himself toward the offering with the speed of a missile, abandoning all previous theological positions in favour of immediate gratification.
"Okay, whatever!" he called over his shoulder while already tearing into the transcendent meal. "There's no god! Only man! Hail humanity! Woo! Yeah, baby!"
Valdor looked at the scene with absolute indifference. Where was the majesty of Imperium? Where were the speeches of Grand Design? Where was the reverence to the Might of The Emperor and his Empire?
He looked at the Primarchs, each one corrupting faster than the last, constantly bribing Raven at any moment and asking for whatever they needed.
'Hmph, what was the difference between them and kids, trying to impress their parents to get their own blade?' Valdor sighed internally at the sight. He had many thoughts, but he would never voice any of them.
The assembled Primarchs continued their deadpan expressions as their eccentric corvid friend devoured his prize with orgasmic enthusiasm, making small sounds of culinary ecstasy that echoed through the hangar.
Lorgar stared at the scene in complete bewilderment, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
"Welcome to the Imperium, brother," Guilliman said dryly, his voice carrying the weight of long experience with such absurdist interruptions.
…
From Lorgar's Private Memoirs, Written in Exile:
I had always believed with every fibre of my being that my father was the all-knowing, omnipotent God of the universe. In my most cherished visions, I served as his chosen messenger, walking among mortals to spread his gospel of unity and truth.
If not for a confident Raven appearing to inform me that I had blasphemed the universe's only true God, this God of Fries and Ketchup, and subsequently sentencing me to guard a pond for ten millennia, I might have continued in that beautiful delusion. Whether this was a blessing or a curse, I still cannot say.
…
"This is...?" Lorgar stared at the Raven with growing bewilderment, his mind struggling to reconcile this mundane creature with the forces he'd expected to encounter. Confusion etched itself across his tattooed features in deep lines of distress.
No such being had appeared in any of his prophetic dreams, no mention made in any scripture he had studied.
"Master Raven serves as one of the Imperium's supreme rulers," Guilliman stepped forward with barely concealed relish, recognising an opportunity to deflate religious pretension.
"He is, in fact, one half of the double-headed eagle's ultimate authority over all Imperial domains."
He paused for effect, then added with genuine amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Master Raven also possesses sufficient authority to assign even Constantin Valdor, the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, to pond-guarding duty. As a Primarch, dear brother, you would be equally subject to such... agricultural reassignments."
Constantin Valdor, resplendent in his auramite armour, maintained the stoic silence befitting the Emperor's praetorian guard.
Internally, however, he cursed Guilliman's persistent habit of using him as a cautionary example in these increasingly bizarre situations.
The revelation struck Lorgar like a thunderbolt. His eyes darted between his fellow Primarchs and the Emperor, seeking some sign of jest or mockery.
Instead, he found only carefully neutral expressions that confirmed every impossible word. The weight of this new reality settled on his shoulders like lead vestments.
Recognising the true scope of the Raven's authority, Lorgar offered the most respectful salute his noble training could muster. Pride warred with pragmatism, and pragmatism won, barely.
"Lord. Raven, please forgive my earlier rudeness. I spoke from ignorance, not malice."
The corvid tilted his head with avian precision, regarding Lorgar through eyes that seemed far too knowing. When he spoke, his tone carried the weight of absolute certainty.
"Given your recent return to Imperial protection, this transgression shall be forgiven. However—" his voice hardened with unmistakable threat.
"Should you dare blaspheme the God of Fries and Ketchup again, I shall personally exile you to the frozen wastes of Valhalla for extended potato cultivation duties."
His tone grew stern as the edge of a consecrated blade.
"Remember this truth above all others: the God of Fries and Ketchup is this universe's sole deity. All others are pretenders, false prophets leading the faithful astray with empty promises."
Despite his precarious position, Lorgar's religious convictions blazed forth like flames given sudden oxygen. A lifetime of faith could not be so easily extinguished by absurdist revelation.
"With the greatest respect, Mr. Raven, this God of Fries and Ketchup cannot possibly exist. How can the infinite universe harbour such an... unconventional deity?"
"Unconventional? More so than your collection of primitive mythologies?" The Raven's voice rose to match his indignation.
"This universe is inherently absurd in its construction, brother. Therefore, it follows that its God would reflect that fundamental absurdity."
The corvid spread his wings dramatically, assuming the pose of a lecturing theologian.
"All realities, all dimensions, the God of Fries and Ketchup created all possible universes for one singular, holy purpose: discovering the perfect combination of fries and ketchup."
"The meaning of existence itself is the pursuit of culinary perfection. Everything else, your wars, your conquests, your prayers, is meaningless noise."
"The divine would never be so..." Lorgar struggled for words that wouldn't offend, "...frivolous in its cosmic purpose."
"You understand nothing of true divinity," the Raven scoffed with dismissive authority. "Your conception of godhood is nothing more than elaborate theatre designed to impress the primitive and control the desperate."
He turned to Guilliman with predatory anticipation that made the Lord of Ultramar smile in response.
"Roboute, would you be so kind as to demonstrate a black hole for your brother? Show him exactly how ridiculous his faith appears to those with actual power."
"It would be my profound pleasure, Mr. Raven." Guilliman stepped forward, the smile on his lips holding genuine warmth.
He had spent decades building rational civilisations and despised religious superstition in all its forms. This represented a perfect opportunity to educate his newly returned, deeply misguided brother.
The Lord of Ultramar activated the technological marvel that was his internal Limit Engine, initiating protocols that would have been considered miraculous by lesser civilisations. His enhanced physiology interfaced seamlessly with quantum manipulation systems that existed beyond current Imperial understanding.
[Establishing gravitational singularity framework... importing cosmological data...] [Allocating processing power, calculating spacetime manipulation, reshaping fundamental forces...]
Reality bent to Guilliman's will with casual ease. A sphere of absolute darkness materialised in his palm, no larger than a child's marble but containing the compressed mass of a small moon.
It rotated with terrible, hypnotic grace, warping light around its event horizon in patterns that hurt to perceive directly. Only invisible spatial containment fields prevented it from consuming the Emperor's flagship in a matter of heartbeats.
Lorgar's eyes widened until the whites showed around his pupils, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at the miniature apocalypse rotating in his brother's hand. "By the true god... impossible..."
Creating a black hole with nothing but will and technology, such power should belong to deities alone!
Yet here stood his brother, one of twenty created souls, casually wielding forces that could unmake entire star systems. The implications struck him like physical blows.
"Tell me, Roboute," the Raven inquired with conversational ease that made the impossible seem routine, "which requires greater effort, crafting a gravitational singularity or preparing properly seasoned fries?"
"The black hole, without question," Guilliman replied matter-of-factly, as though discussing the weather rather than the universe's most powerful creation.
"Fries require precise temperature control, proper oil selection, and optimal potato preparation; it's genuinely challenging to achieve perfection."
Lorgar's expression transformed into a mask of pure disbelief.
Are you mocking me? His eyes seemed to scream. Such casual arrogance over cosmic forces should surely invite divine retribution of the most terrible kind.
The Raven fixed his knowing gaze on the increasingly distraught Word Bearer.
"Do you understand now? Your supposed God is meaningless superstition. The God of Fries and Ketchup alone possesses true power and dominion over all creation."
"Advanced technology can manipulate physical laws," Lorgar argued with growing desperation, his worldview cracking like poorly fired ceramics under pressure.
"But true gods control destiny itself, time itself, forces beyond mere matter and energy!"
Witnessing Guilliman's casual violation of natural law had shaken Lorgar's faith to its very foundations.
If mere mortals, even enhanced ones, could wield such godlike power, what fundamental difference remained between humanity and divinity?
Where was the sacred? Where was the divine purpose he had devoted his entire existence to serving?
"Controlling destiny?" The Raven sounded genuinely delighted by the suggestion. "Oh, my dear, confused Word Bearer, that's even simpler than black hole creation."
"Impossible," Lorgar insisted with the fervour of the truly desperate.
"Fate and temporal flow are the most mysterious forces in existence. Only beings of true divine nature can influence the fundamental patterns of causality itself."
"Let us play Gwent then," the Raven suggested with predatory anticipation that made several Primarchs exchange meaningful glances.
The other sons of the Emperor settled in to enjoy what promised to be spectacular entertainment.
Perturabo, in particular, leaned forward with eager expectation. Finally, someone else would experience the Raven's peculiar brand of education in utter helplessness.
"Gwent?" Lorgar blinked in absolute confusion, the word holding no meaning in any language he had mastered.
The Raven nodded with sage solemnity. "A simple card game, nothing more. Win a single match against any opponent, and I shall acknowledge the validity of your beliefs. Call your god whatever title pleases you most."
"That's hardly equitable," Lorgar protested with growing agitation. "I possess no knowledge of this game's rules or strategies. Meanwhile, you clearly possess vastly superior power, wisdom, and cosmic awareness."
"At least you demonstrate some measure of self-awareness," the Raven conceded graciously, gesturing with one wing toward the assembled figures.
"Very well, choose any opponent present. Defeat them utterly, and I shall publicly admit that the God of Fries and Ketchup is nothing but elaborate fiction."
"You treat your own faith so casually?" Lorgar asked, genuinely bewildered by such apparent theological flexibility.
"How can you risk your entire belief system on a simple game of chance?"
The Raven's laughter carried the sound of cosmic forces grinding against one another in eternal amusement.
"Because victory is utterly impossible for you, dear Word Bearer. Even if you chose to play against a random pig dragged up from some agricultural world, defeat would be absolutely certain."
His voice dropped to portentous tones that seemed to resonate with hidden harmonics.
"The God of Fries and Ketchup has already revealed the pattern of your destiny through divine providence. Regardless of any choice you make, regardless of any strategy you attempt, failure awaits with mathematical certainty."
"Your arrogance will prove your downfall," Lorgar snarled, clenching his massive fists until the knuckles cracked like gunshots, rage burned in his chest, a righteous fury at the casual dismissal of what he held sacred.
He scanned the assembled figures with desperate calculation, seeking some advantage in an impossible situation.
His gaze finally settled on a figure trying unsuccessfully to blend into the shadows near some maintenance equipment. A Tech-Adept whose multiple mechanical appendages marked him as thoroughly augmented; his posture suggested he wished desperately to be anywhere else but here.
"Him," Lorgar declared, pointing at him. "I choose him as my opponent."
The Primarchs exchanged looks that spoke of inevitable doom. They knew this outcome had been predetermined from the moment the challenge was offered.
Lorgar had chosen the infamous Magos 9527, whose reputation for impossible card game victories had become legendary throughout the fleet.
The Tech-Adept, whose augmetic modifications hinted at centuries of devotion to the Omnissiah, let out a sigh that resonated through various vocal modulators in flawless mechanical sync.
His multiple appendages clicked in a universal sign of resigned acceptance.
"I suppose it falls to me to play cards once again," he intoned through his vox-grille, the words carrying the weight of someone who had performed this particular miracle far too many times.
"The Omnissiah's will be done, …I suppose."
[End of Chapter]