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Chapter 116: The Legendary Servitor
The servitor designated 9527 moved with mechanical precision, his augmetic limbs producing a rhythmic symphony of pistons and grinding gears. Before the assembled might of the Emperor's gene-sons, he genuflected with calculated reverence, first to the Master of Mankind, then to each Primarch in turn according to their station.
With programmed efficiency, he positioned himself across from Lorgar Aurelian, the Seventeenth Son.
"My Lord Primarch," his vox-grille rasped, "I must request expediency. My duties remain incomplete."
Lorgar's golden eyes narrowed with noble displeasure. "You shall depart with defeat weighing heavy upon your circuits."
"Failure does not compute," 9527 replied. Servo-skulls whirred overhead as his cogitators processed the challenge. "Your fate was sealed the moment you selected me as your opponent. You are destined to know only failure in this endeavor."
The Word Bearer's jaw tightened. The audacity of this mere servitor! Did this collection of blessed machinery not comprehend that it faced a son of the Emperor himself? These constructs needed to learn fear.
"For my faith," Lorgar intoned, psychic energy crackling around his noble features, "burst forth, my Microcosm! Before absolute belief, nothing remains unconquerable!"
The chamber fell silent as the contest began, broken only by the soft hum of machinery and the distant echoes of the Imperial Palace's vast halls.
Three minutes later, Lorgar stared at the tactical display, declaring his defeat, disbelief warring with wounded pride across his perfect features.
"Another round," he demanded, his voice tight with barely controlled frustration.
Three minutes after that, his defeat was even worse. The servitor's mechanical efficiency had torn apart every strategy the Primarch attempted.
The assembled Primarchs watched without surprise. The outcome had been decided beforehand—a fact that weighed heavily upon them all. They had witnessed similar scenes before, each brother in turn testing themselves against the Emperor's mysterious creations, only to discover the vast gulf that still separated them from true mastery.
"Beautiful," Perturabo murmured, unable to suppress a surge of cruel satisfaction at witnessing his brother's humiliation. There was a certain justice in watching another endure the sting of failure, misery, after all, was best when shared among brothers.
Grinding gears accompanied 9527's mechanical shrug. "My Lord Primarch, despair serves no function. Destiny rests within Master Raven's grasp. Should he will your defeat, victory becomes impossible."
Lorgar's composure finally cracked, self-doubt creeping into his features like corruption through marble. "Can he truly command destiny itself?"
"For Master Raven," 9527 replied with programmed certainty, "controlling destiny proves simpler than preparing delicious fries."
The comparison shattered what remained of Lorgar's calm. Simpler than preparing food? What kind of mocking jest was this? His mind reeled with the implications. Did a God of Fries and Ketchup truly hold power over this universe?
"Lorgar," Raven's voice carried divine authority as obsidian wings spread wide behind him. A nimbus of light materialised around his corvid form, transforming the chamber into a makeshift shrine.
"For the great God of Fries and Ketchup, destiny holds no meaning. Only perfectly prepared fries and the sacred condiment matter. Abandon your false gods and embrace His divine sustenance!"
Valdor watched from the side, admiration mixing with frustration. This corvid had grown even more skilled in the art of divine trickery.
"The great God of Fries and Ketchup stands as the universe's sole true deity," Roboute Guilliman declared with surprising conviction.
The Thirteenth Primarch, champion of reason and empirical thought, had always held religion in contempt. Yet this absurd faith intrigued him precisely because of its foolishness.
To spread worship of such a ridiculous deity throughout the galaxy would deliver a fatal blow to primitive superstitions. Their carefully crafted pantheons would become objects of mockery when compared to devotion centred around fried potatoes.
Raven's gaze fixed upon Guilliman with obvious approval. The Lord of Ultramar possessed the vision for truly great undertakings.
"Sycophant!" Rogal Dorn's accusation cut through the chamber like a fortress wall falling.
"We are all Primarchs," Mortarion rasped through his breathing apparatus, poison mist curling around his words. "Must you lower yourself with such shameless flattery?"
"I find Guilliman's assessment entirely accurate," Perturabo interjected, his normally quiet nature giving way to unusual participation in the theological debate.
The assembled Primarchs turned toward the Lord of Iron with expressions of amused betrayal. Even you, Perturabo? The master of siege warfare sought advancement through divine bribery?
"Master Raven," a voice called from behind Lorgar's retinue, cutting through the theological discourse with unexpected steel. "You may wield unimaginable power and toy with us at will, but God remains God. Whether we acknowledge His existence or deny it, He endures eternal."
Surprise rippled through the Primarchs like a shockwave. Who possessed such audacity to challenge one who had already demonstrated terrifying capabilities beyond their understanding?
From among Lorgar's followers emerged a middle-aged man, his form draped in devotional scripts and sacred texts that covered nearly every inch of exposed skin. He bowed respectfully to each Primarch in turn, then to the Emperor, and finally to Raven himself.
"Kor Phaeron, do not court folly," Lorgar warned, though his voice carried more exhaustion than authority. The recent defeat had drained much of his usual commanding presence. "Our doubts will only invite mockery."
After delivering the rebuke, Lorgar provided the necessary introductions with resigned formality. "This is Kor Phaeron. When I fell upon Colchis's burning sands, it was he who raised me from infancy."
Kor Phaeron. Raven's consciousness turned the name over like a blade being examined for flaws. One of the most hateful individuals in the entire Warhammer cosmos, standing here with such brazen confidence.
The truth of the man's history unfolded in Raven's awareness with perfect clarity. Kor Phaeron had not been Lorgar's first guardian; that honour belonged to Fen Kiri, a desert nomad of simple faith and honest heart.
Through manipulation and false promises, Kor Phaeron had convinced the tribesman to surrender his young son, Lorgar, to his care. Then, in an act of calculated betrayal, he had ordered the massacre of Fen Kiri's entire tribe. No witnesses remained to contest his version of events.
His guardianship had been planned abuse. Harsh discipline and frequent beatings were designed to break the child's spirit while moulding his faith into something useful.
When Lorgar spoke of visions of a Golden-Armoured Messiah, Kor Phaeron had pretended conversion while secretly organising holy wars against the Covenant Church to consolidate power.
The inevitable timeline stretched before Raven's perception. Lorgar's unwavering faith in the Emperor would lead to zealous promotion of Imperial Truth during the Great Crusade.
His construction of the Perfect City, a monument to faith that would slow the Crusade's progress, would earn the Emperor's terrible wrath. Guilliman would be sent to reduce the city to rubble while the Emperor himself forced the entire Word Bearers Legion to kneel in the ruins, calling them failures.
That humiliation would shatter Lorgar's faith, creating the perfect opportunity for Kor Phaeron and his co-conspirator to guide the broken Primarch toward the Ruinous Powers.
Speaking of which... Raven's perception swept through Lorgar's retinue with predatory focus, reading the spiritual signatures of each follower like an open book.
There he was.
Young Erebus stood among the faithful, his soul already showing the first traces of corruption that would one day make him Chaos's most effective agent. If Kor Phaeron was hateful, Erebus represented something far worse, the architect of the Horus Heresy itself.
In the original timeline, Erebus would steal the Anathame blade from the Interex, sparking the war that ended their enlightened civilisation. He would arrange for Horus to be wounded by that same weapon on Davin.
He would manipulate Abaddon and the other Mournival members into bringing their dying Primarch to the Serpent Lodge. And in Horus's fevered dreams, he would plant the seeds of corruption that would transform the greatest of the Primarchs into the Warmaster of Chaos.
The man was responsible for corrupting multiple Primarchs and pushing humanity toward the brink of extinction. He deserved death, but death would be wasteful. Such talent for manipulation required... redirection.
A perfect solution formed in Raven's mind with beautiful clarity.
"Kor Phaeron," he announced, drawing the chamber's attention like a lodestone pulling iron. "Since you insist that other gods inhabit this universe, you shall seek evidence of their existence."
The middle-aged priest straightened with wariness creeping into his features.
"You are here appointed as Chaplain-Militant of the Daemon Hunting Corps. You will face the most twisted and evil entities this reality has spawned. Perhaps in facing such horrors, you will discover the proof you seek."
The plan's elegance was beautiful. Wherever Chaos spawned its servants, Kor Phaeron and Erebus would lead Daemon Hunters to destroy them. When these two eventually betrayed their oaths and turned to the Dark Gods, as their natures demanded, they would find their former comrades ready to kill them as traitors.
The irony would be perfect.
Of course, they would hold no real authority within the Daemon Hunters. Their function would be purely ceremonial, reciting prayers before executions, blessing weapons, maintaining the appearance of faith while the real warriors handled the killing.
As for the risk of corruption among the Daemon Hunters themselves, the improved Thought-Steel Seals and Gene-Engines made such concerns negligible.
Combined with the Untouchables' natural resistance to Warp influence, even a Hunter who wished to serve Chaos would find the Dark Gods unwilling to accept such service.
The Chaos Gods might be mad, but they weren't stupid. Soulless warriors weakened demonic manifestations so severely that any summoned entity would collapse back into the Warp within seconds of appearing.
The very thought of such futility should drive the Dark Gods to madness.
"You wish me to... hunt for evidence of divine existence?" Kor Phaeron's eyes widened with something approaching horror as the implications settled upon him.
"Is there some difficulty?" Raven inquired with deceptive mildness. "You proclaimed the existence of gods beyond the God of Fries and Ketchup. Surely you don't wish to take back such a bold statement before the Emperor's sons?"
Kor Phaeron's face cycled through several expressions before settling on grim acceptance. "Of course other gods exist," he replied through gritted teeth, trapped by his own theological convictions. "I will find the proof you require."
"Perfect," Raven said, though his tone suggested the hunt would be anything but pleasant for the newly appointed Chaplain-Militant.
[End of Chapter]