When Lorgar appeared, Erebus turned his head toward him and felt a shiver of pure physical disgust run down his spine.
"It seems you still don't understand how serious this is," Lorgar said with a faint smile, lifting a massive tome several inches thick in one hand. "You've got guts, I'll give you that—turning your back on me."
With a single motion of his hand, hundreds of guards carrying spears stormed into the church, surrounding Erebus and the dozens of believers within.
"Lorgar Aurelian," Erebus sneered. "It looks like you have no idea who you're facing."
He threw the battered Senatis aside and, flanked by his followers, strode confidently toward Lorgar.
"I am Erebus, the Dark Apostle—"
"Your apostle title means nothing!"
Before Erebus could finish, Lorgar hurled the heavy tome straight at him.
Boom!
The cover of the book slammed squarely into Erebus's grotesque face, sending him crashing to the ground.
"That's the weight of knowledge, you understand?" Lorgar said with a smirk.
"Ahhhhhh! Lorgar!"
Erebus struggled to his feet, blood streaming from his crushed nose, his face twisted in pain and fury.
"Lorgar! I'll kill you! I'll kill you! How dare you humiliate me like this! I'll turn you into a servant of Cha—"
Before he could finish the word, Lorgar moved again. He seized one of the nearby believers by the head and flung the man like a weapon straight at Erebus.
This time, Erebus reacted in time, slicing the flying corpse clean in half with a psychic-infused strike.
"Can't you at least let me finish a sentence, Lorgar!?"
"No."
That was all the response he got. Lorgar waved his hand again, signaling his guards to attack.
The spear-wielding warriors charged without hesitation, clashing with Erebus's cultists in a brutal melee.
A few of the fanatics tried to rush at Lorgar himself—but against a Primarch, they were little more than insects.
A joke, really.
Even if Lorgar was sometimes called one of the weaker Primarchs, he was still a demigod in flesh.
And to be fair, Lorgar wasn't weak—he simply hadn't learned to wield his full power.
People loved to joke that he couldn't beat Guilliman, but in truth, if Lorgar ever fought seriously, three moves would be enough to leave Guilliman crawling on the ground.
Never forget—Lorgar was a master of psychic might, second only to Magnus.
Of course, at this moment, he hadn't yet learned to use his psychic power.
He was simply following the calculations of his superhuman brain, which told him that it was time to start using his physical strength properly.
To him, fighting these cultists was trivial—each blow took out several at once.
A casual backhand turned them into crimson mist. Even a light slap sent a dozen men flying, their bodies bursting apart before they hit the ground.
Lorgar was beginning to master his own strength—like a sculptor learning exactly how much pressure to apply to shape his art, he could now use precise, devastating force to turn the frail followers into pulp.
On the other side, Erebus could already tell that the situation was hopeless. The thought of escape flashed in his mind—but the voice in his head wouldn't stop whispering.
"Go on…"
"Fight…"
"Prove you are not weak… Prove your greatness…"
The low, insistent voice filled his mind, fueling his rage. With a furious roar, Erebus grabbed a fallen sword and charged at Lorgar.
"I am Erebus, the Child of Chaos!"
Psychic light flared along the blade as he lunged forward.
Three meters. Two. One.
Erebus grinned as he closed in—but then, everything went black.
Lorgar had seized him by the throat and lifted him into the air. A moment later, he slammed Erebus backward, pressing the back of his skull against the wall.
"No! Wait! Don't—"
Schkk!
Like a man spreading paint, Lorgar dragged Erebus's head across the wall, smearing it until nothing recognizable was left.
Boom!
He tossed the now headless corpse aside, frowning at the blood on his hands before turning away in disgust.
The rest of the cultists were already dead. Dozens of them had been no match for hundreds of Lorgar's elite guards.
"Was that a bit too easy?" Lorgar wondered aloud.
But there was no time to dwell on it. He ordered his men to destroy the bodies and the entire church, then set the whole place ablaze until nothing remained.
...
In the depths of the Warp.
For context—the Warp is a dimension of pure psychic energy, an infinite plane also known as the Immaterium.
It is the realm of the Chaos Gods, a parallel dimension to realspace where physical laws do not apply.
Everything there is shaped by the emotions and thoughts of sentient beings.
It is like a mirror to the material universe, but one filled with living nightmares—terrifying, violent entities that constantly seek a way to burst into realspace and slaughter without end.
The Warp has no time, no distance. It existed long before sentient life, as did the Chaos Gods who dwell within it.
Deep within a labyrinth of impossible geometry, a creature with the head of a bird sat motionless.
It was Tzeentch, one of the four great Chaos Gods—lord of Change, Curiosity, Deception, Ambition, Opportunity, Creativity, Mutation, and endless manipulation.
Tzeentch idly played with glowing threads of blue light—threads of time itself. When Erebus died, one of the lines split into countless new branches.
"Perfect," hissed Tzeentch, its voice a shriek of mist and thought. "Endless variation. Endless possibilities."
"I wonder… what new change will you bring me, little one?"
Erebus's death had been no accident. Tzeentch had nudged him toward it, not out of cruelty, but curiosity—to see what would happen next, and how the cursed one would respond.
"Future… infinite futures!"
"Change… infinite change!"
"This game grows more and more delightful."
Tzeentch's mind swirled with calculations, seeing countless possible timelines branching from every moment, every choice. The constant flux filled him with ecstasy.
Meanwhile, within his brass citadel, Khorne sat upon his towering throne, seething with displeasure.
Erebus's pathetic defeat disgusted him. With a snap of his clawed fingers, he withdrew his favor.
"A failure has no right to my power," Khorne growled. "You too, so-called Child of Chaos."
And with that single gesture, the Blood God sealed Erebus's fate—and began searching for a new champion worthy of his fury.