Chapter 21: The Strength of the Old Charlatan, Kor Phaeron
This was a path Erebus had never imagined.
At the very least, he had never expected Kor Phaeron to take the initiative and attack the Warp itself.
Kor Phaeron and Garulek had already departed the city. Erebus could only hope that the old man and his attendant would at least succeed in strengthening the nomads' faith in the God-Emperor—preferably without igniting a catastrophe.
In truth, it proved far easier for Kor Phaeron and Garulek to integrate themselves among the wandering devotees of the false god than either had anticipated.
The moment a tribal warrior charged at them with a crude blade, Kor Phaeron met him head-on. Steel flashed. When Garulek was still struggling to react, Kor Phaeron had already torn the man down and severed his head in a single brutal motion.
He raised the bloody trophy high and roared to the assembled nomads.
"Pathetic. Is this what your gods have taught you?"
Two mounted warriors spurred their beasts forward, their bodies painted with ritual runes, their eyes filled with murderous intent.
"Skull for—"
Kor Phaeron did not allow them to finish.
Psychic force erupted outward. Invisible pressure crushed bone and burst flesh. The two riders collapsed, lifeless, their heads rolling across the dust.
Kor Phaeron spread his arms wide.
"Submit—or die! I will lead you to the one true God! Submit—or die!"
Garulek stared in disbelief.
He had known Kor Phaeron was dangerous. He had not known he was this dangerous.
Swordsmanship, psychic mastery, absolute authority—and all of it wielded by a frail old man who walked with a cane only days before.
Could it be true that Kor Phaeron had lost his memory? Or was this the real man, finally unrestrained?
Doubt flickered in Garulek's mind—only for a moment—before discipline crushed it.
"Lead me to your tribe," Kor Phaeron commanded. "Now."
"Lord… We were meant to observe," Garulek whispered through a psychic transmission. "To infiltrate, not dominate."
Kor Phaeron's reply slammed into his mind like a hammer.
"Idiot. Results matter, not methods. As a servant of the God-Emperor, you concern yourself with rules? If not for Erebus and Lorgar, I would suspect you planned to betray me."
Garulek's head rang.
"Yes, my lord," he thought hastily.
Within hours, Kor Phaeron and Garulek were escorted back to the nomads' encampment. By nightfall, Kor Phaeron had been proclaimed chieftain.
Garulek watched drunken warriors stumble through the tents and rubbed his temples.
So this is infiltration, he thought grimly.
Kor Phaeron planted one foot atop a throne of stitched hides and addressed the gathered tribes.
"Summon the others. Every tribe. We will offer a sacrifice worthy of the gods."
Garulek recorded every word. This would all go to Erebus.
The report reached Erebus within the week.
"By Kor Phaeron's efforts," Garulek wrote, "we now rule a unified tribe. He intends to gather all nomadic clans and conduct a mass summoning ritual. I sense danger. Request guidance—and reinforcements."
Erebus lowered the parchment and pressed his fingers to his temples.
This had not been the plan.
Nomadic priests were meant to manipulate belief, not butcher leaders and seize power through terror.
How had Kor Phaeron become a warlord?
Erebus forwarded the report to Lorgar.
"As expected," Lorgar said after reading it, "even without his memories, Kor Phaeron remains formidable."
"Formidable is one word," Erebus muttered. "Reckless is another."
"We delay the Gahwala offensive," Lorgar continued. "If Kor Phaeron proceeds unchecked, he may summon something… significant."
As long as no greater daemon emerged, the situation remained salvageable.
Reluctantly, Erebus dispatched Dark Emissaries to support Kor Phaeron—under Lorgar's watchful gaze.
"Do you think the tribes can be redeemed?" Lorgar asked quietly.
"I think Kor Phaeron will prove his loyalty," Erebus replied. "One way or another."
He did not sound convinced.
A month passed.
On the front, preparations against Gahwala intensified.
And the reports from Kor Phaeron worsened.
Garulek's latest message detailed the unification of all nomadic tribes on the planet—hundreds of thousands of souls—assembled for a grand ritual.
Erebus stared at the mountain of parchment.
Madman.
Kor Phaeron now ruled them outright and planned a celebration preceding the summoning. Worse still, Garulek reported that Kor Phaeron intended to "test" these heretics through mass slaughter.
Hundreds of thousands.
That many deaths would scream across the Warp like a beacon.
"Lorgar!" Erebus snapped, dragging him from his lectern. "This must be stopped."
"Then we deploy the Legion."
"No," Erebus said sharply. "Legions are useless against that. If Kor Phaeron succeeds, only the faithful will survive. Summon every Dark Apostle. Now."
There was no time to shield apprentices.
When Lorgar returned, he spoke grimly. "All Dark Apostles stand ready."
"Good," Erebus said. "And next time—never let Kor Phaeron operate unsupervised."
He clenched his fists.
"An old charlatan remains an old charlatan. Wherever he goes, disaster follows."
Yet even now, a part of Erebus wondered—
If Kor Phaeron truly summoned a greater daemon… would any of them be strong enough to stop it?
The Warp, after all, has a sense of humor.
And it loves an audience.