Lorgar's voice echoed through the desert, his violet eyes burning with unwavering resolve.
"Heretic!" a Covenant warrior shouted, raising his gun in fury toward Lorgar.
Bang!
"No!" The female commander's cry was drowned by the sharp crack of gunfire. She could only watch helplessly as the bullet tore through the dry air, speeding straight for Lorgar's brow.
But Lorgar stood calmly, his violet eyes as serene as a desert night sky. He believed that Caelan would protect him.
Hmm!
Just before the bullet struck, it froze an inch from his face, trapped in midair as if caught in invisible amber.
Faint blue ripples shimmered around him, like gentle waves disturbed by a breeze. The metallic slug hovered in the psychic field, trembling ever so slightly, emitting a low hum.
Lorgar slowly raised his slender hand and, with the grace of someone plucking a petal from dew, pinched the bullet between his fingers.
"You fired at me because of the gods' lies," Lorgar said softly. The desert wind tousled his hair, revealing his divine violet eyes. "But I do not blame you. The gods have deceived this world for too long, blinding you to the truth. I have come here to guide you back from your delusion."
On the surface, Colchis seemed more normal than most Imperial worlds, even Terra itself.
There were no traces of Chaos corruption, no mutants, not even psykers.
The Covenant ruled Colchis through the overwhelming technology of the ancient forebears, not through the deceit of sorcery.
That was by design. The Four Gods had made Colchis appear utterly normal, so that neither the Primarch nor the Emperor would suspect anything.
It was easy to deceive a Primarch, but not the Emperor. Colchis had to truly be what it appeared to be.
Colchis was the gods' masterpiece of deception. The four prophets served as a curtain, perfectly isolating mortals from the hideous truth of Chaos beyond.
The faithful prayed to mighty beings among the stars, never realizing the twisted horror behind the veil.
Only psykers were unpredictable. In their trance, they might hear whispers from the warp and unknowingly perform bloody sacrifices, slaughtering livestock for rain, or cutting a child's throat to cure disease.
The Four would never sabotage their own design, but the warp held more than four gods. What if some other being ruined their plan?
Every sacrifice that succeeded tore a tiny hole in the veil, letting the venom of corruption seep through.
The Four could not allow that. They would rather smother psychic birth on Colchis than see their deception undone.
It was like the Death Guard in the true timeline, corrupted and rotting, yet their gene-seed remained impossibly pure. Even their recruitment halls were sterile.
Pure gene-seed created more rot; a pure world would birth a greater blight.
And so, when one day upon this holy, god-ruled world, a man appeared, with eyes glowing like twin stars, violet and divine.
When Covenant warriors' bullets froze midair before him, trembling in blue ripples.
When he forgave those who shot him, his mercy rivaling the prophets themselves.
What would these faithful soldiers see him as?
"A miracle! A prophet!"
"Heretic! Traitor!"
The Covenant ranks split. Espaea fell to one knee, half the soldiers kneeling with her, while the other half screamed in rage and opened fire.
Bang!
The bullets again halted midair, then spun back, whistling through the air to strike their own senders. Heads burst like ripe fruit, and bodies fell like cut wheat.
Espaea trembled harder, collapsing prostrate.
"O mighty one, forgive me!" she cried, pressing her forehead into the scorching sand.
If Lorgar had claimed divine authority instead of denying it, the entire Covenant host would have knelt in worship.
But doing so would betray the Emperor's teachings.
Those who died in defiance were blinded by faith; those who lived knelt, trapped in doubt.
They believed Lorgar was the Fifth Prophet. But why would a prophet deny the gods?
It must be a test of faith!
Lorgar looked at the kneeling commander. He had foreseen this.
The people of Colchis had knelt too long, they had forgotten how to stand.
He would teach them how to see the world clearly, not through deceit.
"Stand up," Lorgar said.
Espaea rose slowly, trembling in her ornate exoskeleton.
"O god, we are sinners," she whispered, head bowed.
"I am not a god," Lorgar's voice rang across the sands. "You should not believe in gods. Faith is the shackle of mortals. I am here to free you from it, not to forge new chains."
Aboard the ship above, Erebus murmured, "A god, using miracles to tell men not to believe in gods… Teacher, isn't that ironic?"
Caelan glanced between Erebus and Lorgar, sighing. "It's sad, yes, but humanity's plight is sadder still. Lorgar's doing well."
The Emperor's spread of the Imperial Truth had always been crude, tearing down temples and forcing compliance.
It left countless hidden cults festering beneath the rubble. And the Emperor's own miracles only deepened the rot of faith.
Even without the Word Bearers, the birth of the Imperial Cult was inevitable.
But there was no time to do better. The Great Crusade had only two centuries before the warp storms would engulf the galaxy.
It was the eternal paradox of civilization: stability, efficiency, and precision, an impossible trinity.
The Emperor chose to sacrifice precision for the sake of efficiency and stability. As long as He lived, He could handle the side effects later.
That's why the Four Chaos Gods had to trap Him upon the Golden Throne.
When Lorgar climbed back aboard, he heard Erebus whispering about him, but Caelan's defense had made him smile. He decided to forgive it, for now.
"What's the difference between forcing them to kneel and forcing them to stand?" Lorgar asked.
Erebus shook his head. "None. Both are compulsions."
"No," Lorgar's voice deepened, resonant. "They stood up. That's the difference. They must first stand before they can understand why they should."
Erebus fell silent.
Lorgar had found his path; he was a Primarch, after all. The Emperor had built purpose into his very soul.
Erebus, meanwhile, was still lost, faithless and uncertain.
"Akshida," Lorgar commanded, "restart the engines. Follow their convoy, they'll lead us to Trantis."
"Yes, my lord." Akshida bowed, eyes burning with reverence.
The great land-crawler roared forward, its treads grinding across the sands. The Covenant's centipede tanks now escorted them toward Trantis's walls.
"Open the gates!" the guards on the towers heard shouted orders and obeyed. After all, Espaea was the city's chief mechanist. She couldn't possibly betray the Covenant… right?
The red and black fortress of Trantis loomed ahead, unbreakable even to the largest cannons. Without Espaea's defection, Lorgar would have had to scale it barehanded like his elevator-wrecking brother.
But he disliked such crude methods.
He was more considerate, especially of Caelan's nerves.
At the gates, a priest stormed forward, flanked by guards. "Espaea! Do you know what you've done? Kor Phaeron has been excommunicated! This land is sacred, how dare you let false prophets defile it!"
He didn't yet know Kor Phaeron was long dead.
Priests spread doctrine; deacons wielded force. The priest's rank was higher, thus his anger.
"You lowly-"
Espaea removed her helmet. The priest froze midword.
Her pale cheeks flushed with fury, her sculpted brows drawn tight, and her amber eyes, once meek, now blazed with righteous rage.
"You are guilty of heresy and blasphemy against the Prophet. Your sins are unforgivable."
Her troops raised their weapons.
"I will purify your flesh, and the gods may judge your soul."
Before the priest could reply, gunfire erupted. Bullets tore through him and his guards, leaving gaping holes in their bodies. Blood steamed on the hot sand.
Espaea stepped on the corpse, fired another shot into his skull, and spat.
"It's because of people like you that the Prophet denies our faith!"
Lorgar descended the platform, watching her silently.
"My lord…" Espaea whispered, trembling. "Did I do wrong?"
Her frightened tone reminded him of himself when he first met Caelan.
"I am not a god," he said again.
"Yes, my, my lord." She bowed her head.
He sighed. He couldn't punish her, only redirect her zeal.
"Gather all believers and slaves. Bring me every Covenant scripture in this city, and I will speak to them."
"But, my lord," she protested, "slaves are unworthy of your sacred words!"
Lorgar's gaze pierced her heart, making her shiver.
"Espaea, I never want to hear those words again. All are born equal; only their duties differ."
"The Covenant divided you into priests, believers, and slaves to keep you in chains!"
"Yes, my lord," she murmured, mistaking his lesson as divine wisdom.
"Prepare an open square," he ordered. "I will speak to them face-to-face."
Soon, thousands gathered under the blazing sun. Mountains of holy scripture were piled high before them.
From his land-crawler, Lorgar looked over the crowd. He turned toward Caelan, who stood in the light's edge, smiling in quiet approval.
Lorgar smiled back and faced the people.
Even those miles away could see the divine glow in his violet eyes.
"Prophet!"
Espaea and the believers knelt, pressing their foreheads to the burning sand.
One by one, the slaves followed, their chains clinking like windchimes.
Lorgar saw their fervor, and his heart ached. This was why he must free them.
"Slaves of Trantis, hear my words."
"I am Lorgar, not a prophet, not a messenger, not a god."
"But I bring truth to the world."
"It is not chains that bind you, it is your fear of the Covenant, your faith in false gods."
"Have you ever seen your gods? Have they ever answered your prayers?"
"They demand your worship and your sacrifice, but never grant you hope."
"They deceive you with scripture, imprison your minds with holy words, and call your suffering a test of faith."
"I tell you now, all of it is a lie, crafted to hide their cruelty!"
"There are no saviors, no gods, no prophets!"
"Break free! Shatter your faith! Cast aside the gods and seize your destiny with your own hands and will!"
"Rise up, fight back! I will break your chains and give you freedom!"
"One day, you will understand, the only thing we've lost… are our shackles!"
Crack!
Psychic light rippled across the crowd. Metal bindings snapped one after another, the sound like a song of rebellion.
Lorgar took the torch from Erebus's hand and hurled it high. It arced through the air and landed upon the mountain of scripture, and the flames of truth rose into the sky.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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