Chapter 26: Post-War Reckoning — The Birth of a Battle Sister
Alive. Survived.
Erebus stared up at an unfamiliar stone ceiling.
A familiar, rumbling snore echoed nearby. He turned his head and saw Lorgar sprawled across a cot, breathing heavily like a grox after battle.
Erebus tried to move.
He couldn't.
Bandages wrapped him so thoroughly he resembled a corpse prepared for interment.
He remembered little of the battle's end. Only darkness — and before that, the impossible radiance of the Golden Light.
The Emperor.
Had He truly intervened?
"Lorgar…"
"Hrrn…"
"LORGAR."
Erebus drew in a breath and shouted.
Lorgar jolted upright.
"Erebus! You're awake!"
"How long?"
"Half a month."
Silence.
Half a month.
Erebus closed his eyes briefly. He remembered the darkness — and the moment he had returned to that… other place. The memory of the Emperor's overwhelming presence still made his skin crawl. The violence of it. The certainty.
"Did you see it?" Lorgar's voice trembled with awe. "The Emperor is real, Erebus. He descended upon me. Possessed me. He struck that daemon down in two blows and cast it back into the Warp."
"He has always been real," Erebus muttered.
There was something deeply offensive about the fact that the Word Bearers had nearly died trying to banish the creature — only for the Emperor to erase it in seconds.
"Before He withdrew," Lorgar continued, "He left a message."
Erebus' eyes sharpened.
"In one year's time, He will come to us. He commanded that we restore order — and that He wishes to speak with you personally."
Personally.
Erebus could already imagine the Emperor's golden gaze fixing upon him.
That was not comforting.
"I am sorry, brother," Lorgar said quietly. "I failed to protect you."
Erebus allowed himself a thin smile.
"You were indeed useless. I shall record it in the Lectitio Divinitatus."
Lorgar's eyes widened. "You swore you wouldn't write that down!"
He glanced around nervously.
For a brief, irrational moment, Lorgar considered whether suffocating Erebus with a pillow would solve the problem permanently.
"It is fine," Erebus said smoothly. "I require rest."
He closed his eyes.
…
Damn you, Lorgar.
No, that was unwise.
Some Time Later
Erebus stared at the mountain of parchment before him.
He did not understand.
Why did the First Chaplain have to approve administrative requisitions? Why was he reviewing supply chains? Ecclesiastical restructuring? Civil compliance?
This was torment.
Lorgar, claiming Erebus required "recuperation," had taken the Legion on campaign — leaving Erebus behind to "oversee doctrinal stability."
Which meant paperwork.
"Garrulek!"
A helmeted Dark Apostle's voice answered from somewhere beneath the pile.
"My lord!"
"Where is Kor Phaeron?"
"He is recovering from his injuries, my lord."
Erebus' eye twitched.
Recovering?
He rose and strode to the window.
Outside, in the plaza below, Kor Phaeron was leisurely strolling in the sunlight, hands clasped behind his back, looking entirely content.
Recovering.
"Garrulek," Erebus said calmly. "Seize him."
"My lord?"
"Bring him here. If I suffer, he suffers."
Moments later Kor Phaeron was escorted into the chamber.
He looked at the tower of documents.
Then at Erebus.
Then back at the documents.
"My son—"
"Adoptive father of the Urizen," Erebus corrected coldly. "Serve the Emperor. Approve these."
A stylus was placed in Kor Phaeron's hand.
He stared at it as if it were a weapon.
"I am wounded."
"As am I."
Their gazes locked.
Kor Phaeron sighed and began signing.
The Memory
"What happened," Erebus asked quietly, "after I lost consciousness?"
Kor Phaeron hesitated.
Then he spoke.
He had been restraining Warp-corrupted cultists when the sky split with golden radiance.
Lorgar stood bathed in impossible light.
The Emperor's presence descended like judgment.
Lorgar moved — no, was moved — and dragged Erebus through the air with telekinetic force.
Kor Phaeron heard a faint voice.
"Erebus."
He swore he heard the Emperor speak the name.
Then—
A single blow.
Psychic power surged into Erebus's body. Flesh reformed. Bone knit.
Kor Phaeron considered intervening.
Then the Emperor turned His gaze upon him.
Kor Phaeron remembered kneeling.
He remembered fear.
When he awoke, the greater daemon was gone.
Only the echo of Warp-screams lingered.
Erebus sat back in silence.
The Emperor had looked at him.
Not with indifference.
With intent.
That was… concerning.
No.
This could be turned.
He would prove his devotion.
He would guide the Imperial Faith more perfectly than ever before.
"Lord Erebus," Garrulek said carefully, holding a parchment. "A delegation of women devoted to the Imperial Creed requests recognition. They wish to serve as militant devotees."
Erebus froze.
Then his eyes gleamed.
Militant devotees.
Warrior-women devoted wholly to the Emperor.
If the Emperor had sons — Primarchs and Astartes —
Then surely daughters devoted to Him would demonstrate the universality of His divinity.
Yes.
Yes.
He would establish them.
A holy order of battle-clad sisters.
The Emperor would see his foresight.
He would have no choice but to approve.
Terra — The Imperial Palace
The Emperor of Mankind stood alone within a vast chamber of gold and silence.
In His hand was a psychic echo of a document.
He regarded it.
Warrior Nuns. Militant Ecclesiarchy. Structured female devotional orders with power armor.
The Emperor closed His eyes.
For the briefest moment —
He considered simply setting the galaxy on fire and starting over.
"What," He muttered to Himself, "is that wretched child doing now?"