Chapter 1: The Sacred Task
"Have faith and shed the blood of the enemy in the name of the Gods and you will see the blessings upon you!"
-Excerpt from the Fourth Scroll of Lorgar.

The Strike Cruiser Infernus gently drifted amongst the orbital docks, finding its true docking station the ship began to make manoeuvres slowly in the madness of the space that was the Maelstrom. The maelstrom was a massive rift in real space where the warp space poured out in the form of a massive storm, no one knows how or when it had appeared but it had always been a scar in the north eastern part of the galaxy, once a haven for pirates and low lives. But now it is infested by the insidious followers of Chaos, prime amongst them were the Sons of Lorgar.

Arkhor looked on from the bridge as the Infernus began to clamp onto the docking bay, he clenched his ceramite encased fist in anticipation as he stared at the massive dark red-orb that was Ghalmek, massive spires spewing filth and corruption into the air had covered the surface with a brooding black hue. Blood mixed with ashes was the image which formed in Arkhor's mind. A sudden thought of blood sent him back ages past, when the glorious rebellion under Horus spread its wings and the False Emperor's worlds burned with the fury of the Dark Gods, back when all the Lords of the Legions walked the stars, the name of Rhobal echoed in his thoughts.

"Lord, the Thunderhawks are ready." monotone voice of a nearby servitor-thing droned.

He turned to his guards who stood in the shadows, "Summon my Zealots, we are to depart for the surface."

"By, Lorgar!" bowed one of the guards as he proceeded from the bridge.

This was to be his finest hour, once this task was complete he would single-handedly set in motion the works of Lorgar, once again the Legion would be purged of the self serving whoresons who had taken much of the legion into degradation. Like him a thousand other Disciple Brothers were throughout the stars culling those Dark Apostles and Warmasters who has failed Lorgar and in turn the Chaos Gods agenda in this wretched Galaxy, only then can the Legion of Lorgar return to the path of the Sacred Word.

Arkhor shook of the thought and proceeded from the bridge, his Guards followed suite, he turned around taking one last look at the silhouette of the sacred Forge-World. The task he was about commit would fortify his position within the Legion of Lorgar.

"You may enter, Sons of Lorgar!" the Dreadnought's deep voice resonated across the room.

Five warriors in gore-red robes with the Latros Sacrum emblazoned across their chests, stepped forward from the great stairs, enormous Iron Doors of the Black Cathedral swung open as the mists of incense crept from the dark innards of the sacred place. The warriors-brothers stepped through the arching doorway their footsteps calculated and full of purpose, the strode through the honour guard who lined the corridor walls in full power armour, the entering warriors bore a seal on their arms, a book with flames over its pages within the flame was a dark palm all superimposed over a star of chaos. It was the mark called the Hand of Lorgar; they were the Chosen of Erebus himself, recognizing this, the warrior-brothers snapped to attention and saluted the figures.

The great expanse of the Cathedral was unleashed as the sanctum doors were swung open to the robed Word Bearers, black chants in the daemon tongues echoed through the hall. There were scarce few warrior-brothers of the Legion scattered around the hall as the daily mass had finished hours ago and the next mass was due a few hours later when the guard changed. Far off in the opposite direction there was the raised dais and an Altar of worship a warrior-brother in black robes of a priest was seen performing ritual rites and benediction by a small blood sacrifice.

The warrior-brothers in the robes advanced onto the altar taking in the large expanse of the cathedral and the great hall of the place. Massive walls ornate with the silver writing of Holy Lorgar which constantly writhed and changed, above them was a massive dome of the Gods, brass writings and daemon statues covered the trench. Toward the bottom of the dome dark scripture from the Sacred Epistles swarmed the curvature, great hooks hung freely in the air without any notable attachments, bodies of fresh victims from the slave pits were skewered onto the hooks, red blood dripped down to form tiny rivulets on the floor, it flowed freely toward the altar and in an arcane fashion flowed up the raised dais into a deep and gouged scar on the altar which collided to form of the star of chaos filled with blood.

The priest was ending the prayer and offered the heart of a victim from the silver plate beside him. He instinctively rose from his knees and turned around. He was a tall bald headed man black writings covered his head; his face was a noble and aquiline in feature like his Daemon Primarch's before his ascension, a great scar ran across his face from his temple to his cheek. He frowned at the new arrivals

"By the will of the Dark Gods." He welcomed the new-comers with a low bow.

"And may the blessings of Lorgar be with you, Black Priest Urius!" came the booming voice of the hooded figure in lead of the group.
Urius raised his eyebrows "May I ask of your business here, honoured warrior-brother?"

The Word Bearer indicated to his coterie who as one removed their hoods, five ancient and scarred faces were revealed. Instantly a expression of shock and recognition crossed his ancient mind, yet his demeanour remained calm and collected, what would the Chosen of Erebus want with him?

Erebus was the first Dark Apostle within the Legion of Lorgar; he was at the forefront of almost all major holy wars against the cursed Imperium of the False Emperor. His chosen were the best of thousands from within the Legion and usually when they approach a Word Bearer, Erebus or the Primarch himself had his eye on some grave matter within the Legion.

"I am the Chosen Warrior-Brother Kolar Arkhor of the First Host of Erebus. These are my Coterie's Aspirant...Zealots ."
The four other robed Word Bearers bowed their heads, in turn. They each stepped forth and introduced themselves.

"I am Khanor of the First Squad." Said the warrior on Arkhor's left, his face was a mess of scars and ragged short hair erupted from his head, he had a bionic unblinking red right eye, which focused on the priest.

"I am named Imrak of the Second." Replied the warrior to his right, he had small horns which covered his bald head.

"Rakhon of the Third." bowed the burliest of the lot behind him, he had black skin and a prominent jaw, which was clean shaven and his head bald except for a topknot crested at the top of his skull, great nodes erupted from his temples and his neck

"Arakh of the fourth, honoured priest." said the fourth and the youngest looking one, but a dark power swarmed beneath his fixed gaze, like that of a possessed warrior.

"Welcome to the Black Cathedral of Kor Phaeron the Honoured, warrior-brothers." He said as he splayed his hands indicating to the cathedral.

"What is it that you seek?"

"We have travelled from Holy Sicarus as ordered by the Shadow Council of Lorgar." Arkhor replied retrieving a parchment of flesh inscribed seal and a small bone-knife the easily the size of a normal man's forearm.

"We were tasked to find, Dark Apostle Varus the Destroyer." A faint sign of annoyance appeared on his face "But now it seems he is grievously injured in battle against the savage xenos...the Tau is it? On the cursed planet, Krnoth."

"And it seems that his apprentice…the First Acolyte is within your care. Is it not as said?" broke in the swarthy skinned Rakhon.

The Black Priest had a worried look on his face as he read the message on the skin parchment, his aquiline face was twisted in suspicion, he walked down the dais the skin parchment in one hand and the bony-knife in the other hand, he lent down toward Arkhor form the dais,

"We must talk in private Chosen of Erebus." Arkhor nodded.

Within a few moments they were in the Priests Chamber, it was a small spartan room, the shelves were stocked with holy writings, the Books of Lorgar, the Scrolls of Erebus, the Epistles of Kor Phaeron and the Tomes of Magnus and Ahriman among many other black texts of holy significance. The table was sprawled with writings and massive tomes, a single chair occupied the claustrophobic room. The four Champions stood silent and unmoving at the entrance of the chamber while Arkhor and Urius stood at the centre of the room face to face. The priest was frowning at the mere notion of the statements he had just read.

"What you say is…nothing short of treachery! Why would our own Lord want a Dark Apostle…chosen of Lorgar to…just die? It is just…unbelievable." He fumed

"You dare question our lord Daemon Primarch Lorgar's command?" asked an amused Arkhor

"No, Brother Arkhor, it is not that. This is unprecedented; if he dies…the Host will be…"

"The Host is to be given a new stewardship, Black Priest." He said anticipating the priests thought. Urius raised his eyebrow at the statement, "Who is to inherit the Host of my Lord?"

"The First Acolyte, of course." Arkhor walked over to the Priest and put a hand on his shoulder, "Do not be alarmed Brother you have served your lord well and your Host has honoured the Gods by erecting the Dark Temple on Krnoth." Urius still seemed unconvinced of their past successes. "Urius. The host will be intact."

A sign of relief flooded the priest's face, "Praise the Gods with a thousand souls!" he prayed. "So what am I to do?"

"Summon the Coryphaus of the Host and the First Acolyte." He smiled at the Priest. "And show me the Dark Apostle death-bed, so I may end his life." he asked as he took the bone-knife reverently from Urius's hand. "My brothers will accompany you in summoning the senior War-Captains." He indicated to the four Astartes standing by the door, a dozen more figures wielding arcane red and black Stormbolters with daemon maw barrels appeared beside them. Urius simply nodded his acknowledgment and proceeded to carry out His command.

The Dark Apostle was in a critical condition, pipes and wires erupted from his body as chirurgeons swarmed around him trying to patch the grievous wounds suffered on Halorn as he lay on a slab of metal. Arkhor looked at him through the plasflex glass of the observation room as the Dark Apostle began to heal, hate and anger welled in his eyes at the sight of the great Dark Apostle Varus now a withered heap of meat and bone. He hated nought for his power or position, rather how he had gained it, all those centuries ago, the betrayal of his coterie on Calth, the traitorous whoreson had abandoned him and survivors of his squad under fire. The feelings long gone welled up in him once more like a raging storm. Varus, he thought to himself, I swore by Rhobal's Oath that you will die by my hands. By the gods that will soon come to fruition!

Three pairs of Honour Guards in silver and black helms outside led by a Aspiring Champion with an ornate blade at his side and a monstrous plasma gun in hand, they let none but the most important and high of the Legion pass through the doors the Disciple was neither, but Arkhor was determined to get past them and he would not be denied. The Disciple stepped forth to the door, bolters crossed his path.

"You may not enter, Warrior-Brother!" the Champion growled.

"I do not need your permission for that Brother. For I am tasked by the will of Lorgar." said Arkhor in a calm demeanour. "I must enter and look to my duty."

"You have no authority here….Disciple of Chaos."

"Alas, about authority," he laughed ", and it is by whose decree you seek to bar me from my Lord Lorgar given task?"

"None are bar you from thine duty brother, but it is rather the decree of the Lord Apostle that none may enter except the chosen few."

"Then I must convince you to let me in?"

"You may have to procure the silver tongue of Erebus, Disciple of the Word!"

"I don't believe I need to. Brother." he looked about at the guards and the cover around the wide corridor, he folded his arms and watched them from his hood for a moment.

The Champion sensing danger charged his weapon, his men cocked their bolters. In a sudden blur of motion Arkhor pulled out two stormbolters in each hand both raking the bodies of the surprised Word Bearer guards in an arc, the remaining guards returned fire, the skilled Disciple ducked and rolled as bolter shells tore at his robe as it fluttered about. The bolt shells ricocheted of the walls ripping into servitors and equipment scattered about the place, one more guard fell as Arkhor unleashed the salvo onto the door, another guard rushed toward him, a chain axe in his hand. The Disciple leapt onto an equipment train which was passing by, using it as a platform he leapt onto last of the charging Word Bearer firing his weapons, the chest of the warrior became a ruin of blood and ceramite. The Dark Apostle within the medicae chamber was suddenly lacking his honour guard.

First Acolyte Ghuldar knelt in utter concentration and prayer communing with the powers of the warp on the failures that had come to the ruin of the Host. Ever since the Dark Apostle's injury and the Host's return to Ghalmek, he had been plagued by visions of death and vengeance, not of himself but of another, the one in his dreams who will grant him power. The one, the same one, who will destroy the only cursed barrier to his ascension, to that of a…A Dark Apostle.

The doors of his arcane meditation chamber growled and snarled as the daemon essence sensed someone approach it, the First Acolyte's eye shot open at the disturbance, he was in full power armour, deep gore red of his legion shone as if fresh out of the forge, it was remarkably restored from the damages he had sustained during fighting the xenos upon Krnoth, and due to the efforts of the chirumeks of the forge world it was fully refurbished. He stood up and touched the chaos star on his breastplate and intoned a benediction on his armour. He turned and exited the chamber.

Outside were four massive figures in gore red robes they were of the huge Astartes build and the robes only added to their immense figure.
"First Acolyte Ghuldar!" bowed the priest as he approached from behind them. "May the Dark Gods bless thee!"

"Gods watch over us, Urius." he growled, still disturbed by the visions, he raised his eyebrows looking at the new comers. "Who are these blessed warrior-brothers?"

"These, my lord are the Chosen of Erebus!" he said with anxiousness "Lord Lorgar, himself has tasked them here to Ghalmek."
Ghuldar looked astonished at the statement. Had Lorgar seen the dissension in his mind? Where they here to destroy him for the failures at Krnoth? These thoughts immediately flooded from him as the hooded figures bowed to him and revealed their faces.

"Honoured, apprentice of the Dark Apostle. We are to gather you and the Coryphaus along with the War-Captains of the Host." Said the warrior-brother with the bionic eye.

"Are we to be punished for the failures?" he inquired, a worried thought surfacing in his mind.

"No, it is of a deeper matter. It is of your Ascension." The Word Bearer stated.

"What Ascension?" Ghuldar looked puzzled

"Your Ascension to that of full Dark Apostle, your current master is….passing."

"The Dark Apostle still lives, the thought of his death are…heresy at its highest!"

"He may live for now." The Word Bearer snarled. "But not for long." A thin smile creased his face.

Arkhor opened the massive doors to the room in which the Dark Apostle lay, the chirurgeons immediately parted ways and began exiting the room at his order. The Chosen looked at the limp body of the Dark Apostle, the spiritual and high leader of his Host. All those centuries ago his betrayal had cost him his mentor, Rhobal, and many of his closest Warrior-Brothers at the hands of the hated Sons of Guilliman, the thought bought bile to his mouth, he hated everything about the Ultramarines, their thinking that they were better than other Legions had driven the Word Bearers to lash out at them during the Horus Heresy. The same anger was felt toward the crippled leader of the Host, he stepped next to his body and snarled his fangs in anger, he remembered what he had been told. Told, by the Primarch himself in confidence. The plans of the traitor were, to ally with the hated Alpha Legion and betray his master.

"Do not let the vermin live! Kill him! He has denied me my Will over all who bear my sacred gene-sons. He is no longer a Word Bearer, let alone a Dark Apostle of my vast Hosts. He is a liability, no longer is he on of the Chosen. He has forsaken his task at hand. The fool has let the Orb slip!"

"Arkhor! I charge you with being my harbinger; take this knife, the Bone-knife of Colchis and cut out his heart and harvest his gene-seed! Find the Acolyte and assist him retrieving the Orb of Gelmash. Return to me what is mine and I will give you what you desire my favoured son! Go now! With haste!"

With the holy words of his primogenitor in his mind Arkhor ripped the tubes out of the body of the enemy, vital fluids and protein and morthenic laced ichors dripped and sputtered out of the appendages. Blood and gore wept from his exposed wounds in thick rivers, with the litany of vengeance in his lip like a hideous mantra he plunged the sacred knife into the traitor's exposed flesh on his chest and through the weakened bone armour of his chest, the Apostle awakened from the sharp pain, he screamed in agony as the knife plunged in repeatedly, shattering and tearing his chest apart. He proceeded to follow as he was commanded, he ripped the diseased porous, pulpy and black heart of the enemy, the secondary heart began pumping faster to replace the natural heart, and Arkhor plunged the knife into the beating synthetic flesh stopping it.

He placed the still beating diseased primary heart into a pouch near his belt, he reached in to the carcass of the thrashing enemy and retrieved the egg shaped Gene-Seed of the Word Bearers Legion it was covered with gore and small nodes and cancerous growth which peeled of as it left its master. The body suddenly stopped thrashing and died as sudden as the assailant's strike. Arkhor smiled as he retrieved a cryo-vat box from the table beside him and placed the holy gene seed within it. He tapped into his vox bead.

"Brothers, the deed is done. Now for the Ascension and to fulfil the Will of our lord Primarch, as it was written!"

His ear vox bead crackled "As it was written!" came the reply.

"Tell the First Acolyte to summon the host, we must depart at once and reclaim our lord's revered Orb." A sudden report from Brother Khanor came through fraught with bolter fire in the background.

"Disciple Brother Arkhor, the Coryphaus…he's gone!"

"Gone? Report status of yourself and the coterie?"

"We were caught out…by the chosen Anointed of the Coryphaus. We have managed to neutralize them. No casualties."

"But the Coryphaus, he escaped?"

"Yes, Brother. He seeks to found a splinter from the Host. He and his most loyal have fled to the orbit, they are trying to jump away."

"What is their disposition? Numbers?"

"At least two companies, Disciple Brother. They are heading to the fourth quadrant docks, they will probably use their barge The Unyielding Darkness."

"Gods damn him!" Arkhor had expected dissent, but never to this scale, "Send a warning to the Infernus of the situation and prepare our Warrior-Brothers. They shall draw blood of the forsaken!"

You like it? Then review it. That's all i gotta say. This is linked to the EC:DB saga and there will be references to Battlegrounds saga as well bringing the alternates together.

Either way my most heart-felt and most worked on piece ever!