Chapter 1.2 A Change of Plans

Erebus dragged the exquisitely crafted dagger across the floor with a scraping sound. The blood that flowed down its edge completed the sigil on the metal, and the Dark Apostle stood back to admire his handiwork. It was a lesson in elegance in its design. The blind fools Lorgar and Kor Phaeron could never produce something as beautiful in tribute to the Great Four. Erebus was far more adept at producing results with little material.

The Word Bearers, sons of Lorgar, also known as the Seventeenth Legion, had long been devoted to faith and the Truth of Divinity. For a while, that faith had been misplaced in the Emperor of Mankind. Lorgar had written many works on how the Emperor was a God, and converted many worlds to that faith. The Emperor had not been pleased.

In punishment for calling him a God, the Emperor sent the Ultramarines under Roboute Guilliman to Lorgar's perfect world, Monarchia, and burned that world to ashes. Almost no one survived. It was an act of cruelty of the highest degree.

In his grief, Erebus and Kor Phaeron had brought Lorgar to the real truth of the Gods, showing him the path to true enlightenment. The Word Bearers now all hid their true allegiance to the Dark Gods, as its senior offices plotted and schemed to bring about the new age.

But the death of Horus was a set back. This had not been foreseen.

It had been Xenos, of this Erebus was sure, possibly some Aeldari plot or some other minor species that thought they could prevent the rise of Chaos by destroying their greatest champion. A foolish hope, but none the less Erebus needed answers. Answers only one who swam in the warp could provide.

Stepping back, and uttering a long incantation the ruins on the ground began to glow with a sickly pale yellow light. A black smoke arose from the markings and began to coalesce within a central circle of the design. It moved and shifted as if attempting to wriggle out of straight jacket but as Erebus' chanting ceased the figure remained in its wispy form, with the mere faintest outline of a bipedal figure.

"Mortal… How dare thee summon me here. Release me from this prison of blood. I command thee!" it hissed with irritation.

"I think not," replied Erebus calmly, "I am in need of information. You will provide it."

"No!" hissed the reply.

Erebus sighed and wiped the last of the blood off his knife with a off coloured rag of cloth before returning the instrument to his table of artefacts.

"You seem to be under the misapprehension that this is a negotiation. I am here to serve the will of the Dark Gods and you will not deny me. Everything has changed. Our long foreseen plans have been thrown into disarray. Whilst the Divine Ones thrive on Chaos, without knowledge we cannot bring about their designs. The death of Horus Lupercal has fundamentally changed both the plans of the False Emperor and ourselves. Tell me, servant of the Four, what do you know about the events surrounding the death of Horus Lupercal?"

The figure writhed and fidgeted like a school child being dressed for the day, but ultimately with no options to change its state of affairs it relented.

"The death of the Sacrificial King came too soon, when he was raw and untainted. This was the meddling of lessers who do not know their place. They are but blind ground burrowers scrabbling to find a path that does not lead to their extinction. They have but delayed the inevitable, they will not stop the madness that is to come."

Erebus picked up a book and flipped through several pages, consulting with its content before addressing the apparition again.

"The False Emperor, as you call him the 'Anathema', will choose a new vessel to serve as his proxy for the crusade as he returns to Terra as planned. Do we know who this is, do we know if our plans will still work if it isn't Horus leading the pack?"

"The Anathema must choose now which path we will all now walk", growled the daemonic presence, "There are but 4 he can move in Horus' place, for he will not choose Lorgar."

Erebus snorted, "His vision must be poor if he elects to place Lorgar at the head of his Great Work at this juncture."

"He will not. He does not have perfect clarity on all that transpires around the so called Urizen, but he knows he needs to choose one of both strength and character. Whom ever he chooses we must put pressure on their weaknesses to break them. You must convince them of the Anathema's lies."

"Will the Anathame still work, that Xenos weapon I have been told will cross my path? Will wounding the False Emperor's chosen, the Anathema's chosen, still be corruptible in the space we had planned for Horus?"

The figure seemed to pause as if in deep thought before replying, "Yes and No. The words spoken for a First Son will not fall the same on ears that have heard different tales. They will be most susceptible when their body is broken, but if their mind cannot be swayed it must be their heart, if their loyalty proves true then their reason or their pride must be appealed to. You must understand the spirit of the Anathema's chosen and find the swiftest path to the truth."

Erebus picked up a writing implement, scribbling notes furiously on the edges of the tome he held. Flashes of inspiration darted before his eyes as minor adjustments were made.

"So this is not a set back. Merely a re-alignment."

"The Anathema will chose the manner of their demise. Their Empire shall be devoured from within by the Parasite Kingdom that they have let fester, their Pride shall blot out the galaxy until all is consumed by it, their Heart shall Bleed until the galaxy is awash with piles of the dead, or the very Foundations of their house shall crack and split open with a thousand torments. There can be no other way, the Anathema will not choose a Dog, a Fly or even his favourite Manuscript. One shall stand and Eight shall be damned."

Erebus paused in his writing, turning to the figure, "Only Eight?"

"The Gods care not for the manners of pawns. There will be sufficient fertilizer for the soils."

"Well it seems whomever this new Sacrificial King shall be, that is where I must ply my trade."

The figure twisted and contorted sharply with a hiss, "The Sacrificial King is No More. His role is ended, cut short by those whom would seek to appose the Will of the Gods. In his place stands one of four. The Puppet Tyrant, The Decadent Slave, The Yielding Heart, or The Stone Chattel. Different paths to the same destination, but they must each be walked in their own way. Some will not spill blood on the final altar, some will crush every brother to dust, some will cause the very Earth to break. Some shall dominate with love, others with fear, others with a silver tongue. Remember, Erebus, you are but a guide. You are not the King, but the King-Maker. You are not the one who grants Commands but the one who ensures others Obey. Remember…"

Suddenly the smoke began to fade, the black wisps drifting down to the floor and vanishing from sight. The runes, which before had kept a constant baleful glow, dimmed as if the energy powering them had run its course.

Erebus dropped his writing implement with a start, rushing forward to the figure that was almost gone from view.

"Wait! What about the Despoiler?!"

"That was… the old… path… Now… another…" came the voice as if giving up the last breath of air in its non-existent lungs. And with that last line, the daemon disappeared completely, returning from whence it came once more. The glyphs, their power spent, returned to nothing more than spatters of blood on a polished floor.

Erebus retrieved his tool and made a few last remarks in his tome. He sighed, and returned the book to the table alongside his other implements.

"Well isn't this all a nuisance. Still, at least there is a path to follow. Whom ever this replacement for Horus is, I will need to get close to him. I will need to be there when the blade falls to ensure he follows the directions the Gods have planned. But at least the question for how to get close has already been solved. I can't say..."