Chapter 55: The Empire's Cruelty — Erebus, the Profane
Was Kahaban powerful?
Yes.
A Bloodthirster favored by Khorne was never anything less than a catastrophic force. Under the right circumstances, he could challenge a primarch—or at the very least, withdraw back into the Warp intact.
But here?
He faced four Primarchs.
…and Erebus.
And that changed everything.
Khorne's blessings surged through Kahaban in endless waves—rage, strength, unrelenting fury.
But something was wrong.
Every surge of power was… met.
Matched.
Balanced.
Even suppressed.
The golden light of the Emperor lingered in the air like a silent decree, cutting off Kahaban's retreat, sealing the veil between reality and the Warp.
He was trapped.
And worse—
He was being mocked.
"What is humiliation?" Erebus mused aloud, pacing slowly before the bound daemon.
"It is when your enemy does not simply kill you… but reduces you to nothing."
Kahaban strained against his bindings, but golden psychic chains—woven by Magnus the Red—held him immobile.
Lorgar stepped forward next, calm and solemn.
"The Word must be inscribed," he said.
His crozius glowed faintly as scriptural sigils—twisted reflections of imperial truth—burned themselves into Kahaban's flesh. Not mere wounds, but symbols of domination, forced meaning carved into a creature that rejected all order.
Kahaban roared—but the sound was muffled.
Erebus had left the chainsword lodged between his jaws, its low snarl a constant reminder of control.
Nearby, Perturabo worked in silence.
For once, the Lord of Iron seemed… focused. Calm.
Satisfied.
With precise, methodical movements, he carved into Kahaban's massive horns—reshaping them into grotesque effigies.
On one horn: a crowned, skeletal Emperor enthroned in gold.
On the other: a faceless, abstract icon of dominion.
"Symbolism matters," Perturabo muttered.
Erebus had suggested it.
Perturabo had improved it.
Kahaban trembled.
Not from pain.
From realization.
If Khorne sees this…
Even a daemon could feel something akin to dread.
Perturabo stepped back, examining his work.
Warp-flame flickered along the carved surfaces, illuminating the Emperor's distorted likeness.
For a brief moment, something shifted in Perturabo's expression.
Purpose.
Direction.
Then it was gone.
"Daemons do not feel as we do," Lorgar said quietly, resting a hand on Perturabo's shoulder.
"They imitate. They deceive. They exist to corrupt."
He produced a thick tome—dark, heavy, bound in worn leather.
A compilation of doctrine.
Annotated.
Rewritten.
By Erebus.
"Repeat after me, brother."
Perturabo hesitated—then nodded.
Lorgar began:
"I will serve the God-Emperor eternally. I will stand against the Ruinous Powers without end. The architect of fate shall fall. The Garden shall be purged. The Blood God shall know stillness."
Perturabo repeated the words, slowly at first, then with growing intensity.
Magnus watched.
…and recorded everything.
Time passed.
Or perhaps it didn't.
Within the Warp-touched space, meaning blurred.
Kahaban was broken down—not physically alone, but conceptually. Souls of fallen cultists were bound into him, anchoring his existence to reality, preventing escape.
If they wished, they could imprison him here for millennia.
But they did not have the luxury of time.
"I am Kahaban…" the daemon muttered weakly.
"I… am Kahaban…"
Erebus sighed.
"This is going nowhere."
He stepped forward.
"Let me try something else."
Magnus began drawing a new summoning circle.
But he hesitated.
"Erebus… is this wise?"
Erebus raised his bolt pistol slightly.
"Doubt," he said calmly, "is disloyalty."
That was enough.
Lorgar tightened his grip on his crozius.
Angron lifted an axe.
Perturabo turned.
Even the golden psychic presence in the air seemed to sharpen.
Magnus stiffened.
Then forced a smile.
"I was merely wondering who would… document the process."
A pause.
Then—
Erebus grinned.
"Ah. That's better."
The ritual began.
Warp energy twisted.
And something answered.
Shaeluna appeared.
A lesser daemon of Slaanesh.
She froze the moment she saw Kahaban.
Then the Primarchs.
Then Erebus.
Her expression collapsed into immediate submission.
She dropped to her knees.
"My lords! I—I serve! I obey! I believe in the God-Emperor!"
Desperation bled through every word.
She knew.
She understood exactly how bad this was.
Erebus stepped forward, smiling.
"Relax," he said softly.
"This is your reward."
Shaeluna flinched.
That voice…
Worse than any daemon.
More dangerous than any god.
Erebus gestured toward Kahaban.
"Behold. A champion of Khorne."
Bound.
Defiled—not in body alone, but in meaning.
Stripped of purpose.
"You may do as you wish," Erebus continued. "Consider it… a lesson."
Shaeluna swallowed.
Her instincts screamed at her to flee.
But there was nowhere to go.
She stepped forward cautiously.
Then—
Erebus grabbed her and pulled her back.
"Not like that," he said.
His tone sharpened.
"Understand your place."
He dragged her behind the immobilized Bloodthirster, forcing her to look up at the towering, broken form.
"You are not here for pleasure," Erebus said coldly.
"You are here to unmake."
Shaeluna trembled.
Then nodded frantically.
"Yes… yes, my lord…"
Behind them, Kahaban's broken voice whispered again:
"I… am Kahaban…"
Erebus tilted his head.
Then sighed.
"You really do sound like Rogal Dorn when you say that."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Unnatural.
"…Why," Erebus muttered, almost to himself, "do they keep doing that?"
End of Chapter
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