"The False Emperor didn't destroy this place? He didn't suppress your Legion with psychic power, have that damnable Imperial Regent humiliate your father, and then send those cursed Ultramarines to burn the Perfect City — he did none of that? Why?"
Morpal couldn't understand this.
But his words made Verity and everyone present understand — these people were absolutely not the Word Bearers. Or at least not the Word Bearers they recognised.
"Heretic! You should be ashamed of your betrayal and your fall!"
Verity, burning with fanatical loyalty, didn't answer his question. She was simply furious at this group's treachery.
"Why didn't the False Emperor destroy this place?"
Morpal didn't care about Verity's words. He just wanted an answer.
"Because we never betrayed, traitor!"
"Neither did we! We served him with the deepest devotion! We sang his praises, preached across every world, cultivated followers in his name!"
"And yet — for the ridiculous excuse of delaying the Crusade's efficiency — he forcibly crushed us, humiliated our Father and our entire Legion, massacred his loyal believers, and burned the Perfect City to the ground!"
"He didn't deserve our loyalty! And we will slaughter every last one of the False Emperor's servants!"
Morpal's voice carried a passion unlike any he'd felt before. Even when he had personally destroyed worlds he had built, even when a mortal bishop he had personally taught had beaten him in a theological debate, he had never been this furious.
"Then why did you delay the Crusade?"
"Because we were spreading his faith!"
"So were we! The Covenant of Truth has spread across the galaxy, and we didn't delay the Crusade by a single step! You people who use the Emperor's will as cover for your own ambitions — what right do you have to claim you're serving the Emperor faithfully?"
Verity's words didn't wake any of the traitors up in truth — language was weak and powerless, and she wasn't suited for this role. But what Morpal was actually focused on was something else entirely.
"The Great Crusade?"
"So — it really was only about the Great Crusade?"
Morpal didn't know why, but the confusion and bitterness in his heart made him instinctively reluctant to accept what he was hearing.
"What do you mean 'only about the Crusade?' Traitor — when Father returns, you'll all die beneath his blade, reduced to nothing, without a trace remaining."
Morpal ignored her. His head felt like it was in pain.
He fell to his knees. The Chaos scripture covering his face — desecrating, vile — was streaked with tears now. He tried to wipe them away with his hands, but the tears kept coming, showing no sign of stopping.
Behind him, more than ninety percent of the Word Bearers had fallen into a fog of confusion.
What had they been doing all this time?
They had killed their own Legion brothers. On Calth, they had backstabbed the cousins who had wanted to make amends for the guilt in their own hearts. They had allowed their brothers to fuse with daemons and become the Blessed.
What had they been doing?
Morpal drove his head against the ground. Tears slowly soaked the earth.
It was only about the Great Crusade. The Emperor hadn't deceived them. He hadn't humiliated everything they'd done. It had been a genuine warning — nothing more.
They had even done nothing for ten years after the Perfect City burned. They hadn't faced any real humiliation during that entire time either.
So what had they been doing all these years?
They had renounced the God-Emperor and sworn themselves to Chaos. They had actively gone out and slaughtered innocent people who had committed no wrong.
It had all been self-constructed outrage. Self-perceived humiliation. A warning — nothing more. Only that.
"Aaaaah!"
Morpal felt as though everything in his mind was about to burst apart.
For something this simple. For something this simple.
What had they done?
Aboard the warship, 'Lorgar' was in the chapel praying to Chaos. The true gods never disappointed their faithful — it was simply that sometimes certain things restrained their hands, making it impossible for them to direct attention into realspace, causing them to momentarily overlook their loyal servants.
'Lorgar' had never cared about this. He had always believed, from beginning to end, that the gods would absolutely never abandon their faithful — not the way his father, that False Emperor, had humiliated his son and his believers despite their wholehearted devotion. The False Emperor hadn't deserved any of it.
"Lorgar — the attack time has already passed. Your sons haven't launched their offensive according to plan."
'Lorgar' turned to look at this tall red daemon-brother. Something like guilt crossed his eyes. He really should have made more preparations before this — otherwise, how had his brother come to this state?
"Morpal wouldn't defy my orders. Something must have interrupted his attack plan, brother. Don't be impatient."
"They won't let those servants of the False Emperor escape. When the time comes, we'll also—"
The Butcher's Nails in 'Angron's' skull were clanging again. The sound irritated the daemon Primarch enormously. Rage had already filled his chest to capacity. He had long since lost the ability to reason.
But 'Lorgar' was one of the very few who could still make it slow down. Only 'Lorgar' still genuinely cared about it.
"I can't hold on any longer, Lorgar. Let me and my sons go down. I hunger for skulls and blood. The Blood God needs them."
'Angron' was done with patience. The Warmaster's orders had never entered his ears, and never would. He only wanted to kill.
Whether the enemy was powerful or weak made no difference. He wouldn't concern himself with who he was killing. The Blood God had never cared about the origin of the skulls either.
'Lorgar' felt something close to helplessness. Even he couldn't save this brother anymore. The Butcher's Nails and the Blood God's binding had reduced him completely to a beast.
This was partly his responsibility too. If circumstances hadn't been so desperate at the time, he would never have prepared the ascension ritual this hastily. At minimum, he would never have allowed this brother to become what he was now.
"Angron — don't be impulsive. Don't disrupt the Warmaster's plan. And don't forget what our purpose is this time."
The Butcher's Nails grew louder in 'Angron's' skull. Even 'Lorgar' felt a twinge of irritation at the sound, frowning at the desecrated mechanical construct driven into his brother's brain and spine.
"I've already sent Kharn and the others down. The Warmaster can go to hell. The plan can go to hell. The bigger picture can go to hell."
"If he wants to ask me about it, he can come and talk to my chainaxe."
'Angron' had been fully unhinged for some time. Now he was little more than a vessel for the Butcher's Nails.
'Lorgar' had noticed this clearly, but he couldn't bring himself to disappoint his brother.
The situation was favourable regardless. Was there anyone who could actually stop them from bringing this Imperium down?
Of course not.
So let his brother go. If the Warmaster asked about it later, a few words would do.
A general in the field isn't bound by every order from above — and besides, the Warmaster had changed substantially anyway.
Though 'Lorgar' had no idea what Erebus and the Chaos Gods had done to transform the Warmaster into what he was now, he didn't care anymore. All he wanted was revenge and to serve the true gods faithfully.
At this point, the Warmaster in his current state probably wouldn't scrutinise any excuse too closely.
"Then go, brother. Let out the rage in your heart. No need to keep suppressing yourself."
'Angron's' enormous frame convulsed unnaturally.
Both wings spread to their maximum. A roar. The 'Faithless Law' was punched through in several places, and 'Angron' descended toward Vharadesh at extraordinary speed.
Watching 'Angron's' characteristically brutal approach, 'Lorgar' said nothing. This brother had been driven to madness. He needed to let the rage out — otherwise the situation would only deteriorate further.
"What are you doing?"
'Kharn' looked coldly at the Word Bearers attacking the World Eaters. Both sides were now in a full engagement — the Word Bearers' combat power had never been negligible.
"Killing traitors who betrayed the Imperium."
"You have the nerve to say that? Don't forget who was the first among us to rebel. Don't forget who led the charge at the Five Hundred Worlds."
"Bathasar — you killed him with your own hands. Angthar stood with us and slaughtered those Ultramarines without showing a shred of mercy."
"And now you're telling me we're the traitors?"
The Butcher's Nails in 'Kharn's' skull were clanging hard. The chainaxe in his hand was running at maximum intensity.
"I know my sins are deep. But now — this is where our atonement begins. Like the Black Shields, from this day forward we will forget our former identities and join the Crusade of Penance."
"From this day, you and I are enemies, traitor. As long as we breathe, we will fight you to the ends of the galaxy."
Morpal finished speaking, raised his warhammer, and drove toward 'Kharn.' But he was clearly no match for 'Kharn.' After several hundred exchanges, his left arm was severed, a kick put him on the ground, and a chainaxe was pressed hard against his throat.
"All you Word Bearers are unwell in the head. Your Primarch was always mad, and all of you are fickle and inconsistent. Where was this clarity on Calth?"
"If you decide to be traitors, at least have the conviction for it. Now you're pulling this turnaround, acting like you're suddenly the enlightened ones. If it weren't for Angthar, I'd take your skull right now as an offering to the Blood God."
'Kharn' ultimately wasn't willing to break his old friend's heart. The chainaxe stayed where it was — it didn't come down.
"Traitor — you'll regret the choice you made today."
"Servant of the Blood God. Slave made on Nuceria. The Nails-made madman. The God-Emperor won't let you leave the Imperium alive."
Morpal struggled to rise — but under 'Kharn's' weight, nearly all his Astartes organs had sustained different degrees of damage. Blood was coming from his mouth.
"For a bunch of mortals. That's why you chose to turn back?"
"I'll pile their skulls into a monument right in front of you, and offer them to the Blood God."
'Kharn' knocked Morpal unconscious with a single punch and stood up, watching the surrounding brothers and Word Bearers locked in fierce combat — especially certain Blessed Sons among them. 'Kharn' couldn't understand how a daemon could remain loyal to the False Emperor.
Didn't matter. Today he would kill every last one of these "traitors" clean.
The chainaxe began spinning again. The Butcher's Nails vibrated more intensely — the agony was increasing alongside the bloodlust swelling in his chest.
Then 'Kharn' looked up.
From the direction of Vharadesh, an enormous host of Resentment Intelligence forces was coming at them at speed.
Bolt fire and melta at absurd rates of fire and power density dealt catastrophic losses to the World Eaters in a single moment. Even 'Kharn' was forced back behind a massive boulder — though the boulder itself wouldn't hold for long.
The Word Bearers were within the same fire coverage zone — but they raised no objection. They had asked for this. No mercy needed for them. They were penitents. Death was already the lightest punishment they deserved.
Iron Circles and automata charged first, harvesting the World Eaters. Contemptor Dreadnoughts moved against the dozens of Saturn Terminators who existed because of the 'Dragon Lord's' misguided mercy.
Kill every traitor.
That was the order they had received. Verity had activated the Resentment Intelligence forces that had been stationed in Vharadesh's underground — placed there by her father long ago.
The Warmaster's resources, committed at the time, were finally being put to use. Verity had always been reluctant to use them, because her father disliked these things.
But the situation now was different. The brothers stationed in low orbit had gone silent. The logic engine had shown no response. The enemy had severed their communication.
Verity didn't know how they had accomplished that. The forces available to her were a handful of defence units and Perturabo's stationed Resentment Intelligence forces.
Even though the Word Bearers had turned back, Verity could not bring herself to trust them from the bottom of her heart.
Morpal was pulled to his feet by his brothers. The Resentment Intelligence forces routed around them — these people were currently in the friendly camp, and in close combat there was no need to harm them further.
The Word Bearers looked at the Resentment Intelligence units with complex expressions. There was a time when Resentment Intelligence could never have appeared in the Imperium.
The Imperium truly had changed considerably. And their road of penitent campaigning clearly wasn't going to end today.
They had all already made peace with death. But apparently there was still something worth holding together for — survive long enough to see "Father" return, then face whatever fate came.
'Kharn' had been pushed to the absolute limit. Watching his brothers fall one after another, his fury was incandescent — but the only sliver of reason still remaining in his mind told him not to be reckless right now.
The Butcher's Nails still had their influence — but reason had reclaimed the high ground. 'Kharn' knew the battle situation could still be salvaged. He could feel his father approaching.
And sure enough — in the sky above, a crimson comet punched through the planet's shields and slammed down at enormous speed not far from the battlefield.
A terrible roar.
'Kharn' saw the familiar figure materialise before him.
"ROARRR!"
'Angron' roared. The ten-metre frame moved at a speed that defied physical limits, crashing into the Resentment Intelligence forces. Even the Iron Circles, automata, and Contemptor Dreadnoughts were individually capable — but their numbers were running low now.
And 'Angron' was a different creature from what it had once been. Simply relying on this level of firepower to defeat it was essentially impossible.
But just as 'Kharn' thought things had stabilised, the ground of Vharadesh began to shake. Looking toward the source — even the well-travelled 'Kharn' and 'Angron' found themselves momentarily struck dumb.
Where had all those Titans come from?
'Kharn' had no answer. 'Angron' had no answer. Even the Butcher's Nails went quiet. The chainaxe stopped spinning. The roaring stopped.
The Resentment Intelligence forces swept the Word Bearers back and away from the immediate line of fire. 'Angron,' recovering from its shock with unnatural speed, moved to pursue — and then a dozen Volcano Cannon shots and plasma macro-cannon blasts annihilated it in a single cataclysmic moment of overlapping detonations.
It didn't even manage to roar. 'Kharn' was banished back to the Warp alongside it.
Twelve thousand World Eaters — still in an organised formation — ceased to exist beneath the Titans' overwhelming firepower.
The Word Bearers stared at all of this in a daze.
Medical automata arrived, efficiently treating their wounds and attaching replacement limbs. Some brothers were carried to field operating tables and subjected to surgical procedures they didn't recognise.
They didn't know what was happening. Everything had moved too fast. A daemon Primarch had just been banished.
They had always known this Imperium was different from what they remembered. But they hadn't thought it was this different.
How were you supposed to fight this?
Thank every god that hadn't driven them completely mad — they had come to their senses before it was too late.
The Word Bearers looked at each other and privately agreed: the decision they had made earlier had been a genuinely wise one.