Warhammer [521-523] (Patreon)

Chapter 521: The Primarch Daemon Prince Duel, and Chaos Divinity's Choice

Horrifying warp-chaos power poured off the man, making the nearby daemons of the Immaterium too afraid to approach.

The palace gates were shut tight. The people inside cowered in their rooms, not daring to look at the man outside.

Damn it, how long has it been? So long he'd lost track—but Corax was stuck to him like a burr, refusing to let go.

If you want revenge, go find someone else! Like Horus's son, the current Warmaster of Chaos, Abaddon.

Or other fallen Primarchs—like Angron, Mortarion, Magnus, or Fulgrim.

Why keep fixating on me? I'm just a useless preacher. Among the Primarchs, I was the weakest in combat—by far.

If the Monarchia hadn't been destroyed, he would never have betrayed the Emperor, because the Emperor was his god!

But when his god abandoned him, he had no choice left. How could a god forsake His faithful?

So he chose betrayal, and set out to find his true god. Yet the more he pondered, the more he realized the Four Chaos Powers were no good either.

Thus he chose none of the four, and instead, in the warp, became a Chaos Undivided Daemon Prince.

Countless years passed—he hadn't even seen his own offspring. No one dared approach this region.

Because there were two evils here: two powerful daemon princes!

Lorgar looked helplessly at his brother. My brother, look at yourself—right now you're even more like a daemon than I am. Have you noticed what you've become?

 "How long are you going to hide? I'll stay here with you, until the end of the world."

Corax didn't know how long he'd stayed here. Only one thought filled his mind: revenge.

He'd been in this warp region who knew how long, but the Imperium had Rogal Dorn, Guilliman, Vulkan—even without him it would not fall apart. No matter what, he would bring this traitor to justice!

Every so often, some short-sighted Chaos Astartes came to make trouble, trying to meet their Primarch.

Swarms of Chaos Astartes attacked him, but Corax merely waved his hand and endless shadow flew out from him, devouring them all.

Over time, no one dared to come. Even the Word Bearers stopped coming to pay respects to their gene-father.

"Corax, you're the same as me now. If you don't stay here—if you return to the Imperium—maybe there's still hope. But as you are now, you've become a monster like me." From the castle, Lorgar poked his head out and spoke.

He only dared to speak to the man outside like this; if he stepped out, he'd be beaten senseless.

Only by hiding here, with strong warp defenses and sorcery blessed by the Changer of Ways, could he barely hold his brother off and keep him out of the castle.

"No matter what I become, it doesn't matter. I only want you dead." Corax's cold, merciless words drove Lorgar to despair.

"Why don't you hunt the other traitors? Why are you fixated on me? I wasn't the only one who betrayed you—I only incubated Horus. Which of them did less damage than I did?" Lorgar roared.

He repeated this every day—who knew how many times. He longed for his brother to leave—just for a moment—so he could enjoy a sliver of peace!

"Don't even think about it. I'll repeat this to you every day. I only want you dead," Corax said.

Bang!

The castle windows slammed shut. Powerful psychic wards activated, sealing the entire castle.

Seeing the windows close, Corax snorted coldly, then looked at his shadowed, monstrous arm and sighed.

In the warp he felt no discomfort. On the contrary, a comfort beyond words—like… like going home.

That feeling told Corax he likely could never return to the Imperium.

His human shell, his Primarch body—under endless warp corrosion and saturation—

Had begun transforming into something else. Ten thousand years had passed—he hadn't eaten anything.

No nutrients, no energy—and yet in the warp he was full of vigor, even better than ever.

But his body had changed—a pair of vast wings of shadow-energy had sprouted from his back.

His flesh had warped—stained pitch-black like a daemon's, corrupted by the warp!

In this state, what human aspect remained? He was a daemon through and through.

Sometime, somehow, Corax had completed an apotheosis ritual—without even realizing—becoming a Daemon Prince.

Like this, how could he face returning to the Imperium? How could he face his brothers?

So the Raven Lord decided to remain in the warp. After killing Lorgar, he would hunt the other daemon-primarchs—until every last one of them was dead.

All of them dead—the whole of Chaos eradicated. Extirpate them all!

Now, Corax clung to a sliver of will to remain rational, to keep from becoming utterly a daemon prince in mind as well as form.

Time felt frozen in eternity. Whatever happened outside, nothing here changed. But today, something different occurred: a squad of Noise Marines in purple armor appeared.

Their leader stood over five meters tall, with daemon wings and horns.

"Looks like I won't be bored today. You'd better keep me entertained for a long while." Corax snorted at the approaching Chaos Astartes and their massive daemon leader.

Though he'd become what he was, he had no mercy for traitors and warp-spawn. If they appeared before him, they would die.

A raven of shadow shot from Corax toward the giant daemon.

Seeing the onrushing shadow-raven, the massive daemon snorted, drew a purple longsword, and cleaved the construct in one stroke—lightly dissolving all of Corax's attacks.

The Noise Marines and their giant daemon advanced. Corax finally saw the daemon's face.

It was both familiar and strange: familiar because it was Fulgrim's visage; strange because of what he had become.

Horns on his brow, wings at his back—this was a Daemon Prince.

"My brother! Ten thousand years gone, is this how you welcome me? I came to celebrate your rebirth—I even brought wine. Will you share a drink?" Fulgrim said with a sly smile.

"I'll never drink with you, Fulgrim. I only want your head. You've come at a good time—saves me a trip." Corax moved to strike.

"Then let's play, Corax." Fulgrim coldly smiled and drew his purple runeblade.

Shadow and violet flame crashed upon the warp's wasteland. Two utterly different chaos powers tore reality into webbed fissures.

Corax's shadow-wings unfurled—each feather a vortical eddy of dark matter—while Fulgrim's serpentine tail seeped syrupy Slaanesh fire between its barbed scales.

"Look at your wings, brother." Fulgrim flicked aside a diving raven with his blade, voice dripping a sweet venom. "More… complete than at Isstvan. And prettier."

He drawled on the last word, mocking the loyalist brother who had become what he most loathed: a Daemon Prince.

The daemonblade screamed. Hundreds of imprisoned souls shrieked in resonance, forcing Corax back three steps.

The Raven Lord's heels ploughed smoking furrows. His black-gauntleted hand plunged into his own chest, wrenching out a heaving mass of shadow and hurling it skyward. It split into a storm of ravens, each beak crackling with warp lightning.

"At least my feathers are real. At least my power is my own." Corax's voice spoke from a thousand beaks as the storm swallowed Fulgrim whole.

Corax's true form coalesced behind Fulgrim—shadow talons tore open the left wing-membrane.

The Prince of Excess shrieked in a note between pain and ecstasy. His serpent tail coiled Corax's waist, barbs scraping away tarry, uncanny matter.

It was the blood of two Primarchs—one a starlit black fluid thrumming with shadow power—

The other a fragrant, pink-violet crystal. Mixed together, it squirmed on its own, forming micro-rifts in the warp.

Round one was near even.

"Ten thousand years have passed, Corax. Do you know what the outside is like now?" Fulgrim pressed close to Corax's rotting raven-helm; a forked tongue licked the crack in the mask.

It made the Raven Lord retch—he kicked his brother away. Once an aesthete who loved beauty, he was now a depraved pervert.

"You taste wonderful, brother. Let me lick you again?" Fulgrim leered.

Corax's shadow power surged, nauseated to the point of fury.

His wings became light-devouring singularities, dragging every Noise Marine within kilometers into twisted ribbons of metal.

As they were about to die, violet energy flared from Fulgrim, shielding his gene-sons and saving them.

"Fulgrim, the power of Excess has made you a complete monster. I will grant you death, so you can find peace in it."

"Hahaha! No, Corax, you're mistaken. My power isn't a gift of Slaanesh—I am Slaanesh." Fulgrim laughed queerly, his words bearing deep implication.

To Corax, he looked every inch a madman—a pervert.

Lorgar, in the castle, was also startled by the battle. He opened a window and saw his two brothers dueling.

"Fulgrim, is that you? Help me—help me defeat Corax."

Lorgar clutched at a straw. He wanted desperately to escape his pursuer.

"Haha, my brother, of course I'll help—but with conditions, as you know." Fulgrim smirked up at Lorgar.

"What conditions?" If it was too harsh—like becoming Fulgrim's slave—he wouldn't accept.

He could just keep holing up; he'd been a shut-in a long time anyway.

"You will become my Daemon Prince. No other demands. You'll be free to do anything you want." Fulgrim smiled.

"You want me to become a Slaanesh Daemon Prince?" Lorgar blurted.

He knew the Four wanted Primarchs. Being targeted by Slaanesh wasn't surprising.

"No, no, brother, you misunderstand. I'm no longer that woman's slave. I've slipped her leash.

And soon I'll seize her power. I am the new Slaanesh—the new Prince of Dark Delight." Fulgrim laughed.

At some point, Slaanesh seemed to have abandoned Her divine mantle. The one chosen to inherit that Chaos godhead was Fulgrim.

He could feel it—the Chaos pantheon's alignment was already half-divorced from that woman. Soon, when she fully relinquished the mantle, he would be crowned.

"What did you say, Fulgrim? Are you mad?" Corax said.

"Hahaha! I've only obtained a portion of the god-power so far—but let me show you!"

Fulgrim waved his hand. The gray, undivided warp region was instantly wrapped in a violet aura. Slaanesh power manifested around him.

This godly might immediately suppressed the two Daemon Primarchs.

Chapter 522: Fulgrim's Words that Pierce the Heart; Lorgar's Disbelief

In the warp's twisted dimensions, Chaos surged like a tide. Fulgrim was wreathed in pink-violet god-power, the energy thickening to substance—countless tendrils bound the two Primarchs fast.

Corax's black pinions were snapped; Lorgar's scriptural chains shattered inch by inch—in absolute power, even the mightiest Primarchs were as fragile as infants.

"What a beautiful sight, my dear brothers." Fulgrim's voice mingled a hundred daemon screeches. He raised a crystal-studded finger, and chaos swelled like a storm at the gesture.

"See? This is the supreme authority even Father never touched. What Horus craved back then was but a pale shadow of the trinket in my palm."

When the Palace of Pleasure was first sealed, he had been lost, even went into hiding.

He feared his authority would be stolen; he feared other factions would strike. Without Slaanesh's protection, he was vulnerable.

But then something wondrous happened: the divine authority of one of the Four inexplicably appeared within him—

A special link formed, and Keeper of Secrets who once followed the God-Child of Slaanesh reached out to him in secret.

Now many Keepers had joined his banner. With time, his mastery of god-power grew. If he wished, he could anoint Chaos Astartes directly as Champions or Lords.

When he fought Corax earlier, he used only his Primarch strength and swordsmanship—no god-power.

Now, after invoking it, even Daemon Primarchs were ants before him. The gulf between a Chaos God and a Greater Daemon—

Was like that between a Greater Daemon and a mortal—immeasurable.

He didn't know why Slaanesh abandoned Her godhead—but since She had, he would not be polite. He would inherit all Her power—and in the end devour Her too.

Then surpass his Father—utterly surpass the Emperor—and achieve what he once dared not even imagine.

He would lead Chaos to destroy the Imperium, and turn all humanity's faith to himself.

The faith of all mankind would make him stronger than ever.

He would bless every artist, bless all bliss, and banish pain from the universe!

Make a perfectly blissful world of delight!

"Impossible." Lorgar's pupils shrank violently. His painstaking warp citadel was collapsing—pillars carved with billions of verses toppled—like the destruction he saw in the Monarchia reborn. "A Chaos godhead—how could—"

"This… this can't be. How… how did you get that power?" Lorgar stared, incredulous, at his gene-brother.

This bastard—what kind of dogshit luck did he have to obtain such god-power? Why—why choose him?

"Hahaha! Nothing is impossible, brother. Listen—I am more perfect than the former Chaos Power, for they have no flesh.

But I do—I can walk the material realm. When I fully devour the godhead, I will be the most perfect, most beautiful existence in the universe." Fulgrim's face was rapturous.

"Fulgrim! You may be strong now, but you cannot walk the material realm if you become a Chaos God.

As a Chaos God you are confined to the warp—utterly unable to set foot in realspace. If they could, the others would have done so long ago," the bound Corax snorted.

Even if by some fluke he became a god—he could no longer meddle in realspace. And even if he could—

His body couldn't withstand it. Even a Primarch's form cannot bear a Chaos God's power—not even a sliver.

"You're a relic, Corax. You've spent ten thousand years here—ten thousand years babysitting Lorgar.

You have no idea what's happened outside," Fulgrim sneered.

My good brother, how much do you know?

Even random Custodians who can gigantify, or new Knight frames, or new Titans, even Nurgle's Great Unclean Ones, Chaos Champions, Daemon Princes—

"What do you mean? What happened? What's become of the Imperium?" Corax asked.

Had something happened to the Imperium?

And he'd been here a full ten thousand years! He'd thought it only a few centuries!

"What happened? Our Primarch era is, in some sense, over. Father created a new kind of Primarch—beings called Cosmic Beast.

Fusions producing lifeforms—colossal entities now walking realspace. They possess power far beyond Primarchs—bodies of terrifying resilience.

And I will obtain such a body—enough to house a portion of my god-power," Fulgrim said with a cold smile.

Chaos gods excel at corruption—he could incubate a Cosmic Beast. If they resisted warp energies, if they couldn't be corrupted—

He could fall back to acquiring gigantification tech. Chaos Warpsmith Vashtorr had developed gigantification; he could obtain it regardless.

"Fulgrim, if you've already gained god-power, there's no need for me to serve you. You'll have hordes of Greater Daemons and Daemon Princes," Lorgar said.

"How pitiful, Lorgar—you likely don't know what's happened in the Imperium," Fulgrim sneered.

He had come to shatter his brother's faith and reveal a brutal truth.

"What do you mean, Fulgrim?"

"Lorgar, you've already returned to the Imperium. Our Father still sits on the Golden Throne, but he has recovered somewhat—he can even converse with people now. Several Primarchs have returned!

They were upgraded—by fusing with those Cosmic Beast—gaining anti-warp power, becoming super-lifeforms. And you are among them," Fulgrim said.

"That's impossible—I'm here. How could I have returned?" Lorgar said.

He thought Fulgrim was toying with him—always fond of jokes—but this was too cruel.

"I'm not joking. You have returned—and become Ecclesiarch of the Imperial Cult.

The Emperor re-acknowledged you—and even repented for destroying your Monarchia," Fulgrim said.

"Impossible—I'm right here. How could I have returned?" Lorgar repeated.

He was here—how could the Emperor enthrone him as Ecclesiarch? Wait—Ecclesiarchy?

"Is that so? Yet there is a Lorgar in the Imperium—he fused with an Cosmic Beast, and commands his own Astartes legion—the Paladins of the Creed.

Oh, right! You've been here ten thousand years—you don't even know what the Ecclesiarchy is. Let me tell you.

About eight thousand years ago—two millennia after Father took the Throne—humanity founded a church: the Ecclesiarchy.

A cult of the Emperor—worshiping Him as a god. Their holy text is yours. Though your Monarchia was destroyed,

The church you founded survived intact. Your creed endured—and because of it, the Emperor grew stronger," Fulgrim said.

"How… how could this be? Then my betrayal was meaningless—my Monarchia's destruction meaningless? Why? Why?" Lorgar's composure cracked; he could not accept it.

Even the Raven Lord was shaken.

Could it be? Lorgar's writings truly became a church?

But if Father named Lorgar Ecclesiarch—then who is this in front of me?

Corax could feel the warp-deep essence in this brother. He was no impostor.

"I'll tell you the truth—cruel as it is!

He's your clone. My former gene-son—Fabius Bile, former Chief Apothecary of the Emperor's Children—made clones of Primarchs.

One was you. The Imperium found your clone—and your clone replaced you!

He took your place, your honors—became Ecclesiarch—sat in the seat you dreamed of." Fulgrim went for the heart.

He would wager that, upon learning this, Lorgar would collapse—and he was right.

Chapter 523: Imprisoning the Raven Lord, Corrupting Lorgar

"No! Why? Why treat me like this, Father? I did everything right—yet you punished me—and now you let a clone replace me?"

Lorgar's eyes went blood-red. Terrifying warp energy burst from him—rage and jealousy twisted his face.

"Hahaha! Father did another fine thing! Do you know?

Horus returned—Magnus too. Both traitors were forgiven—and welcomed home.

So, Lorgar, want to go beg Father's forgiveness? He might forgive you!" Fulgrim continued.

He told them Horus and Magnus had returned. Even Corax lost his composure.

Father resurrected Horus! The man who split the Imperium, ended the Great Crusade early, and chained him to the Golden Throne!

"To hell with him! I just want to butcher him—drag the false Emperor off his chair and tear him apart.

I'll kill him. I'll kill that clone of mine—that impostor—mince him to paste," Lorgar roared.

What humiliation—what cruel irony! Father would rather enthrone a counterfeit clone as Ecclesiarch—

Than spare him a glance—than say a single "I'm sorry."

Am I worth less than a clone?

 "You lie! Father would never bring back Horus—or the traitor Magnus.

They fell utterly. Horus was slain by Father's own hand. This is all lies!

Lorgar—use your head. How could a clone replace you? Fulgrim is deceiving you—he always loved to lie," Corax shouted.

Newly grasping god-power and already sowing temptation? Such clumsy lies.

How could we believe such absurdities?

"Won't believe till you see the coffin? Then let me show you truth." Fulgrim's laughter made the warp shudder.

He tore open a rift to reveal the golden domes of the Imperial Palace—displaying the Ecclesiarchal basilica.

A magnificent cathedral carved with saints and the Emperor. People praised the God-Emperor. The sight stirred a strange familiarity in Lorgar—like his Monarchia.

"Behold this ridiculous Imperium! Those new Cosmic Beast Primarchs, those pathetic machine constructs, those new-age Astartes," Fulgrim declaimed.

The scene shifted—to the Golden Throne. The Emperor's body was withered, skeletal.

Magnus sat beside Him, sharing the Throne's torment—sealing the webway, lighting the Astronomican, guiding Imperial ships through the warp.

The sight broke Corax—he stared at the traitor seated by the Emperor.

Then the scene spun to a strange world. A tall, bald man in silver-white armor stood, radiating holy light—illumining the planet. Chaos warriors within the light were purged of warp taint—reverted to baseline humans.

That holy figure was once the Warmaster of the Imperium—Horus.

"See how Father loves Horus? Even after his crimes, He forgave him—and granted him greater light. Look how biased He is," Fulgrim added fuel.

He deftly hid that Magnus had been Father's mole, bringing daemon true names and binding sorceries—he only said Father forgave him.

And Horus likewise—Fulgrim did not say the original Horus had been possessed; that the Warmaster's seat corrupted any who sat upon it.

"Lies! Even if it's true, unless I return to Holy Terra and see with my own eyes, I won't believe a word. Give it up, Fulgrim," Corax said.

"Return to Holy Terra? Do you think you can? Return as a Daemon Prince—Chaos Undivided—back to the Imperium?" Fulgrim said.

Naive, brother. You're not going back.

Corax's will was iron—hard to corrupt. Better to work on Lorgar.

The view shifted again—to a holy world, the Ecclesiarchy's bastion—seat of the Ecclesiarch.

A shrine world—where the Primarch-turned-Ecclesiarch, Lorgar, was composing a hymn to praise Rhodes and the Emperor.

Lorgar in the warp froze. The rift showed the scene that haunted him—the grand cathedral—an identical him writing scripture.

Then that self rose, in ornate papal regalia, and stepped outside.

Amid a million prayers, "he" wore a robe sewn with scripture, holding a staff set with Emperor's holy relics—gently addressing the people—bestowing blessings of the Emperor and of the Imperial Heir Apparent Rhodes.

"That… my clone?" Lorgar's voice broke. Ashes of the Monarchia flared in memory.

The holy canon he penned now crowned an imposter. Worse—the false Emperor had washed that imposter's sins away!

What sin? He had never been wrong! If anything, he'd been too loyal!

Fulgrim savored his brother's collapse like an art connoisseur.

"What exquisite irony! The citadel of faith you built with your heart—became someone else's ladder to godhood."

He leaned to Lorgar's ear, daemon whispers stabbing the soul: "Do you know why Horus and Magnus could return? Why your clone could be Ecclesiarch?

Because Father never wanted true sons—only obedient tools. You, my brother, refused to be a tool.

Hahahaha!"

"You're right. I want revenge. I'll destroy that clone," Lorgar said, eyes hard.

"Finally thought it through, my dear Lorgar." Fulgrim spread his arms to receive the surging chaos. Space behind him ripped, revealing the phantom of the Palace of Pleasure.

"Join my dark crusade! We'll nail the clone to the Golden Throne, and drink revenge from the false Emperor's skull!"

"You're right, brother. We'll drink from that false Emperor's head," Lorgar said.

A purple-red energy invaded Lorgar, shifting him from Chaos Undivided to a Slaanesh Daemon Prince.

Corax's claws dug deep. He saw Lorgar's skin peel, baring writhing warp runes beneath.

Worse were the futures Fulgrim displayed—Imperial citizens screaming beneath Chaos treads; their flesh twisted into warp nurseries; Custodians turned to walking corpses in violet fire, frozen still in kneel.

A vision of utter horror.

"You're mad! You'll set the galaxy ablaze!" The Raven Lord hurled a spear of shadow.

It dissolved into reeking rose petals before reaching Fulgrim.

Fulgrim caught a petal, watched it melt to slime in his palm, and sighed in pleasure.

"Ablaze? No, dear Corax—ascension." His form multiplied into afterimages, each playing a different nightmare future: "Humanity will bathe in ultimate delight. Their pain will be my sweetest wine."

He swept his serpent-scale cape across Corax's helm. "Stubborn raven—don't you want to know the truth? Is that dried corpse on the throne… truly our Father?"

"Silence!" Corax's wings exploded open—tens of thousands of ravens poured forth, a black hurricane. "I'll hear no more blasphemy!"

Fulgrim only laughed, more delighted. "Then rot with your loyalty, dear Corax." His voice became a choir.

The Raven Lord was sealed by Fulgrim's god-power and hauled to his flagship. Lorgar became his newest Daemon Prince.

He would continue to lie low, waiting for Slaanesh's godhead to fully merge with him.

…

On the Cosmic Beast world, in Rhodes's consorts' palace, the love-goddess Asha was pale—but smiling in relief.

She had forced out about seventy percent of Slaanesh's godhead—only thirty percent remained to sever.

She could also feel a new Slaanesh had been chosen—a new vessel for the god-power—soon to replace her as Slaanesh, and die in her stead.