My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 380: A Backstab from a Good Brother
[Cadia]
It was now the 30th Millennium. Apart from the Iron Warriors, the Imperium's footsteps had yet to reach this place. Cadia remained a primitive world slowly rotating within the Eye of Terror.
This was an ancient world. In some respects, it was highly suitable for the development of human civilization: vast temperate forests, grasslands, and fertile plains ideal for cultivation. Yet, no proper human civilization had ever taken root here.
When the Stormbird descended, Lorgar used his Primarch's astonishing eyesight to spot the natives hidden among the folds of the land. They looked crude, their bodies adorned with ornaments bearing strong religious overtones.
Lorgar frowned imperceptibly.
Perturabo had invited him to gather on this "important planet" newly discovered by the Iron Warriors. It seemed the Iron Warriors were attempting to construct military installations on this world.
Lorgar did not understand why this planet—situated at the boundary between the Warp and realspace—was so important, nor did he know why Perturabo was so fixated on digging trenches here. But he believed that, before anything else, Perturabo should at least civilize the local population.
The Stormbird landed on a dried plain in northern Cadia. Lorgar stepped out through the Stormbird's hatch. Through the arid, crystalline air, he saw Perturabo—and the massive xenos structure looming behind him.
What was that?
Lorgar thought to himself. He put on a gentle smile and strode toward his brother, while Perturabo stepped forward to welcome him.
They exchanged a few brief pleasantries. Then Perturabo's gaze shifted past Lorgar, landing on the Custodian standing guard behind him.
"What is this… about?"
Perturabo's lips moved slightly, his voice low enough that only the two of them could hear.
Lorgar had his back to Custodian Vidanna. Knowing that the gatekeeper could not see his expression, the smile at the corner of his mouth froze, awkwardly fixed in place.
"A failed prayer."
Lorgar said softly, quickening his steps forward as if to avoid the Custodian's gaze.
"He was sent to the Word Bearers by order after the Perfect City incident. Although I have repeatedly sworn my loyalty to Father, he still did this. I can understand him."
Lorgar caught a strange glint flash through Perturabo's eyes, making him feel uneasy.
"Understand him?"
Perturabo raised his voice in disbelief.
"He sends someone to spy on you, and you still—"
Lorgar's eyes widened in alarm. He hurried forward, trying to grab Perturabo's arm, signaling him to stop talking.
But Perturabo ignored him. The Lord of Iron shook his arm, causing Lorgar's attempt to fall short. Perturabo's dark gray eyes turned toward the Custodian as he spoke in a cold, provocative tone.
"Did the Emperor order you to monitor Lorgar and my conversation?"
Vidanna's voice sounded dull and heavy. "This is my duty."
Perturabo gave a sarcastic smile.
"This is merely a reunion between brothers. Since when are conversations between Primarchs subject to surveillance?"
Before Vidanna could respond and make matters worse, Lorgar quickly interjected.
"Just a few minutes. I believe the God-Emperor has granted you the authority to act at your own discretion, Vidanna."
At the same time, Lorgar strode forward rapidly. The Custodian shifted as if to follow, but was blocked by Argel Tal standing in front of him. The Word Bearer, carrying two long spears on his back, stood silently in the Custodian's path.
In the end, Vidanna could only watch as the two Primarchs walked away together, laughing and chatting, disappearing into the depths of the wasteland.
. . .
"I've always wanted you to see this. That's why I invited you to this planet."
Perturabo spoke, his gaze fixed on the distance. Lorgar saw a roughly dressed native walking toward them, surrounded by Iron Warriors.
She was a tall woman. Her eyes were an eerie violet, and layers of dry, tawny-brown skin had been stitched together into her clothing. Across those garments, words were densely written in dried blood.
Lorgar's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He seemed to ignore Perturabo at his side, his gaze locked firmly onto the tribal chieftainess.
"What do you see?" Perturabo whispered near Lorgar's ear.
Lorgar's brow remained tightly knit, confusion filling his eyes.
"Colchisian?"
Colchis—the home world of Primarch Lorgar.
Lorgar spoke in a low voice, "That is… Colchisian?!"
Why would a primitive woman from a remote sector bear words written in Colchisian upon her clothes?
As the woman drew closer, Lorgar's eyelid twitched almost imperceptibly. He recognized it now—the tawny-brown hide was dried human skin, and the words written upon it were prayers of a heretical faith!
By the God-Emperor!
Lorgar clenched his crozius. Beside him, Perturabo studied Lorgar thoughtfully as the Lord of Iron spoke:
"Do you recognize those words, brother?"
Lorgar gritted his teeth. His crozius was already itching to strike—such a blasphemous existence should never have been allowed to live this long!
He spoke through clenched teeth:
"She worships a blasphemous heresy, my brother. You know what I must do—"
"Wait."
Perturabo interrupted him.
"Why do you recognize these words, Lorgar?"
That question pulled Lorgar briefly out of his anger at the sight of heresy, returning him to his original doubt.
"A coincidence?" Lorgar said uncertainly. He stared at the prayers; the phrasing grew ever more familiar. He had seen them before, on Colchis.
"…Before I unified Colchis, similar heretical cults did exist there, but I purged them with faith in the God-Emperor." Lorgar said gravely.
"Listen to me, brother. Perhaps you cannot understand the power of faith—it can deliberately make the weak strong, and it can also cause the strong to fall. I am now certain: the words on that native are heretical prayers. You should kill her."
He paused, then softened his tone.
"Brother, perhaps you could not identify the language before, but now you understand. Those are blasphemous words—cultures that deserve to be burned to ash."
Lorgar kept staring at the heretic, but suddenly he seemed to realize something. He turned his head toward Perturabo and found the Lord of Iron frowning at him as well.
Perturabo raised a hand, signaling the Iron Warriors escorting the native to halt.
"What I'm saying, Lorgar, is—why such a coincidence? Is it truly a coincidence?"
Lorgar choked for a moment, then spoke with visible irritation:
"Are you suspecting me, brother? Even you do not trust me? And your so-called evidence is merely that some random planet shares a language with Colchis?"
Perturabo spread his hands innocently.
"I'm only worried about you. I'm curious about what truly happened in the Perfect City, you've changed far too much, Lorgar."
Lorgar took a deep breath and said angrily:
"My sons were corrupted by the heresies that once plagued Colchis, and the God-Emperor saved me—and my Legion. That is all!"
Perturabo began to pace on his own, speaking slowly:
"I still cannot understand your faith, brother. I mean… even after everything that happened, why are you still so obsessed with it?"
Lorgar sighed and replied earnestly:
"I do not believe in the Imperial Truth, brother. This world possesses gods, and the God-Emperor is humanity's savior. He created the Primarchs, created the Space Marines, and then launched the Great Crusade to restore all of mankind. He is selfless. He is a god. And we ought to follow Him—submit ourselves to Him."
Perturabo fell silent for a moment.
"I do not believe He is a god." Perturabo said firmly.
Lorgar gently shook his head. He had argued over this subject with countless Primarchs countless times, yet he would always stand by his view.
"He is," Lorgar said, "for only a god can perform miracles."
He heard Perturabo give a soft chuckle, which made Lorgar feel faintly insulted. Anger stirred within him.
"With all due respect, that is merely what a powerful psyker can accomplish." Perturabo replied.
"Smoke and mirrors… why are you the only one who takes it seriously?"
Perturabo's words grew sharper. Lorgar frowned.
"You and I both know what the God-Emperor can do goes far beyond what anyone else. I have discussed this with Magnus, Magnus himself admitted that the Emperor's might is not something an ordinary psyker can reach. Even Magnus cannot attain His level."
"What's more…"
Lorgar paused.
"Perhaps there's one more…" he murmured softly, thinking of the Reaper, the Corrector who stood beneath the Emperor's throne.
"Perhaps." Perturabo replied. Lorgar could not tell which of his statements Perturabo was answering.
Perturabo continued, "Allow me to ask an impertinent question, brother. Why did you choose to believe in Him?"
Lorgar grew impatient and answered, "It was not I who chose Him. He chose me. He shows His followers the path, granting them the strength to survive and to struggle."
Lorgar turned his head and saw Perturabo staring straight at him, a color in his eyes that Lorgar could not decipher. Perturabo's hand rested casually on his hip.
"It sounds interesting." Perturabo said fairly.
Before Lorgar could retort, the Lord of Iron deftly changed the subject.
"Come and take a look at the xenos structure I recently discovered. I find it far more interesting than those superstitious natives."
Perturabo spoke offhandedly. He glanced at the native woman and ordered the Iron Warriors to bring her forward.
"After I finish giving you the tour, you can execute her directly in front of that xenos structure. In fact, there are quite a few such primitives on this planet. I've gathered them all before that structure—do with them as you wish."
Perturabo sounded bored, but in the next instant he switched topics again, his tone lifting.
"You really should see this. I've recently discovered them—blackstone pylons. These structures seem to have been built by some far more ancient race. They are scattered around the Eye of Terror and emit force fields that hinder the spread of Warp turbulence."
As he spoke, Perturabo strode forward at a brisk pace. Lorgar had to quicken his own steps to keep up, though he had little interest in what Perturabo was describing. He listened in silence, his thoughts consumed instead by how to purge this planet of heresy.
Lorgar did not understand why Perturabo's topics shifted so abruptly. The Lord of Iron's words rushed past his ears.
"These structures are remarkably ingenious. According to my calculations, without these pylons suppressing the Warp in this region—if they were destroyed—half of the Obscurus Segmentum and a small portion of the Ultima Segmentum would be plunged into Warp storms."
"But what interests me even more," Perturabo said, "is that their polarity can be reversed. They can amplify the Warp. If we were to alter the polarity of these arrays, then the devastation they could cause would be far more profound."
Lorgar halted abruptly and cast a subtle look toward Perturabo.
"That sounds dangerous."
"Yes," Perturabo replied naturally, "which is why I'm very glad you could come, brother. The Iron Warriors alone cannot fully control this region."
Lorgar smiled—but then he sensed something. He seemed to hear a bird's cry, a roar, a whisper, a gasp.
He turned his head, staring at the pylon they were rapidly approaching. It did not look as though it was active.
"Is that pylon operating?" Lorgar asked abruptly, turning toward it.
Where he could not see, Perturabo gave a scornful chuckle.
"I was in the middle of inspecting that pylon, but then I decided to come and welcome you first, brother."
The two Primarchs continued forward as they spoke. The parched earth beneath their feet split with fine, scale-like cracks. The blackstone tower was close now. From behind it, Lorgar heard shouting—spoken in Colchisian. They were shouting—
"Kill him!" Lorgar spoke sharply, "Perturabo, contact your guards at the blackstone tower—now."
He watched anxiously as his brother opened a channel, but only chaotic Colchisian voices answered from the other end. It was the first time Lorgar had ever seen Perturabo so enraged. He heard the rallying whistles of the Iron Warriors.
"We'll go see for ourselves." Perturabo said darkly. "We cannot allow them to damage the pylon."
Lorgar nodded. They began to run. Moments later, the two Primarchs reached the battlefield.
Lorgar saw the corpses of nine Iron Warriors. The natives were trying to paint blasphemous symbols upon them. Fresh blood traced ritual circles across the ground—and the woman from before was directing them.
Lorgar roared. Of course he knew what this was. Having fought heretics for so long, he knew these wretches could wield witchcraft—no, they were performing a sacrifice!
At the place where the Warp overlapped with realspace, sacrifices could truly summon those entities!
They had to be stopped before the ritual was completed. Lorgar charged forward without hesitation. With two Primarchs present, unless these primitives could wield sorcery greater than even Magnus, this was a battle with no suspense at all.
Lorgar swung his crozius. Several mortals roaring blood rites rushed toward him, their muscles unnaturally swollen—but Lorgar merely brought his staff down, skulls shattering with dull cracks.
Sorcerers on the flanks tried to disrupt him with trifling witchery. Lorgar ignored them, driving straight into the center of the crude altar. The woman was there, dancing wildly, tearing at her own flesh in madness.
Without the slightest hesitation, Lorgar smashed his crozius toward the xenos woman—and at that very moment—
BZZZ!
The blackstone pylon suddenly activated. Frenzied arcs of energy leapt into the air, carrying strange psychic fluctuations. In a heartbeat, the space around them twisted and shuddered.
Lorgar's vision went black for an instant.
When it returned, he saw his crozius had pierced straight through the woman's body. The dying native smiled as she gazed at him.
"Hello, Lorgar," she said softly. "My name is Ingethel. In the destiny that was meant to be, we should have met in a far more wonderful way."
Lorgar expressionlessly tried to pull back his weapon—but the woman's strength had become immense. Her body hunched inward, her skin rapidly sloughing away as bone burst through muscle, as though other beings were about to tear free from within her.
Warped space whispered at Lorgar's ears. Time seemed stretched impossibly long, then crushed impossibly short. He heard another strand of fate. He heard gods—
No. No, no.
Lorgar chanted the Emperor's protection in his mind, and it eased him somewhat. He tried to retreat at once, to escape the psychic distortion—but in the next instant—
"Perturabo?"
Lorgar turned his head slowly, in disbelief.
He had never imagined this. He heard Perturabo's footsteps and assumed his brother had come to help him.
Lorgar saw Perturabo's expressionless face. His gaze drifted downward—and Lorgar saw the spreading crimson seeping across his back.
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Note:
Ingethel: https://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Ingethel
Ingethel, also known as Ingethel the Ascended, is a Daemon Prince of Chaos.
Ingethel was originally a native to Cadia and was appointed by the Gods of Chaos to guide Lorgar during The Pilgrimage.
After Ingethel revealed the Primordial Truth to Lorgar, she herself ascended to Daemonhood following ten human sacrifices which included Vendatha, a member of the Adeptus Custodes.
Later, Ingethel the Ascended led the Serrated Sun Chapter of the Word Bearers into the Great Eye where the failure of the Eldar Empire was witnessed first hand.
Ingethel told the Word Bearers that the Eldar failed and suffered the Fall because at the moment of their ascension they were unable to accept the Primordial Truth: they gave birth to a god of pleasure and promise, yet felt no joy.
After showing the Serrated Sun the Primordial Truth, Ingethel guided Lorgar through the Eye of Terror and showed him former worlds of the Eldar.
Later, Ingethel appeared in the court of Horus after he had fallen to Chaos.
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