Chapter 64: Praise Be! The God of Civil Engineering and Machinery!
Malcador the Sigillite was a man of his word.
Whatever Erebus asked for, he received.
Personnel. Funding. Authority. War materiel. Clearance codes sealed with the Emperor's own sigil.
Everything.
And because of that…
Kor Phaeron was drowning.
"Damn you, Erebus!"
The First Captain of the Word Bearers slammed another data-slate onto an already towering pile. Scrolls, parchments, requisition orders, deployment manifests—an endless sea of bureaucracy swallowed his command chamber whole.
This was not what he had envisioned.
He had imagined peace.
Tea.
Daily worship of the so-called "Golden God."
And, of course, the occasional righteous purge of heretics.
Instead?
He was processing applications.
Applications—from the Word Bearers, the World Eaters, the Thousand Sons… and, Emperor preserve him, even the Iron Warriors.
Yes.
Under Malcador's direct authority, a new organization had been established.
A special task force.
A hammer to strike where the Imperium could not.
Erebus had named it himself.
The Deathwatch.
It was an abomination of cooperation.
Handpicked Astartes drawn from multiple Legions:
The disciplined sorcerers of the Thousand Sons, the barely restrained berserkers of the World Eaters, the zealous preachers of the Word Bearers, and—most concerning of all—the siege masters of the Iron Warriors
The Iron Warriors had not come easily.
Erebus's first letter to Perturabo—a two-thousand-word appeal filled with flattery and "brotherly affection"—had received a one-word reply:
Get lost.
Undeterred, Erebus sent another message.
Short.
Concise.
Irresistible.
"Opportunity to breach Imperial Fists fortifications."
The reply came immediately.
"Approved."
And so, Warsmith Barabas Dantioch arrived on Terra… at the head of an Iron Warriors detachment equipped for full siege operations.
Privately, Perturabo had given only one instruction:
"Heretics must be purged. Xenos must be eradicated. Daemons must be annihilated. But remember this—if I see the Imperial Fists building more fortifications on Terra…I expect fewer of them standing when you leave."
Thus began what some Iron Warriors were already calling:
"Terra Infrastructure Revision Plan – Version 1.0."
The moment Erebus saw Dantioch disembark—flanked by artillery platforms, breaching drills, and mobile siege cannons—
He briefly wondered if Perturabo had rebelled early.
First Mission: Enforcement
The newly formed Deathwatch received simple orders:
Break doors.
Break them again.
And if necessary—
Reduce the entire structure to rubble.
"Open this door!" Erebus roared, kicking through what was technically the last remaining piece of a building's entrance. "Inquisition authority!"
There was no door left to open.
Inside, the so-called cultists of the Blood God were already dead or dying—victims of overwhelming bombardment.
Erebus's expression darkened.
He slowly turned to Dantioch.
The Iron Warrior avoided eye contact.
"…Perhaps excessive force," Dantioch admitted.
The target had been a minor cult—fewer than two hundred followers.
The response had been… disproportionate.
Ahriman of the Thousand Sons watched the smoldering ruin with visible irritation.
"So much for interrogation," he muttered.
Beside him, a World Eater—identified only as Garulek—snorted.
"They were weak."
Ahriman's eye twitched.
And then there was the World Eaters' command structure.
If it could be called that.
"Can this one still summon daemons?"
Angron stood over a dismembered corpse, examining it with unsettling curiosity.
Erebus stared at him in disbelief.
"…Brother," he said slowly, "do you hear yourself?"
Summon daemons.
On Terra.
Under the Emperor's psychic shadow.
That wasn't just impossible.
That was suicidal.
The Word Bearers, for once, were limited in their options.
Their Gloriana-class battleships—Blessed Lady and Icon of Truth—were still undergoing extensive refitting in the lunar docks.
For now, all they could do…
Was purged.
"Lord Erebus."
Jarulek stepped forward, bowing slightly.
"The Imperial Fists have detained Kor Phaeron."
Erebus blinked.
"…Detained?"
A slow grin spread across his face.
"Interesting."
He turned to redeploy—
And stopped.
Behind him, the Iron Warriors had formed ranks.
At their center stood Dantioch.
In his hands—
A small statue.
Of Perturabo.
"…What are you doing?"
Erebus asked carefully.
Dantioch raised the statue high.
"Brothers!" he declared.
"Praise be to the Golden One—"
He paused.
"…And to the Lord of Iron—"
Then, with absolute conviction:
"The God of Civil Engineering and Machinery!"
Erebus closed his eyes.
No.
No, this was happening.
"Ring the bell!"
Ding.
"One bow! Drive the foundation piles!"
Ding.
"Two bows! Pour the ferrocrete!"
Ding.
"Three bows! Raise the structure!"
The Iron Warriors saluted.
Solemnly.
Devoutly.
Erebus pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I want them off my planet," he muttered.
Second Battlefield: Confrontation
By the time Erebus arrived at the scene—
Tension had already reached critical levels.
A formation of Imperial Fists stood in rigid lines, their armor gleaming gold beneath Terra's artificial sky. Their discipline was flawless.
Their anger—
Less so.
At their head stood Rogal Dorn.
Unmoving.
Unyielding.
Kor Phaeron stood nearby, attempting—unsuccessfully—to explain himself.
Dorn ignored him completely.
His gaze locked onto Erebus.
"I require an explanation."
The air crackled faintly as power built within Dorn's gauntlets.
Erebus didn't hesitate.
He produced sealed documents and handed them over.
"By authority of the Emperor and the Sigillite," he said calmly. "The Inquisition operates with full sanction. We act first. We report later."
Dorn didn't even glance at the papers.
"You know that is not what I meant."
Behind Erebus—
Iron Warriors artillery units were already deploying.
Their targeting arrays locked onto a nearby structure.
One bearing the sigil of the Imperial Fists.
Dorn's eye twitched.
"…Where do you intend to fire?"
Erebus frowned.
"…Oh."
Then, brightening slightly—
"You're here to join us?"
Silence.
"Tell me," Dorn said slowly, "how do we make them stop?"
Erebus considered.
"Well… you could submit an application through Kor Phaeron—"
"I mean," Dorn interrupted, voice rising, "how do we stop them from tearing apart Terra?"
"Fire!"
Dantioch pulled the firing lever.
The shell screamed through the air—
And obliterated the structure.
The Imperial Fists sigil shattered into dust.
Silence.
Dorn's patience ended.
"This is your doing."
Erebus smiled.
"A minor misunderstanding—"
The punch landed.
Hard.
The two collided, trading blows with increasing intensity. Power armor groaned under the strain as Word Bearer and Imperial Fist clashed in the shadow of their Legions.
"Stop!" Angron roared, charging in.
He separated them—
By kicking Dorn several meters back.
"Enough!" Angron snapped.
Then, muttering under his breath—
"…and stop calling me insane."
"Erebus!" Dorn roared. "Leave Terra!"
"Impossible!" Erebus shot back. "Not unless the Emperor commands it!"
"Then make the Imperial Fists part of this farce!"
The battlefield froze.
"…You want to join?" Erebus asked.
The Palace
Far above the chaos—
Within the Imperial Palace—
The Emperor of Mankind reclined beneath filtered sunlight, a cluster of grapes in hand.
Reports flickered across the hololithic display before Him.
Fighting.
Artillery fire.
Infrastructure damage.
Dorn.
Erebus.
Angron.
The Emperor sighed.
"…Malcador."
"Yes, my lord?"
"I believe," the Emperor said, with a trace of weary amusement, "we may need to find a reason to remove Erebus from Terra."
He paused.
Then added:
"Before he decides to remodel the Palace itself..."
A beat.
"…and installs me into a golden latrine."
Malcador said nothing.
For once—
He agreed.
End of Chapter 64
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