Chapter 38: Consensus Reached — Erebus Must Be Stopped
"Great Architect of Fate… Weaver of destiny…"
The voice of Magnus the Red rolled through the sealed ritual chamber, thick with psychic power.
"I, Magnus, offer you my future—my fate, my destiny—if you will manifest in person and bind yourself in contract with me."
The Warp answered instantly.
There was no hesitation.
No resistance.
Reality tore open, and a daemon of Tzeentch was dragged into existence—bound, hooded, and shackled by an unseen force before it could even think to resist.
Its limbs struggled.
Its will reached outward—
—and found nothing.
No Warp.
No power.
Only suppression.
Because the Emperor of Mankind stood within the chamber.
And nothing defied Him here.
The hood was ripped away.
The daemon's avian form—warped, ever-shifting—was already scorched black by lingering golden psychic flame.
Beside it—
Erebus.
Suspended.
Burnt.
Still smoldering.
Still alive.
The daemon froze.
Its mind reeled.
What kind of being is punished like this… and survives?
Seconds passed.
Then it broke.
"I yield!" it shrieked. "Spare me! I am but a scribe of the Changer of Ways—I know names, bindings, secrets! I can be of use!"
Between annihilation and survival—
It chose survival.
A voice answered.
Cold. Absolute.
"Your true name."
The daemon hesitated—
Then collapsed completely.
"Ankali Karoros…"
The name echoed through the chamber, followed by a torrent of lesser names, sigils, and bindings, each spoken faster than the last.
The Emperor inclined His head slightly.
Accepted.
Verified.
Nearby, Erebus coughed weakly, his voice hoarse.
"Go on… kill me… or I swear I'll pray to you eight times a day."
A pause followed.
A very dangerous pause.
Ankali stared at him in disbelief.
What kind of mortal threatens the Emperor… and lives?
Kor Phaeron stepped forward, cutting through the tension.
"Do you understand the entities bound to the Thousand Sons? Their 'familiars'?"
"Yes!" Ankali said immediately. "They are not spirits—they are bound daemons! Masks, fragments, watchers! Many tied to the lesser hosts of Khorne!"
Magnus' expression darkened.
The truth, once spoken, burned hotter than any lie.
As the interrogation continued, the Emperor's attention drifted—not outward, but deeper.
Into the Warp.
To something hidden.
A coffin.
A strange construct, faint and distant—
—and now reacting.
As Ankali's contract began to take shape around Erebus, a thin, nearly invisible thread extended from that unseen presence.
Reaching.
Drawing.
Absorbing.
Faith.
Specifically, faith aligned with Tzeentch.
The Emperor observed it in silence.
Carefully.
Thoroughly.
No instability.
No backlash.
Only gain.
A faint smile touched His lips.
The Golden Throne would endure.
Perhaps more than endure.
He turned back to Erebus.
For the first time—
His gaze held approval.
"Proceed," the Emperor said. "Sign the contract. I will ensure your safety."
Erebus narrowed his eyes.
"…That sounds worse than the beating."
Magnus choked on his breath.
Lorgar said nothing, though his expression suggested quiet suffering.
The Emperor simply placed a hand on Erebus's shoulder.
"I will not repeat unnecessary corrections."
That was not reassuring.
"Show us the familiar," the Emperor commanded.
Ankali winced.
"…You will require one of your Legion."
Moments later, Ahzek Ahriman stepped forward.
He asked no questions.
He simply acted.
The summoning was precise.
Controlled.
A faint Warp presence emerged—
—and instantly expelled the lesser daemon Ankali had bound.
The "familiar" vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Ahriman turned.
And walked away.
He did not turn around.
He already understood what awaited him.
Then Erebus moved.
A pulse of force surged outward.
The "familiar" was dragged back into reality—this time unstable, incomplete, and terrified.
Its disguise was shattered.
Revealing—
A lesser Blood Daemon of Khorne.
Ankali spoke without hesitation.
"That is one of them—bound, masked, conditioned!"
Magnus' fury became tangible.
With a gesture, he forced Ankali down, pinning its head to the ground.
"Explain everything."
And it did.
Names.
Contracts.
Weaknesses.
Methods of binding.
Nothing was withheld.
Preparation began immediately.
This time, neither Magnus nor Erebus would act directly.
Their presence in the Warp was too distinct.
Instead, a lesser figure—Garrulek—stepped forward to perform the summoning.
The ritual circle ignited.
A thread of Ahriman's connection served as bait.
The daemon answered.
It manifested.
"Skulls for the Skull Throne—!"
It never finished.
Erebus struck first.
A brutal blow that sent the daemon crashing to the ground.
"Wrong line," Erebus said flatly.
He seized the creature, forcing it down before a statue of the Emperor.
"Say it properly. Skulls for the Throne. Blood for the Emperor. Say it."
Magnus joined him.
Then Lorgar.
The daemon was beaten, restrained, and forced to kneel.
Even the Emperor hesitated—just slightly.
"Kill me!" the daemon snarled. "I will drag the mortal with me!"
Magnus turned to Erebus, exasperation breaking through his fury.
"…Are you saving him or killing him?"
Erebus ignored him.
Instead, he leaned closer to the daemon.
"If you refuse, I will have the Emperor inform your master that you have turned against him."
Silence fell.
Then—
Four voices spoke at once.
"Despicable."
The daemon.
Magnus.
Ahriman.
Even the Emperor.
Erebus smiled faintly.
"Effective."
The daemon sagged.
Whether Khorne would believe such a claim did not matter.
Its fate would be sealed regardless.
"What do you want…" it growled weakly.
"Transfer your contract," Erebus said. "Bind yourself to me. Become mine."
The daemon laughed, though there was no strength behind it.
"Then swear it. Swear you will not destroy me."
Erebus did not hesitate.
"I won't kill you."
Silence.
Complete.
Utter.
Magnus turned slowly.
Lorgar blinked.
Even the Emperor's gaze sharpened.
The daemon stared.
Confused.
Disbelieving.
This… creature…
This thing feared by gods and mortals alike…
Was telling the truth?
For the first time—
The daemon hesitated.
And in that hesitation—
Everything changed.
End of Chapter 38
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