Chapter 41: The Emperor — If This Were My Son, I Would Have Strangled Him Long Ago!
Erebus flipped open the records concerning Lorgar Aurelian.
Beside him, Garrulek fanned him diligently, while a group of high-ranking Word Bearers gathered around. The Thousand Sons were present as well. By now, the two Legions had become inseparable—where one was seen, the other followed.
"You lost to Sanguinius."
"Correct."
"You lost to Lion El'Jonson."
"Correct."
"You even lost to Fulgrim… and to Roboute Guilliman, and to Rogal Dorn… Have you ever won a single match, brother?"
Erebus finally understood why Lorgar had rushed to him the moment he left the apothecarion.
He had been beaten.
By nearly everyone.
Some Primarchs he hadn't even had the chance to meet—they were away campaigning. Others he had encountered on Terra… and after defeating him, they had simply left.
"Tell me," Erebus said flatly, closing the record. "Who's still on Terra?"
Lorgar immediately listed them.
"Vulkan, Fulgrim, Dorn… and Angron."
Guilliman had already returned to Ultramar. Sanguinius had briefly appeared, then departed for the front lines. The remaining ones…
Were the worst offenders.
Erebus let out a long breath.
"…I see."
At that moment, Magos Zero stepped forward.
"After calculation, Lord Erebus, I advise against combat at this time."
"This isn't combat," Erebus replied, standing and rolling his neck. "This is a sparring match. Against Dorn."
He cracked his knuckles.
"Let's see if the Imperial Fists are as hard as the Emperor's."
Rogal Dorn—Primarch of the Imperial Fists.
The unyielding pillar of Terra.
A man as immovable as stone.
When Lorgar personally delivered the challenge, Dorn sighed deeply.
He truly did not understand his brother.
Stubborn.
Shameless.
And utterly unreasonable.
Then he saw the name written on the challenge.
Erebus.
He frowned.
Never heard of him.
"My brother," Dorn said calmly, "I cannot indulge this endlessly. The Imperium needs us."
He moved to refuse—
But a red hand pressed down on the parchment.
Magnus the Red smiled faintly.
"He is a warrior of exceptional valor," Magnus said. "Praised by the Emperor Himself. His endurance rivals even yours, brother."
Dorn stared at Magnus for a long moment.
Then sighed.
"…Very well. Once. No more."
He accepted.
Inside the octagonal arena—
Dorn stood opposite Erebus.
The latter was larger—taller, broader.
Dorn paid it no mind.
Size meant nothing.
"Erebus."
"Rogal Dorn."
They clasped hands briefly.
Respect.
Then—
The match began.
"Rogal Dorn," Erebus said immediately, his voice cutting like a blade, "do you know what your brothers say about you?"
Dorn said nothing.
"A stinking rock. Hard, stubborn—and empty. Even your mouth smells like your dead brain. There's no humanity left in you."
A pause.
"Honestly? You should rename the Imperial Fists."
Another step forward.
"Call them—the Shame of the Imperium."
Silence.
Then—
"…Erebus," Dorn said slowly, "I am going to beat you to death."
From the stands, Magnus blinked.
Lorgar blinked.
Dorn—
Had broken.
They had never managed that before.
"For the Emperor!" Erebus roared, charging forward.
Their fists collided.
A thunderous impact echoed through the arena.
Dorn's eyes narrowed.
That strength—
It was on par with a Primarch.
Impossible.
Is this truly an Astartes?
Blow after blow followed.
Second.
Third.
Dozens.
They fought in silence.
The Imperial Fists watched with rigid discipline.
The Word Bearers shouted, jeered, and provoked.
Dorn began to respect his opponent.
Stronger than Lorgar.
Far stronger.
But—
He could not lose.
Not to an Astartes.
Not to his brother's subordinate.
Never.
With that thought, Dorn lunged forward—
Headbutt.
Impact.
Both staggered.
Then grappled like beasts.
Even Dorn felt dizziness creeping in.
Erebus, however—
Was still grinning.
"What are you?" Dorn demanded.
Erebus laughed.
"Actually? I'm your father's illegitimate son."
A pause.
"The Emperor's favorite child."
Another grin.
"Maybe I'll inherit the Imperium someday."
Dorn froze.
"…You're lying."
Erebus beamed.
"Of course I am!"
"EREBUS!"
Dorn exploded into motion.
His blows became savage, relentless, each one capable of crushing bone.
Erebus endured most of them—
Then drove a fist into Dorn's head.
"I am—Rogal Dorn!"
"Repeat after me!" Erebus shouted. "Skulls for the throne! Blood for the Emperor!"
High above, watching from the stands—
The Emperor of Mankind stared down, expression dark.
"…This," He said slowly, "is your 'hope of humanity'?"
Beside Him, Malcador the Sigillite rubbed his temples.
"I had imagined something… more promising."
He glanced down at Erebus.
"…Are you certain he isn't your son?"
The Emperor did not hesitate.
"If he were, I would have strangled him at birth."
"…Fair enough."
Malcador nodded.
Below, Dorn was still fighting—
But he was losing ground.
"…Then what is he?" Malcador asked.
The Emperor's gaze lingered on Erebus.
"…A thing I once cast into the Warp," He said quietly.
Malcador's eyes widened.
That… was not reassuring.
"Say it!" Erebus shouted, pressing forward. "Shame on the Imperium! Skulls for the throne! Blood for the God-Emperor! Refuse, and you betray Him!"
"I am Rogal Dorn!" Dorn roared back.
"…You bastard!"
For perhaps the first time—
Dorn began cursing.
From the sidelines, Magnus and Lorgar exchanged a glance.
Then nodded in unison.
"…A perfect match."
End of Chapter 41
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