On a certain world within the Sanctus Imperialis, the Word Bearers and their Primarch, Lorgar, were dedicated to propagating the True Word of Chaos. The Legion was currently overseeing the destruction of an Imperial Cathedral, condemning its stubborn congregants to the ultimate sanction of fire and ruin.
But in that moment, Lorgar's eyes suddenly widened, and he let out a scream of pure disbelief. The Arch-Priest of Chaos fell to his knees, his massive frame striking the marble floor with a resounding thud that cracked the stone into a crater.
"What is it, Father?"
The Word Bearers, seized by panic and concern, swarmed around him.
"No, no... it is impossible. I saw it..." Lorgar covered his eyes as if trying to deny the prophecy that had seared into his mind. In that sudden vision, one of the four invincible True Gods had suddenly grown dim.
He had witnessed the collapse of the opulent palace, the scattering of indulgent devotees, and the shattering of the Angels of Desire. The Sacred Throne sat empty, and in its place, six hundred and sixty-six chains bound a True God!
For Lorgar's faith, this was an unbearable weight. To him, the Truth was immutable and indestructible; it was an eternal constant.
"Wait! My son, what did you see?!" Kor Phaeron demanded, gripping the pained Primarch's shoulder, unsure of what sudden madness had taken him.
At that moment, a bald figure whose face was a tapestry of tattooed scriptures stepped forward, casting a contemptuous glance over Lorgar and Kor Phaeron. As the original and most devout instigator of the Primordial Truth, Erebus had sensed the upheaval within the Warp even before his Primarch.
Yet, this did not shake Erebus; on the contrary, it made him more fervent.
The Gods were beyond the comprehension of mortals. Followers were not to interfere in the affairs of the pantheon; a mortal's duty was to worship, not to entertain presumptuous thoughts.
He understood Lorgar's current state, yet he felt compelled to offer counsel. "O Primarch, do not question the Truth. The Gods possess a will of their own. We need only bear witness to its fulfillment."
One had to admit, Erebus was a master of manipulation; with a few practiced words, he had brought Lorgar back from the brink. The only Truth in the universe was the Chaos Eight-pointed Star. No matter how the deities within shifted, as long as the Star remained, all was well.
"However... it seems the Gods have little desire to cast their divine gaze upon the mortal realm lately. Therefore, we must prepare the way for the next time They deign to look upon us."
Erebus was indeed the "Chosen of the Four" among the Space Marines. From the Empire's perspective, he was a monster of the highest order, but his devotion to Chaos was absolute.
The Word Bearers did not strike Slaanesh from their prayers to the Five. Instead, after brief deliberation, they simply shifted the Great Horned Rat into Slaanesh's former standing.
Even if he had utilized schemes and treachery to bring Slaanesh low, the Great Horned Rat's raw power still sat beneath the other three.
Because of this, even Lucius found himself interested in Erebus. There was something fascinating about a loyal servant who sought only to serve the Gods without personal desire; even as a mere toy, he was worth observing.
"Mmm... manipulating someone like that is always entertaining. I'll have to think of how to toy with you next time," Lucius muttered to himself. He no longer needed to focus so heavily on the material universe.
Compared to watching Skaven burrow through the dirt, he now had better playthings – he was busy 3D-printing his own.
"Ah-ha~~ look at this." Lucius held a shimmering soul. Even after ten thousand years of being devoured, its original form remained visible: a face as lovely and beautiful as an ancient sculpture of an Aeldari female.
If an Aeldari antiquarian or chronicler were here, they would recognize her instantly. She was the eldest daughter of Isha, the elder sister to all Aeldari: Lileath, the Goddess of Dreams.
Of course, it was well known that Lileath moonlighted as the Lady of the Lake in the World-That-Was. Thus, one could say the Great Horned Rat and Lileath were "old friends." YES-YES!
"You... what do you intend to do with my daughter?" Isha watched her daughter's soul in the Great Horned Rat's hand, yet she did not fall into hysterics.
She knew that she and Lileath were now the same; their fates were held entirely within the grasp of this Dark God.
"Oh, I am going to mold the finest pawn to stir up this boring galaxy." Lucius pulled Isha close. "I told you I would rebuild the Pantheon. The Great Horned Rat never lies. Yes-yes."
With that, Lucius carried Lileath's soul to the Forge of Souls, that primordial territory belonging to the power of Malevolent Artifice.
The place was a brutal landscape of iron foundries and molten slag. It was born from the mad fantasies of the universe's first scientists; one could say that wherever technology was worshipped in the mortal realm, the Forge's power grew.
People often joked that the T'au Empire would be toyed with by Tzeentch for their technological pursuits. In truth, Tzeentch was as indifferent to T'au technology as he was to that of the Necrons, the Aeldari, or the humans of the Dark Age of Technology. Tzeentch cared only for intrigue and change; technology was far too predictable and dull.
Because the Emperor held half of the domain of Malevolent Artifice, he could grasp secrets even the Adeptus Mechanicus of Mars struggled to uncover, allowing him to churn out wonders like the Custodes, the Primarchs, and the Astartes.
"O~ Great-Mighty Horned Rat! Your presence brings me-me supreme honor!"
As the Great Horned Rat appeared, the Verminlord overseeing this domain, Chrot, immediately chattered and fell to his knees. The other daemons working the assembly lines of the Forge followed suit, their hammers falling silent.
Life in the Forge of Souls was grueling. The weapon orders from the Four were endless, forcing Chrot into a perpetual "996" work cycle. The honest daemon-engineer often complained that these tedious tasks robbed him of time for his inventions.
"O Horned One, what-what are your commands-orders?" Chrot smiled fawningly, though he looked less practiced at it than other Skaven.
"Chrot, I have a task for you. Forge me a vessel capable of containing the soul of a god."
"Containing... a god's soul?" Chrot was stunned. However, being a diligent worker, he immediately rubbed his paws together. "Yes-yes, of course, my Great Horned Rat! But I require-need some... some small assistance~"
"The Horned Rat is always generous. What do you require?" Lucius asked.
"YES! I want... I want to see! I want to go sneak-skulk... steal-take the secrets of the Man-things!" Chrot said eagerly. Within the Forge of Souls, one could touch fragments of the past, and he was intensely curious about the irreproducible miracles of the ancient Empire.
He had only been held back by his duty to the Great Horned Rat.
Granting such a request was easy for Lucius, but who would run the Forge of Souls in Chrot's absence? He had too few Greater Daemons under his command.
His eyes scanned the horizons of his realm—ah, perhaps it was time for another batch of Skaven to begin their Ascension.
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