The First Heretic

‘Daemons... on the ship.’ Argel Tal watched the faces of screaming souls thrashing against the dome. ‘This cannot be our choice. These cannot be the gods of the galaxy.’

Xaphen softened his voice. To Argel Tal’s ears, he’d never sounded more like Erebus, his former mentor.

‘Brother... We were never given a promise that the truth would be easy to bear. The way we were chosen – and our father favoured – by true divine power.’

Argel Tal turned to stare at Xaphen through a targeting reticule. ‘You seem very certain about this course of action, brother.’

‘Are you not honoured to be chosen like this? I wish to be one of the first to receive the blessing of the gods. It is a leap of faith, as Ingethel said.’

‘Sylamor will not lower the Geller Field, even if we order it. It would be suicide.’

There will be no fruitless death. This is your moment of ascension, Word Bearers. Let fate take its course. Think of your primarch, kneeling in the dust before Guilliman and the God-Emperor.

This moment will be the beginning of his vindication. The Emperor’s lies will damn your species. The Primordial Truth will set it free.

‘We can carry this lore back to the Imperium, but humanity will never surrender itself to this... chaos.’

Humanity has no choice. It will die under the claws of aliens, and those few that survive will be swallowed by the spreading influence of the warp gods. They only grow stronger, Argel Tal. If one refuses to worship them, then that species has no place in this galaxy.

The Word Bearer didn’t speak the words that lay on his tongue – nevertheless, the daemon sensed them.

What will you do, human? Fight us? Wage war against the gods themselves? How lovely, to imagine the little Empire of mortal man laying siege to heaven and hell.

Just like the eldar... You will see the Primordial Truth, or you will be destroyed by it.

‘One last question,’ he said.

Ask.

‘You name the Emperor as the Anathema. Why?’

Because of the future. The Emperor will damn your species, denying humanity its birthright as the chosen children of the gods. He wages war against divinity, shrouding your species in ignorance. That will damn you all. The Emperor is not only loathed for his treacheries against the gods, he is anathemic to all human life.

Lorgar knows this. It is why he sent you into the Eye. Your enlightenment is the first step in the human race’s ascendancy.

Argel Tal looked into the daemon’s eyes for a long, long moment. In the mismatched depths, he once more saw Lorgar abase himself in the dust. He felt the deceitful Emperor’s psychic gale throwing him from his feet, casting him to the dirt before the Ultramarines.

He felt the serenity of standing in the City of Grey Flowers, knowing beyond doubt that his cause was holy, that his crusade was just. How long had it been since he’d felt such purity of purpose?

‘Qan Shiel Squad,’ Argel Tal spoke into the vox. ‘Make your way to Geller Generation on deck three. Squad Velash, move to support Qan Shiel.’

Affirmations crackled back. ‘Orders, sir?’ asked Sergeant Qan Shiel. ‘I... we have all heard as you heard.’

The captain swallowed.

‘Destroy the Geller Field generator. That’s an order. All Word Bearers, stand ready.’

Ninety-one seconds later, the ship gave the slightest rumble beneath their feet.

Ninety-four seconds later, it pitched to starboard, wrenched from orbit by the storm’s rage, drowning in the thrashing tides.

Ninety-seven seconds later, light died on every deck, bathing the crew and their Astartes protectors in the red gloom of emergency sirens.

Ninety-nine seconds later, every vox-channel erupted in screaming.

Ingethel uncoiled itself and launched forward, reaching for Malnor first.

Xaphen lay dead at the creature’s feet.