Chronicle, entry number thirty.
Primarch Lorgar invited me to dinner.
He was very kind.
He asked me about my family, my dreams, and my faith.
I told him I had no faith, that the Emperor had forbidden it.
He smiled and said: “Of course, of course. The Imperial Truth.” And then he talked for two hours about the Imperial Truth with such passion that by the end I was crying and didn’t know why.
I’m told that on the world he went to, there were heroes on giant posters on every corner.
On the world his brother the Lion went to, the posters were of another kind.
I will write about both.
About the second, with a certain modesty.
I.
The Truth, Live
“My lord,” reported the Tech-priest, “this society is based on abilities called Quirks. Almost the entire population has one. The most powerful are ‘professional heroes,’ with rankings, sponsorships, and merchandise. Those without a Quirk… are marginalized.”
Lorgar Aurelian, Primarch of the Word Bearers, closed the book he held in his hands.
“They worship heroes as if they were gods,” he said quietly.
“And they despise those who don’t shine. I can sense the corruption from here.”
“Orders, my Primarch?”
“We will go down. And we will show them the light of my father.” Lorgar smiled.
“With words. At first.”
* * *
The sky over Musutafu went dark in the middle of the morning.
People looked up and saw a flying cathedral blotting out the sun.
A gangway lowered from it, and down the gangway came a giant in golden armor covered in scripture, with a face so serene it made you want to confess things to him.
The professional heroes were already in position.
Endeavor, number one.
Hawks, circling overhead.
Mirko, fists clenched.
Ryukyu, ready to transform.
“Humanity of this world!” said Lorgar, and his voice rang out on every screen in the city.
“Hear my words!”
The screens didn’t show his face.
They showed something else.
A Quirkless boy shoved against a locker while the others laughed.
A woman fired from her job because her Quirk was “useless.” An old man ignored in the street by a hero patrol too busy posing for a photo.
“You call yourselves civilized,” said Lorgar, “yet you divide your own people. You have built an aristocracy of power where the strong shine and the weak fade away. Is that the glory of your world?”
The silence in the plaza was enormous.
Endeavor stepped forward, wreathed in blue flames.
“I don’t know who you are or where you come from, but I won’t let you question our society.”
“You?” Lorgar looked at him the way one looks at a stain.
“You are a failure as a human being. You built your glory on the misery of your own family.”
Endeavor attacked.
Hell Spider.
Lorgar raised a hand and the flames died before they touched him.
Prominence Burn.
Lorgar caught the burning fist in his bare hand, twisted it, and slammed him into the ground.
He planted a boot on the number one hero’s back and looked at the crowd.
“This man beat his wife. He used his children as experiments. He broke his family to feed his ego. Is this the man you admire?”
First it was a murmur.
Then someone shouted abuser!
And then the whole plaza was shouting.
Bottles flew, stones, Endeavor action figures.
In the crowd, Shoto Todoroki watched in silence with his fists clenched.
Beside him, Natsuo was smiling for the first time in years.
* * *
In the League of Villains’ bar, the broadcast was playing on the TV in the corner.
Dabi was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face.
“Look at that! The great number one hero! Reduced to nothing! And I didn’t even have to lift a finger!”
“It’s better than a movie!” Twice shouted.
“He deserves it! He doesn’t deserve it! Yes he does!”
“Aww, people are finally realizing heroes are a bunch of hypocrites,” Toga sang.
Shigaraki swiveled his chair toward the screen.
“That guy knows how to destroy a symbol,” he murmured.
“Not with fire. With the truth.”
Then he fell silent.
Because he had understood something that hadn’t yet occurred to the others: if someone destroyed the heroes, what were villains for?
* * *
The other heroes tried to stop him.
Hawks launched his feathers; Lorgar stopped them in midair and let them drop.
“A killer who blindly obeys orders wants to stop me,” he said.
“How ironic, Hawks.”
Mirko leapt with a kick that could split a building.
Two Word Bearers appeared out of nowhere and caught her between them.
Ryukyu breathed dragon fire; Lorgar dispelled it with a gesture.
Eraserhead activated his Quirk and stared at him with red eyes.
“Your gift has no effect on me, Aizawa,” Lorgar said kindly.
“I do not have a Quirk. I am something else.”
Aizawa flew into a wall without knowing what had hit him.
Then came the recordings from the academies.
Bakugo screaming that weaklings like Deku didn’t deserve to be there.
Mineta peeping into locker rooms.
Monoma mocking Class 1-A for sport.
Teachers looking the other way.
“This is the future they promised you,” said Lorgar.
“Boys who trample the weak, and you call them heroes.”
* * *
Japan fell in weeks.
The rest of the world, in months.
The Hero Public Safety Commission tried to negotiate and discovered that Lorgar only negotiated with people who didn’t lie, which left them out.
U.A.
was dissolved.
In its place the Emperor’s Cadet Academy was founded, with Astra Militarum Commissars as instructors and Word Bearers Chaplains as spiritual advisors, “although it’s not religion,” they always clarified, “it’s the Truth.”
Izuku Midoriya: accepted for advanced training.
Remarkable self-sacrificing mentality.
Cries a lot, but trains more.
Momo Yaoyorozu: assigned to strategy and logistics.
Has already reorganized the mess hall.
Shoto Todoroki: accepted.
Free of his father’s shadow.
Smiled once.
We logged it.
Mei Hatsume: transferred to Mars at the request of the Mechanicus.
The Mechanicus asked to send her back after a week.
Denied.
Katsuki Bakugo: sent to a re-education camp to learn humility.
Has been screaming for eleven days.
The instructors are betting on when he’ll tire out.
Minoru Mineta: assigned to the Astra Militarum mines, night shift, in the men’s wing, with no locker rooms in sight for twenty kilometers.
Neito Monoma: reassigned to cleaning Class 1-A’s latrines.
For all eternity, or until he says something nice.
Whichever comes first.
Ochako Uraraka: reassigned to civilian logistics.
Discovered that zero-gravity cargo transport is very profitable.
She is happy.
Of the professional heroes, All Might was named honorary instructor; Mirko, an Astra Militarum commander after “two months of re-education that re-educated her less than she re-educated the re-educators”; Eraserhead moved to the Mechanicus to study mutation control.
Endeavor was arrested for his crimes against his family and tried in public.
No one in Japan asked for clemency.
The villains, with no heroes left to hate, found themselves without purpose.
Some sought it in the Imperium.
Dabi accepted a biological enhancement that allowed him to withstand his own fire, and a title Lorgar bestowed on him in person: Bearer of the Flame.
Toga was recruited by a very discreet group within the Inquisition and, according to reports, “has a worrying talent for disguise.” Spinner, who had always admired Stain, found in the Imperium an even stricter version of justice, and enlisted.
And among the first to kneel before Lorgar’s Truth was a Class 1-B student with vines for hair named Ibara Shiozaki.
Lorgar heard her praying one morning—praying to something that in her world had been a god—and instead of reprimanding her, he sat down beside her and told her about his father.
A week later, Ibara had formed a small group of girls who sang hymns to the Imperial Truth in the plaza.
Lorgar called them the Sisters of Truth.
Nobody found it strange.
Yet.
* * *
There was one last entry in the report, marked with the highest classification seal:
All For One.
Status: unknown.
During a capture attempt at his secret base, the subject held a private conversation with Primarch Lorgar.
The content of said conversation has been classified by order of the Primarch himself.
The subject’s whereabouts remain unknown.
The Inquisition considers him an absolute risk.
When an officer asked Lorgar what they had talked about, the Primarch smiled.
“Faith,” he said.
“He has very interesting opinions on faith.”
And he said nothing more.
II.
Angels, Goblins, and a Suspicious Poster
In another universe, the Invincible Reason, flagship of Lion El’Jonson, emerged from the Webway above a world of forests and castles that reminded the Primarch of the Dark Angels of Caliban, his home.
“We are detecting small life signs attacking a village, my lord,” the Mechanicus reported.
On the screen, short green creatures were burning houses and dragging villagers toward the forest.
Goblins.
The Lion rose.
He said nothing.
There was no need.
The drop pods fell on the village.
The Dark Angels came out in formation, and in three minutes not a single goblin was left standing.
The villagers, weeping, knelt before them.
“Angels! Angels sent by the gods!” one of them cried.
“On your feet,” said the Lion.
“We are not gods. We are warriors of the Emperor, my father.” He paused.
“Where is the capital of this world?”
* * *
On the road to the nearest kingdom, through the mist, they crossed paths with a group of adventurers.
A dwarf, an elf with extremely long ears, an enormous lizardman, a very young priestess, and, at the front, a man in grimy armor and a helmet that revealed nothing.
The two groups stopped at the crossroads.
For a long while, nobody spoke.
“Who are you?” asked the one in the helmet.
“I am Lion El’Jonson, Primarch of the Dark Angels. I have come to purge this world of the creatures you call goblins.”
The man in the helmet went still.
Something, behind the visor, lit up.
“We do the same,” said Goblin Slayer.
“We’re heading back to the guild to collect on a quest.”
“It would be an honor if you would guide us there.”
“Sure.”
“Are you insane?!” shrieked the High Elf Archer.
“We barely know them and you’re already offering to help!”
“We share an objective,” Goblin Slayer replied.
“That’s enough.”
“Classic you, Beard-cutter,” laughed the Dwarf Shaman.
Along the way, the Lizard Priest watched the Lion and Goblin Slayer walking side by side, both silent, both scanning the bushes with the same look.
“Those two are alike,” he remarked.
“You think so?” said the Elf.
“Both have the aura of a warrior who has already decided he is going to kill something today.”
The Dwarf walked up to a Dark Angel and rapped on his pauldron with his knuckles.
“What’s this made of?”
The Marine didn’t answer.
He kept walking.
“Adamantium,” the Lion replied.
“The toughest material in our galaxy.”
“Not bad. Looks like dwarven smithwork.”
The Marine, for the first time, turned his head toward him.
He said nothing.
But anyone who knew the Dark Angels would have sworn he was offended.
* * *
A few weeks later, the city was no longer the same.
There were banners of the double-headed eagle on the walls, Imperial Guardsmen patrolling the streets, and a Tech-priest in the smithy arguing with the blacksmith about the “correct blessing of the anvil.”
The adventurers’ guild had also become an Astra Militarum recruitment office.
On the walls hung posters of heroic soldiers, tanks, and slogans like THE EMPEROR NEEDS YOU!
And there was one in particular, beside the door, that always had a group of young adventurers standing in front of it.
It was a poster for the Vostroyan Women’s Assault Regiment.
It showed a long-haired sergeant in a tight-fitting uniform, holding a lasgun and winking.
Underneath it read: HAVE YOU GOT WHAT IT TAKES?
“I’m curious to learn more about this regiment,” one adventurer remarked, rubbing his chin.
“You mean because of the poster, right?” said his companion.
“What? No.” Pause.
“Maybe.”
At a table in the back, Goblin Slayer’s party was eating.
“I heard the Dark Angels cut the goblins in the region down to almost nothing in just a few days,” said the Dwarf, his mouth full.
“Looks like they’re going to put you out of a job, Beard-cutter.”
“If they wipe them out, all the better,” Goblin Slayer replied.
“I’m glad.”
“I still don’t like those guys,” muttered the Elf.
“I don’t know why.”
“You never like anything, Long-Ears.”
“You shut up, you drunk!”
* * *
As they left the guild, a squad of Imperial Guardsmen led by a Commissar blocked their way.
“Goblin Slayer? Commissar Harkov, Cadian 5th. We’ve been assigned to your group for the next mission. We’re new to this world. We want to learn.”
“Are they rookies?”
“Most of them. But they know how to fight.”
They were taken to the cave in a Chimera.
The Lizard Priest stroked the armor plating admiringly.
“What an impressive carriage. Gray as a dragon’s scales.”
“And you haven’t even seen a Baneblade,” said a Guardsman proudly.
In the back, another Guardsman was muttering to his buddy:
“An eldar, a Votann, a psyker, and a lizardman. Never seen anything like it in my life.”
“They’re not a threat,” said a third.
“For now they’re registered as abhumans. Don’t let the Commissar find out the elf gave me an apple.”
* * *
At the mouth of the cave, Goblin Slayer crouched beside a dead goblin, slit its belly open with his knife, and smeared a soaked rag all over his armor.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked a Guardsman, green in the face.
“Goblins have a good sense of smell. If we smear ourselves with their blood, they’ll think we’re one of them.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“He’s not kidding,” said the Elf.
“He never kids. Put it on.”
The Guardsman stared at the rag in horror.
“Come on, soldier,” said Commissar Harkov, wiping the rag across his sleeve without blinking.
“It doesn’t smell any worse than the trenches of Krieg.”
Nobody argued.
Everyone who had been to Krieg knew it was true.
Inside, Goblin Slayer stopped the Commissar from throwing a grenade.
“Too much noise. It’ll alert the others.”
Harkov thought about it for a second and nodded.
He signaled with his hand.
The Guardsmen fixed bayonets and advanced in silence, throat by throat.
The Dwarf threw a powder that put the goblins to sleep; the Priestess raised a barrier of silence.
It was, as Harkov would later report to his superiors, “the most efficient clearing operation I’ve seen in years, and the most disgusting.”
* * *
On the way back, in the Chimera, no one spoke.
Until the Priestess, nervous, broke the silence.
“Do you… have stories from your world?”
A veteran Guardsman named Roger took off his helmet.
“Once they sent us against a Chaos cult on some lost planet. Worshippers of Khorne, the blood god. They screamed blood for the Blood God, skulls for the Skull Throne! as they attacked from the trees. I still see my friends’ heads hanging from the branches when I close my eyes.”
“Wow,” murmured the Dwarf.
“Now that’s traumatic.”
“That’s nothing, dwarf. If you saw real xenos, goblins would seem like puppies to you.”
“And the big ones in green armor?” asked Goblin Slayer.
“The Astartes,” said Harkov.
“The Angels of the Emperor.”
“They don’t look much like angels,” the Elf remarked.
“That’s because you haven’t seen them fight, eldar. When their drop pods fall from the sky in the middle of a battle, you know you’ve already won.”
“And the biggest one? The blond with the beard?”
“Primarch Lion El’Jonson. All the Dark Angels are made from his gene-seed.”
“Gene-seed?” the Lizard Priest repeated.
“They implant you with new organs made from his DNA, and if you survive the trials and the surgeries, you become an Astartes.”
“What an extreme ritual,” murmured the Priestess.
“Ha,” said the Guardsman with the apple.
“And you haven’t even seen the other Legions.”
* * *
Chronicle, entry number thirty-two.
They sent me a copy of the famous Vostroyan poster to “file in the visual chronicle of recruitment.” I filed it.
The archives officer asked to borrow it within the hour.
He never gave it back.
The Administratum has opened a case file.
Tomorrow they’re sending me to Primarch Leman Russ.
I was warned to bring my own food.
I didn’t understand why until I got there.
Two chapters will be released daily until we reach the final 10 chapters.
From that point onward, the release schedule will change to one chapter per day.