Half a year passed in the blink of an eye.
During that time, Lorgar split the days between recovery and building something that was actually his, an organizational foundation, loyal to no one but himself.
One evening, a messenger came sprinting into the palace.
“My lord!
My lord!
Look to the sky!” Lorgar, who had been writing a report, let out a quiet sigh and set down the pen.
This day had finally come.
Lorgar walked slowly out of the palace.
Above the cloud layer, a dense black mass of warships stretched across the sky.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
The roar of engines shook down through the clouds as a massive transport ship descended and came to rest beside the temple.
The surrounding civilians were rapidly evacuated.
Guards braced their spears and stared at the thing before them, swallowing hard.
“Put down your weapons.
I’ll handle this.” Lorgar arrived before the transport dressed in a white robe, a handful of guards in tow.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Steel ground against steel.
The hatch swung slowly open.
The figure at the front was towering, powerfully built, with blood-red skin.
“Magnus…” Lorgar recognized the figure immediately.
Magnus the Red, Lord of Prospero, gene-sire of the Thousand Sons, the Fifteenth Legion, and the single greatest culprit responsible for plunging the Imperium into the catastrophe of the 41st Millennium.
“You are my brother.” Magnus looked toward Lorgar.
Lorgar met the gaze without hesitation.
In that single exchanged moment, Magnus felt it, that aura, the one that existed only between gene-brothers.
“I have brought our father to find you, my brother.” Magnus stepped aside and opened a path.
The newcomer walked forward, and virtually every guard and civilian present dropped to their knees at the same moment.
The Emperor’s psychic presence, the Thousand Faces, caused all who looked upon the Emperor to automatically envision the most perfect form their minds could shape.
Lorgar was unaffected.
Lorgar simply watched the Old Man standing there in silence.
The Emperor raised his head and met Lorgar’s gaze as an equal, then slowly spoke.
“My child.
I have come.” “Humanity has need of you.
The power you possess will be the hope that saves mankind.” “Who are you?” Lorgar stared back and spoke without hurry.
“Why would I go with you?” Necessary procedure.
First, a simple challenge.
Then, the conditions.
If Guilliman could lay claim to the Five Hundred Worlds, claiming a few star systems as Homeworlds for Lorgar wasn’t unreasonable.
Guilliman got to play it free-to-acquire, so could Lorgar.
“I am the Master of Mankind.
The Emperor of the Imperium of Man.
My name has taken countless forms across the river of history.
Emperor will do.” “You and Magnus are both my gene-sons.
Beyond the two of you, a number of my other gene-sons have already been recovered.
Others remain scattered across the galaxy, still waiting to be found.” “Using your gene-seed, I forged a Legion of Genetically-enhanced Warriors.
You will serve as their Lord of the Legion.
The planet beneath your feet will become your Legion’s Recruitment World.” “Humanity is suffering.
I am launching the Great Crusade to reclaim the entire galaxy.” The Emperor paused.
“Will you join us?” “Agreed,” Lorgar said.
“But I have one condition.” The sudden interjection caught the Emperor off guard, just for an instant.
Then composure returned, smooth as still water.
“Speak.
What is your condition?” The Emperor looked directly at Lorgar.
Golden light radiated from within those pupils.
A few seconds passed, and the Emperor’s previously furrowed brow slowly relaxed.
“One Recruitment World isn’t enough.
Give me more.
Every inhabited planet in every star system surrounding Colchis — all of them become Recruitment Planets for my Legion.” “Agreed.” Lorgar blinked.
What the hell.
Wasn’t the Emperor supposed to be a socially anxious shut-in?
Wasn’t the Emperor supposed to be a neglectful father?
Wasn’t the Emperor supposed to be a complete and utter Old Bastard?
And it was just…
agreed.
Just like that.
“You and your soldiers may also undergo the enhancement surgeries.
Select a portion of them to join the Legion.” The Emperor turned and walked back toward the transport.
“Tomorrow morning I will take you to meet your Legion.” The hatch was already closing when the Emperor said it, the words landing on Lorgar, still standing outside.
With the Emperor’s departure, and with Lorgar’s tacit approval, Tech-priests and a large number of construction personnel moved into Colchis.
The work began immediately: large-scale Hive Cities, infrastructure, all of it rising from the dirt of a world that was no longer quite what it had been.
“Heracles.” Back in the palace, Lorgar turned to look at the figure following close behind.
“Do you wish to join my Legion?” “My lord — am I truly allowed?” Heracles’s black pupils shone with barely contained excitement.
“No question.
If you’re willing, you will be the first person on Colchis to become a Space Marine.
That honor will follow you through ten thousand years of war.” “I am willing!
My lord!
Please — allow me to give my life for you!” The words came out fast, burning with feeling.
Lorgar studied Heracles with a calm, steady gaze.
“I hope you remember this.
When you receive power, do not lose yourself.
You are the Son of Colchis.
The Son of Glory.
Your strength will stand for the oppressed among the billions of stars.” “Remember your power and your responsibility.
The greater your power, the greater your responsibility.” …
The next day.
Lorgar arrived at the temporary landing pad on schedule.
A transport ship was already waiting.
“I’ll leave Colchis in your care.” Lorgar turned to Senadis.
“Understood, my lord.” Senadis, now Planetary Governor of Colchis, went down on one knee.
“The first batch of Legion candidates has been selected,” a Recruitment Master said.
“Estimated number: approximately one hundred and twenty thousand.
The bravest warriors on Colchis.
The most virtuous.” Lorgar had made modest changes to the Word Bearers’ Legion structure, and with those changes came new titles.
The Military Commander responsible for Space Marine recruitment, for instance, had been renamed by Lorgar the “Holy Word Overseer”, the office now primarily responsible for managing recruitment.
Currently, Lorgar’s Recruitment Planets numbered 15.
Tens of trillions of people lived across those fifteen worlds.
Among them, those who could become Space Marines might number only in the tens of thousands.
It was enough.
“My lord, please…” A figure in grey armor, bearing the look of a Space Marine captain, led Lorgar into the transport.
“Tell me your name, soldier.” Lorgar looked at the captain and asked.
“My name is Paulus Trichmann.
Captain of the Legion’s 15th Company.” The answer came slow and steady.
➤ Next: Volume Two: The Great Crusade