Chapter 462: Korsakos: Perhaps I Can Sit Upon It Myself

The Oathbreaker Korsakos struck the Bone Throne, gazing at the four subordinates before him,

the Dark Apostle Kvein, the Butcher-Physician Lorekai, the Dimensional Smith Moglivar, and the Decapitation Master Sharlock—four warriors so exceptional they bordered on greatness, bowed before Korsakos,

he was no longer the obscure Third Company Deputy, Sorkaks, he once was,

he had added a K to the start of his name, symbolizing the Blood God, symbolizing the blessing of Khorne, symbolizing his rejection of the past and acceptance of future glory,

the Butcher's Nail churned within his brainstem, sending throbbing tremors of pain through his skull,

no one had left his legion a more bitter legacy than the base, laughable, weak Angron,

the Butcher's Nail, a pathetic implant used by Nuceria on its slaves, had been brought into the legion and implanted into the brains of the World Eaters,

yet this relic of the Golden Age still held many secrets, and no living soul understood its original purpose, leading each brain to react differently, forming unique neural links and producing varied effects,

some became utterly enslaved by the Nail's rage,

others were luckier, forming only weak connections with the Nail and retaining a measure of sanity,

Korsakos was one of the lucky ones—his mind had remained rational for ten thousand years, untouched by fury,

the foolish Kain, the mad Angron—if he had been a high-ranking officer in the legion back then, he would never have allowed them to implant that damned Nail. Well, low-ranking warriors could have it—they didn't need to think, only to rage.

Yet thanks to the Butcher's Nail, most World Eaters had descended into madness; Kain had gone so insane he shattered his own legion, foolishly abandoning the chance to seize supreme command of the World Eaters,

so Korsakos acted,

he gathered the scattered World Eaters—eight warbands now bowed to him, crowning him Regent,

he even reclaimed the ancient Glory Queen-class battleship, the Great Conqueror, from near Armageddon,

though the one-eyed political commissar with the Ork mechanical hand and laser ocular nearly killed him, it was all worth it,

the Conqueror was a magnificent vessel—she could autonomously resolve every problem encountered during navigation,

whether crew rotations, fuel resupply, ammunition replenishment, macrocannon reloads, hull repairs, or route planning—all these complex tasks, the Conqueror handled herself; Korsakos need not concern himself—with good reason, for Korsakos did not know how to do any of it, and had no interest in such trivialities.

But gradually, Korsakos began to sense something amiss,

first, as the Conqueror's master, Korsakos had never set foot on the bridge—or rather, he was forbidden from doing so, and even did not know where the bridge was located—back in the Great Crusade, as a low-ranking officer, he had no right to enter the bridge, and now, with the ship warped by the Warp, he could not find its position at all.

second, there was a damned ghost aboard the ship; the Dark Apostle Kvein, who had sworn fealty to Korsakos, had tried to exorcise her many times, but failed; worst of all, the ghost arrogantly commanded Korsakos himself, as if she were the true master of the Conqueror—so in mockery, Korsakos gave her the title "Lady."

finally, Korsakos discovered that the Conqueror sometimes refused his orders, attempting to obstruct his actions—this enraged him further; if he could not control a single ship, how could he rule as Regent of the World Eaters?

so Korsakos devised a plan,

he ordered other ships to bombard the Conqueror, provoking the Lady residing aboard,

once the Lady revealed her fury and triggered the Conqueror's tremors, his Dimensional Smith Moglivar could pinpoint her location.

they succeeded—Moglivar cheered and informed Korsakos: they had found the Lady's position, located the bridge,

this was indeed joyful—if only the ship had not begun trying to kill Korsakos, he would have been even happier,

scalding steam erupted from the deck, blasting against Korsakos's face; rivets shot from the walls, piercing straight for his neck,

the crew, who had bred and mutated for three hundred generations aboard the Conqueror, shrieked forth and charged Korsakos's warband of Astartes,

but Korsakos had prepared thoroughly; though many of his precious warriors died, he still reached the bridge's door,

a reinforced adamantium blast door, framed in brass, ancient and writhing with interwoven flesh, horrifying to behold.

here it was—the bridge he had longed for,

ten thousand years ago he had never stepped here; now, at last, he would claim this honor,

he would sit upon the Conqueror's command throne, crowned true Regent of the World Eaters.

"Deputy Sorkaks."

a cold voice came from behind his head, icy and piercing his brain, making him shudder,

it was his old name, his obscure name—no one had called him that in a thousand years; he had killed everyone who knew it,

before Istvaan III, he had been merely an ordinary warrior, promoted to deputy only because there were no others left—and even then, he was not even a company commander.

the name Sorkaks reminded him of that damned life; he whirled in fury—and saw

the "Lady" standing behind him, gray and insubstantial, her cold woman's face fixed upon his.

for the first time, Korsakos saw the Lady up close; she seemed vaguely familiar, as if he had glimpsed her from afar before,

did she know him? Or had she used some method to peer into his mind, to see his past?

Korsakos grew instantly wary,

"Woman," Korsakos said with disdain.

the Lady seemed puzzled, troubled by Korsakos's refusal to obey her commands.

"You are only a deputy. You are not permitted to enter the bridge."

yet the Lady still spoke to Korsakos:

"If you object to this mission, feel free to discuss it with Kain."

Korsakos laughed—he believed he was close to success; otherwise, why would this Lady invoke the traitor Kain's name to frighten him?

he must have found the right place.

Korsakos ignored the Lady's obstruction and pressed forward toward the brass-inlaid adamantium door; this angered her.

"Or we could simply summon Lord Angron," the Lady said, irritated.

summon Angron? Summon Angron? How absurd! Who did she think she was?

Angron's adoptive mother?

Korsakos burst into laughter—this woman was mad,

spirits haunting the mortal realm always spoke this way: full of dead men, madmen, and fools, clinging to dusty, foolish memories of the past, blind to the glory of the present,

only Korsakos knew the immense power he had gathered,

only Korsakos knew the crown he now bore,

he would command the Conqueror; he had united the strongest force the World Eaters had mustered in ten thousand years; he was nearly catching up to the great Chaos Warmaster Abaddon, leaving Angron and Kain far behind,

he feared neither Kain nor Angron,

even if Angron stood before him today, he was certain he would never again become his slave.

he would sit upon the Conqueror's command throne, upon the Regent's throne of the World Eaters,

perhaps not only the Conqueror's command throne,

he might even lead this mighty legion through the Great Rift into the Sol System, return to Terra, slay the False Emperor, and take the Golden Throne himself—this was not impossible.

"Sergeant, you will learn the cost of defying orders," the mad woman said to Korsakos.

then she vanished into the dim corridors of the ship,

Korsakos sneered; his Dimensional Smith used a thermal weapon to melt open the door,

and so he stepped into the Conqueror's bridge,

the honor he had been denied ten thousand years ago—as a mere deputy, he had never been allowed entry,

the bridge was dark, all around it deep and heavy: blood, flesh, twisted, exposed cables coiled here, converging upon the central command throne,

the female monster sat upon the command throne, occupying the seat meant for Korsakos.

she was an ancient woman, pale as a corpse drained of blood; her once-white uniform was filthy, a bloody red handprint smeared across her lifeless chest; twisted steel cables pierced her body, swallowing her lower half entirely, fusing her to the command throne, leaving her only the slightest movement of her two slender arms,

clearly, this was the Lady's true form—weak and pitiful.

"Woman, submit to me, or die," Korsakos said coldly, raising his axe toward the pale woman upon the command throne.

"You?" the Lady slowly lifted her powerless head, mocking Korsakos: "Who do you think you are? Do you think you can kill me?"

"Tell me, Deputy Sorkaks—who feeds the crew? Who maintains the crew's population balance? Who supplies the ship's fuel? Or where is the fuel even replenished? You don't even know where the ammunition comes from."

"Who do you think you are? Kain?"

"I am Korsakos! I have surpassed Kain! I have surpassed Angron!"

the Butcher's Nail hummed; Korsakos roared in fury:

"Submit, or die!"

a cold silence filled the air; finally, the Lady fell still.

"My lord."

the Lady's voice was hoarse as she looked at Korsakos and said:

"The Conqueror belongs to you alone."

Korsakos laughed, laughing with pure joy—at last, he had claimed this honor—

suddenly, Korsakos felt searing heat against his back, heard his four subordinates scream in terror,

he realized—the Lady was not looking at him; she was looking behind him.

"I have been waiting for you to return."

the Lady spoke—not to Korsakos—but to the blazing fire behind him:

"Lord Angron, you have returned."

(End of Chapter)