Chapter 43 Submission

Chapter 43: Submission

"Do you have any idea what you are saying, foolish mortal?" Cherubael looked at the Primarch before him and refused without hesitation. "You are the spawn of the Accursed, but you have no right to command me. You are merely a leader of mortals, whereas I am a noble Daemon Prince."

"I shall show you a measure of mercy and permit you to bargain with me. Provided you can prepare sufficient sacrifices, I may deign to impart some information to you."

"Do not mistake me for those foolish sorcerers who trade vast quantities of sacrifices for a paltry scrap of insignificant knowledge, yet remain deeply grateful to you. The only offering I can grant you, Cherubael, is the chance to remain alive." Guilliman stared at the host before him as boundless power surged within his Primarch physique.

As the news of his awakening spread, every citizen who learned of it chanted his name, yearning for the salvation he would bring.

These unshakeable beliefs endowed him with infinite strength.

The will of humanity was formidable enough to alter the warp—that was an undeniable truth.

Otherwise, the gods would not have chosen those Chaos cultists to assist them in meddling with the material universe.

The Aeldari had once run simulations concluding that if humanity were to perish, Chaos would likewise vanish from the galaxy shortly thereafter.

One could only imagine the paramount status humanity held within the realm of the galactic warp.

And now, Guilliman had gathered the combined conviction and faith of mankind.

"Your arrogance exceeds that of your father, spawn of the Accursed. You cannot harm me. I am a Daemon Prince, an immortal entity. All things in this world decay with the passage of time, but daemons do not. I am eternal."

Cherubael's arrogant voice echoed through the chamber.

"I can foresee all things; it is the innate gift of my kind. Do you wish to know the fate that awaits you, spawn of the Accursed? Do you wish to attain your every desire? Bargain with me, and I shall fulfill your every demand, so long as you pay a sufficient price."

Vorn Hagen stood silently to one side, watching the scene unfold before him.

He could not tell whether this path was right or wrong.

Guilliman was attempting to tread a dark and perilous road, and he could not be certain if this great Primarch had been corrupted by Chaos during his protracted slumber.

He prayed that his choice was the correct one.

Otherwise, a corrupted Primarch would prove to be the final straw that broke the Imperium.

Vorn Hagen kept his incantations ready in his mind, prepared to suppress Cherubael once more should the entity break free from control.

"You shall pay the price for your obstinacy, daemon," Guilliman said, a smile touching his lips. "Did you know? I once had a brother who turned traitor. He was known as the Night Haunter, and his Legion was notorious for its cruelty. He loved to hunt down people's fears and weaknesses, amplifying them endlessly until his enemies suffered complete psychological collapse. In the past, I detested his methods. But now, my perspective has altered somewhat."

"When men face an enemy they utterly despise, any form of retribution is permissible. I was recalling my brother's practices, pondering whether his tortures might be applied to you. For some time, I have been trying to deduce what a daemon fears most. In our previous battle, I finally understood: daemons dread eternal oblivion. You fear the absolute erasure of your essence, for that would strip you of the ability to reform within the warp."

"You will extract no information from me, spawn of the Accursed. I have never feared threats. Even though you hold my true name, you have no means to force my submission. You lack the capability to achieve what you speak of; at best, you can only banish me back to the warp or confine me here," Cherubael shrieked.

Guilliman rested his hand upon the pommel of the Emperor's Sword. "I may indeed lack the power to cause your total annihilation, but another can."

***

The power of command had rendered Guilliman even more formidable.

He now wielded the might of the Emperor's Sword with far greater dexterity and ease.

At Guilliman's mental behest, a golden radiance erupted across his magnificent and towering Primarch frame.

It made him shine with an ever-increasing brilliance, as though he were cloaked entirely in golden light.

The power of the Emperor surged as well, spanning the vastness of the cosmos to project itself directly into this gloomy dungeon.

Cherubael writhed in sudden unease, terror contorting its distorted visage.

The Emperor was the ultimate doom of the warp's myriad daemons; He was the end of all things.

Even the Dark Gods could do nought to destroy the Emperor, forced instead to devise a means to imprison Him upon the Golden Throne.

Bolstered by the dual resonance of Guilliman's own strength and the power of the Emperor, the dungeon grew sacred beyond all precedent.

The Emperor's shrine began to glow, inspiring the banishment priests and holy confessors to chant the litanies and hymns of the Master of Mankind with renewed fervor.

All the other daemon hosts and forbidden artifacts sealed within the dungeon trembled.

Their roars fell silent, and their eerie whisperings vanished into nothingness.

Even the previously frantic and thrashing daemon hosts grew quiet as never before.

Vorn Hagen felt the descent of a vast, immeasurable will.

He understood that the Primarch was channeling the power of his father to subjugate the Daemon Prince.

"Submit to me, or I shall shatter your very essence to its core and cast you into eternal oblivion," Guilliman commanded, his voice measured yet fraught with terrifying majesty.

"You d—" Cherubael struggled desperately, resisting the crushing weight of that will, but before it could finish, an iron fist smashed into it.

The air tore open, and the thick chains instantly went taut under the immense impact.

The host vessel inhabited by Cherubael was driven hard against the wall with a heavy, echoing crash.

Guilliman drew the Emperor's Sword. Golden flames surged upward along the crossguard, the blade's tip coming to rest directly against Cherubael. "You may refuse once more, daemon, and I shall return you to the void. There are other daemons in this place; surely one of them will prove willing to serve me."

"I have already foreseen your pathetic fate, spawn of the Accursed. You, too, shall inevitably walk the path of corruption, just as we have," Cherubael stared at the glowing blade tip, not daring to test the Primarch's patience any further.

"So confident in your prophetic gifts, are you?" Guilliman mocked.

"You are nothing more than a wretched group of apes. You will never comprehend the exquisite and delicate tapestry of the threads of fate, yet I have foreseen all things from the beginning," Cherubael replied.

"Then let us play a game. Guess which part of you I shall carve away first?"

***

"This is a wretched game. You have no intention of letting me win."

"I merely wish to ascertain just how perfect your perfect foresight truly is. Can you anticipate what will happen next?" Guilliman casually sliced off one of the daemon host's ears.

The golden flames scorched the daemon's underlying essence, wringing a piercing shriek from Cherubael.

"It appears that when injury touches the core, daemons are quite capable of feeling pain."

Guilliman sheared off the daemon host's other ear. This time his movements were deliberate and slow; the golden flames spread, yet they did not consume the host's flesh, focusing solely on cauterizing the wounds.

Cherubael's shrieks grew sharper and more agonizing.

Guilliman showed infinite patience, carving away pieces of the host body bit by bit.

The original soul within that vessel had long since perished; only the will of the Daemon Prince remained inside.

Thus, the suffering was borne entirely by the Daemon Prince alone.

"You win, spawn of the Accursed. What is it you wish to know?"

Cherubael ultimately chose to submit.

Daemons were notoriously difficult to harm with material weaponry, and the destruction of physical vessels could never wound their true essence.

Yet the golden blade in Guilliman's hand was an exception.

It contained the annihilating power of the Accursed.

With every cut Guilliman inflicted, permanent damage was dealt to Cherubael's daemonic nature.

It was an incomparable, soul-deep agony.

Even if Cherubael were to eventually escape back to the warp, the wounds left by this blade would never heal, inflicting a perpetual, searing torment upon the entity for all eternity.

"I wish to know news of my traitorous brothers, and what they are currently doing," Guilliman sheathed the Emperor's Sword and asked.

"I do not operate within the warp; I have been imprisoned in the material universe for centuries," Cherubael answered.

"Then do any daemons know? And how should I summon one?" Guilliman fixed his gaze upon Cherubael.

"You expect a daemon to betray its own kind?"