Lorgar: Knowing One's Errors and Correcting Them

Everything about Perfect City filled the Emperor with rage. He could see no value in this deeply religious world that could be converted in time.

Perhaps a few centuries from now, Perfect City would become a cultural center, a tourist destination. But with the Webway project on the verge of completion, every brick and tile was precious.

Was that my statue? An Adamantium statue several thousand meters tall? Over a hundred statues encircling a magnificent golden dome that pierced the atmosphere, covered in hand-carved scriptures and prayers?

The Emperor was dizzy from Lorgar's lavish undertaking. While he was sweating profusely at the interface between the Webway and the Throne, using one brick as two and working himself to the bone, that brat Lorgar was putting so much effort into these pointless details that could not be put to use immediately.

"Isn't this a little too crude? I don't think even Orks would..." Malcador frowned at the Throne and complained.

Without even looking up, the Emperor replied irritably, "As long as it works. Does a computer's usability depend on cable management?"

"That's true..." Malcador nodded. As he turned to leave, he tripped over the tangled cables strewn across the floor by the Throne. Fortunately, his psychic power was formidable enough that he was not directly killed by the surging energy in the Throne's cables.

Suppressing his fury, the Emperor said coldly to Lorgar, "Kneel, Lorgar."

"Father, I..." Lorgar stretched out a hand, trying to explain.

[I said, kneel!] The Emperor infused his voice with psychic power. His fury raged throughout Perfect City, crushing the Word Bearers warriors who revered him as a god to their knees.

The sight of Space Marines kneeling in perfect unison was magnificent, but the Emperor was in no mood to admire it.

The Emperor had many