Over the next month, the Word Bearers' crusade fleet became an unstoppable torrent, sweeping through most of Reincarnation Heaven's star systems.
Defensive lines once thought impregnable proved as flimsy as paper before the Imperial Fleet's bombardment, while nobles and Divine Emissaries who had once strutted with arrogance fled like beaten dogs before Lorgar's judgment.
Star system after star system fell, planet after planet was purged, and Reincarnation Heaven's territory shrank visibly beneath the advance of the Imperium's Expeditionary Force.
Throughout this time, letters of surrender from Reincarnation Heaven poured in to Lorgar like snowflakes.
The letters arrived in gilded boxes, wrapped in silk and sealed with wax, bearing all manner of stamps and Insignia.
Some bore the official seals of Planetary Governors, others the joint signatures of noble councils, and still others were pleas from the ranks of the Divine Emissaries.
Their contents were much the same: admissions of defeat, requests for mercy, and offers of all their wealth and resources, asking only that the Imperium halt its offensive and spare their lives.
But once these letters reached Lorgar, he threw every one into the rubbish bin without so much as a glance.
He could not even be bothered to open the gilded boxes, much less read the pleas buried beneath their flowery language.
To him, those letters were nothing more than the wails of butchers as the blade was about to fall on their own necks.
They deserved no sympathy, no reply, not even a single second of his time.
They were left with no other choice, and the god they worshipped had ceased to answer them. No matter how many blood sacrifices they performed, how fervently they prayed, or how they struck those ancient psychic ritual instruments, the being that had once granted them guidance and power from