Chapter 16: Fake! All fake!
When Magnus the Red burst through the portal into Chamber One, his crimson gaze fell upon a scene that defied comprehension, Francis consuming the mutated flesh of a Thousand Sons warrior as casually as one might partake in a simple breakfast.
Magnus stood frozen, his psychic aura flickering with bewilderment.
"Ah, well...cough" Francis cleared his throat, maintaining perfect composure despite being caught mid-meal. "I'm merely analysing the cellular composition of these lesions to optimise my treatment protocols. Surely you understand the necessity of thorough examination, right?"
The consumed flesh yielded its secrets to his enhanced senses:
'Thousand Sons Legion Astartes gene-stock. Designation: Shelby.'
'Loyalty: Unwavering devotion to Magnus the Red.'
'Origin: Remote settlement, Prospero.'
'Flesh mutation index: Thirty-one percent.'
'Combat specialization: Psychic lightning projection, cerebral assault techniques.'
"Lord Primarch Francis," came a weak voice from the operating table, "would you attend to my wounds before continuing your... research?" Young Shelby groaned.
He had never imagined that ascension to the ranks of the Astartes would culminate in serving as another's sustenance.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Francis displayed something approaching embarrassment. He swiftly completed the suturing process, applying growth accelerants, genetic supplements, and stabilising compounds with practised efficiency.
"Come. We shall speak elsewhere."
Francis led Magnus from the chamber, his once-pristine white medicae robes now thoroughly stained with vital fluids.
"Through our previous covenant, you gained considerable knowledge of the Immaterium's nature," Francis began, abandoning his customary levity for grave solemnity. "Yet I maintain that your bargains with the Ruinous Powers can still be nullified."
"After all, they have not fully honoured their obligations. Should this continue, your connection to the Dark Gods will only deepen and strengthen."
"You cannot know whether the psychic gifts you wield remain untainted by their influence."
Magnus found himself taken aback by this sudden shift in demeanour, recognising the true gravity of what his brother implied.
"Come ignite your psychic might," Francis commanded, placing a firm hand upon Magnus's shoulder. "Take me with you into the Warp."
Magnus nodded his understanding. After explaining the situation to the assembled warriors of both Legions and instructing them to maintain their vigil, the two Primarchs cast their consciousness fully into the Immaterium's depths.
The sensation was akin to submersion in ethereal waters, their forms sinking ever deeper into realms beyond mortal comprehension.
Meanwhile, in the Warp's twisted corridors...
"I am Theanus!"
"Do you fear to acknowledge me, or do you fear to admit that the Emperor will inevitably abandon his Astartes children?"
The Prince of Pleasure advanced upon Horus with predatory grace, madness gleaming in those perfect eyes. With a languid gesture of one pale hand, reality itself dissolved around the Warmaster.
"Behold! This is truth unveiled."
Horus found himself transported to the deepest dungeons beneath the Imperial Palace on Terra.
"What sorcery is this?" Horus roared into the vaulted darkness. "Why have you brought me to this place?"
"I merely reveal what already exists. The truth lies within. Why not witness it yourself?"
Confusion clouded Horus's noble features as he wandered the dungeon's depths until he came upon a chamber he had never before entered. Its great doors bore twenty symbols, wolves, serpents, lions, and more, though the second and eleventh marks had been deliberately obliterated.
The doors yielded to his touch.
Within, twenty pristine gestation pods stood in perfect array, each nurturing a slumbering Primarch within its amniotic embrace. The pods pulsed with otherworldly radiance, their surfaces inscribed with the sacred geometries of creation.
"This is the truth of your existence, sons of the False Emperor."
Horus ignored the whispered voice, instead moving with mounting dread between the pods until he reached the position marked for the Eleventh Primarch.
He wiped the condensation from the pod's surface, gazing upon Francis's sleeping form within.
"You should not exist," Horus whispered, his voice heavy with sudden, inexplicable rage. "If you had never been made, such suffering would never have come to pass."
His gauntleted fist struck the pod with devastating force.
Crack.
Reality shattered like crystal under the blow.
Beyond the fragmenting illusion stood a vast cathedral-palace of impossible grandeur. At its heart rose a towering statue of the Emperor, before which all of humanity knelt in supplication.
Only a handful of Primarch statues flanked the golden figure, the angelic Sanguinius, the leonine form of the Lion. Even the Custodes were relegated to positions at the Emperor's feet.
Horus searched desperately among the statuary, but found no trace of his own likeness.
"Impossible!" he cried, his voice cracking with disbelief. "This cannot be! I am the Warmaster! I am Father's chosen son!"
"Come forth, deceiver! Show yourself!"
Madness crept into Horus's gaze as he thrust aside the kneeling mortals and stood before the Emperor's golden effigy.
"Have you not yet understood?" Theanus's voice carved itself into his mind like burning wire. "The False Emperor sacrifices all humanity as the price of his own ascension to godhood."
"Consider the Thunder Warriors. Remember the Second Legion. Think upon the fate of the Eleventh Legion. What became of them all?"
As the daemon prince's words took hold, visions flooded Horus's consciousness, countless warriors put to the blade by Leman Russ and his Space Wolves, their blood painting entire worlds crimson.
Horus clutched his head, trembling as he screamed, "No! No! I am the Warmaster! I will not permit such betrayal!"
"This is deception! All of it is lies!"
He hurled himself against the chamber's walls and statues, desperate to purge the poisonous words from his thoughts.
"The False Emperor will destroy you all," the voice continued relentlessly. "Why else would no Primarch sit upon the Imperial Council? Why, having found you, does he continue seeking your lost brothers?"
"You are nothing but tools for his dominion over mankind."
Thud. Thud. Thud.
"False!" Horus bellowed, his fists bloodying against stone. "Father would never, he could never, !"
His mighty blows rained upon the Emperor's statue until cracks began to spider across its golden surface. Fragments cascaded down upon his shoulders like falling stars.
Horus looked up in horror as the damage spread.
The statue began to melt, its golden exterior sloughing away to reveal something far more terrible beneath, a black sun rising from the statue's core, its dark radiance connecting to humanity through countless ethereal threads. The masses worshipped blindly while the shadow-sun gorged itself upon their souls.
"This cannot be real!"
But Horus recognised that malevolent aura all too well; it was unmistakably his father's psychic signature.
At last, the Warmaster's composure shattered completely. "How can this be? How can this be?"
He collapsed to his knees, unaware of the writhing shadows that crept across the floor toward him.
"Horus! Horus! Do not succumb to Chaos! What you see is an illusion!"
"This is Magnus! I have brought Francis to save you!"
"Whatever happens, do not surrender to sleep, or you are lost forever!"
Magnus's voice reached him across the void, growing stronger with each word.
"Magnus? Where are you?" Horus cried out through his tears, searching frantically but finding only emptiness.
"Francis, we cannot breach their defences. What shall we do?"
"Leave that to me! Let professionals do their work. Horus, the Emperor's favoured son, isn't you! His true favourite is Magnus!"
The words struck Horus like a thunderbolt. His eyes snapped wide as he surged to his feet.
"MAGNUS!!!"
CRACK.
The palace illusion exploded into fragments, revealing the true nature of their battleground, a formless void where four figures stood in confrontation.
To Horus's right, Theanus waited with arms folded in aristocratic disdain. To his left stood Magnus and... a blood-soaked half-orc creature.
The being possessed a human lower body but orcish features above the waist.
Silence stretched between them like a blade.
"Ahem." The creature cleared its throat awkwardly. "In truth, I am Francis, the Eleventh Primarch."
"Due to certain... circumstances involving my abilities, I am temporarily manifesting in this hybrid form. Fear not, the transformation is temporary."
"Little Horus, you must understand, I am your eleventh brother."
Francis's explanation seemed to have precisely the opposite of its intended effect.
Even Theanus's perfect features twisted with consternation, this deviation had not been foreseen.
Magnus shifted uncomfortably, remembering that Francis had been fully orcish mere moments before. How had he become only half-transformed in such a brief span? The implications were deeply heretical.
"It speaks truth, Horus! He truly is the Eleventh Primarch Francis."
"He is... unique in his nature, but Father is fully aware of his condition!"
Magnus could only press forward with his support, though doubt gnawed at him.
The result proved catastrophic. Horus's already fractured psyche finally collapsed entirely.
"Lies! He is xeno! He deceives you, Magnus!"
"Magnus, can you not see? He bears fresh Astartes blood upon his fangs! He is a heretic of the highest order!"
"He is false! Theanus is false!"
"This entire reality is false!"
"Hahaha!"
Horus clawed frantically at his skull before beginning to tear strips of flesh from his own face, his laughter echoing through the void like a funeral dirge.
[End of Chapter]
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