Chapter 17: Fate
Crimson vitae dripped steadily from Horus's ravaged features as the Warmaster clutched at himself with trembling hands, as though he might rend his own flesh from bone.
His bloodshot gaze fixed upon them with feral intensity. "You, I trust none of you!"
"Magnus, contact Father immediately. He alone commands my faith now!"
"I would hear the truth from his own lips!"
Magnus beheld his brother's anguish with profound sorrow weighing upon his hearts.
Instinctively, he reached out with his psychic consciousness toward Terra, only to have Francis seize his wrist in an iron grip.
"Have you forgotten my warnings?" Francis rebuked sharply. "Are you not aware of what devastation your psychic communion might unleash upon Terra in these brittle hours?"
Cold realisation flooded through Magnus like ice water through his veins. "No... not now,, Horus, at the very least. But surely you can place faith in us, brother, we share the same gene-sire!"
A hollow laugh escaped Horus's lips as he retreated two faltering steps. "Magnus, you have been deceived by this xenos influence. You have betrayed the very Imperium you swore to serve!"
"I believed you would stand as my truest battle-brother but... heh heh heh..."
Without warning, fresh visions assaulted Horus's consciousness. His expression crumbled into absolute despair as he stammered, "No... no, no... it cannot be thus..."
Before his mind's eye, the Emperor stood in congress with four shadowed figures whose forms defied mortal comprehension.
He could hear his father's voice making profane bargains. He witnessed the Master of Mankind offering to sacrifice half his gene-sons in exchange for archaic knowledge and forbidden technologies.
The Emperor sought to employ these dark secrets in the very creation of the Primarchs themselves!
The vision shifted, carrying Horus across countless worlds, all populated by humanity, yet utterly devoid of Astartes presence. It seemed his father's transhuman warriors had no place in the galaxy's future.
Horus curled upon himself in torment, desperate images cascading through his fractured psyche.
As Francis and Magnus prepared to offer words of comfort, a nauseating sensation of suffocation engulfed them all.
The void itself convulsed in upheaval as a massive psychic storm coalesced from the Immaterium's depths, bearing down upon them with inexorable purpose.
CRASH!
Their connection to the Warp severed like a snapped cable, consciousness fading from the realm beyond reality's veil.
The psychic tempest had been crafted specifically for their destruction.
Meanwhile, Thanious approached the broken Warmaster, producing a vessel filled with viscous golden fluid from the folds of unreality. The daemon prince poured the substance into Horus's ear while speaking in honeyed tones.
"The False Emperor merits no loyalty. Nay, you should follow no master but yourself."
"The False Emperor merely employs you as an instrument of his own apotheosis!"
"He uses you to shepherd fragile humanity until they might serve as the foundation of his godhood."
"But you are different, my dear Horus. You are a gift born from the Warp itself. You should embrace its limitless power."
The Prince of Pleasure continued his seduction as Horus, now completely withdrawn from reality, began to echo the poisonous words: "I am a gift from the Warp. I should embrace its power!"
"Only through the False Emperor's destruction can humanity find salvation. Only by destroying..."
Seeing his prize nearly claimed, Thanious raised one pale hand toward the psychic storm raging in the distance.
"Do you perceive that tempest? A phenomenon so treacherous that even battle-barges must avoid its fury."
Horus stared with vacant eyes until he witnessed Thanious casually wave his hand, and the terrible storm vanished without trace.
"How is such a thing possible? What sorcery is this?"
Shock flickered through Horus's broken gaze, but Thanious merely smiled with predatory grace and gestured again. Multiple psychic maelstroms erupted into being, consuming everything within their path.
"Behold the power of the Chaos Gods! With such strength as your birthright, you shall cast down the False Emperor!"
"Tear away his hypocritical mask, and claim dominion over the entire Imperium itself!"
Amid these grand proclamations, Horus became utterly lost within the daemon's web.
Writhing tentacles, putrid flesh, twisted bone, and pink mists materialised before him in an obscene tableau. Unknown entities began to envelope his form.
It was then that Thanious' image grew ethereal, dissolving to reveal the true architect of this corruption, Erebus of the Word Bearers Legion.
The First Chaplain gazed upon Horus's location with religious fervour, like the most devoted of supplicants witnessing a miracle.
Horus struggled occasionally against his bonds, but with diminishing strength.
Upon Prospero...
"Francis, we must do something. What course of action shall we pursue? What fate awaits Horus?"
"My heart is filled with dread at what Horus will become!"
Magnus paced the chamber's length with growing agitation, his desire to re-enter the Warp burning like fire in his veins.
Yet he could sense endless psychic storms waiting beyond the veil; the Warphad had become unreachable to him in this hour.
"Why so serious, Brother? Did I not tell you? Horus will not perish. At worst, he might be filled with..."
Magnus's confusion was evident as he interrupted, "Filled with what? He is suffering through corruption! If this continues, the Warmaster of Imperium will become a traitor, and heresy will consume him entirely!"
"Calm down, Magnus. He will be crowned with the title of a Champion of all Chaos Gods at most, nothing more. He is facing corruption, not marriage for the Emperor's sake; cease your panic." Francis stretched languidly, nearly biting his tongue mid-gesture.
"And, yes, you are right, Horus is moving towards rebellion. Naturally, the heresy of fake gods and cults will follow! But dont be afraid, so long as the Emperor is standing with us, and we brothers are united, Humanity will not kneel to anyone."
The consumed flesh of the Thousand Sons was proving efficacious; Francis could feel his physical form gradually returning to its intended state.
Magnus stood speechless, uncertainty clouding his noble features. In previous times, he would already have established psychic communion with the Emperor.
"I perceive your anxiety, brother, but restrain it for now."
The sounds of commotion echoed from beyond their sanctuary as Francis led Magnus toward the chamber's exit.
"So long as the Webway remains intact, your psychic mastery alone should not cause you any worry?"
"You, Magnus, stand as my most gifted brother in the psychic arts. The sacred duty of protecting our father shall fall on your shoulders eventually."
"Consider this, at the darkest hour of Imperium, when even Warmaster has fallen, when Father's life faces mortal peril..."
"You! Lord of Prospero, Crimson King, King of Sorcerers, Magnus the Red, shall appear as salvation itself and turn the tide of fate!"
Hearing such praise and imagining that Sen Francis painted for him, Magnus could not suppress the slight upward curve of his lips. "Indeed, I shall guard Father with my very existence."
"Should such events transpire, you will become Father's most cherished son!" Francis whispered the words directly into his brother's ear.
'Man, these primarchs are just overgrown children', always wanting attention like anime girls, Hell Emperor should have listened to Malcador, at least we would have tall female tsunderes instead of these... Oh god, why does that sound like a bad idea?
Magnus's eyes blazed with sudden intensity as he regarded Francis, too overcome with emotion for speech.
Their conversation was interrupted by the chaos awaiting them beyond, Space Wolves arrayed on one flank, while Thousand Sons and Soul Drinkers held the opposite position.
"None shall pass! The Primarchs are conducting business of utmost importance!" A Thousand Sons battle-brother raised his psychic staff, its crown jewel pulsing with eldritch light.
"Inform him, grave tidings have arrived! The Adeptus Mechanicus seeks an audience with the Primarch!"
"Our Primarch is confronting them; the standoff has already been ongoing for a full solar day!" The Space Wolf warrior's features were etched with anxiety.
They found it difficult to comprehend that the Tech-Priests had brought an Apocalypse-class battleship in their search for the gene-sons of the Emperor.
Such vessels were renowned for devastating firepower and impenetrable armour plating, typically reserved for grand campaigns and strategic offensives.
Upon hearing this intelligence, Magnus, who had just arrived, pushed through the gathered warriors with a regal bearing. "Lead the way. I shall accompany you to witness this confrontation."
The Space Wolves exchanged uncertain glances.
Even the Thousand Sons battle-brothers colored slightly, one tugging at their Primarch's power armour while whispering, "My lord, they seek the Primarch Francis."
"Naturally, I shall accompany Magnus on this endeavour." Francis clapped his brother's shoulder with good humour.
Magnus's features reddened slightly, though his naturally crimson complexion mercifully concealed his expression.
"Our paramount concern must be a swift return to Terra, after all, this represents Father's direct commandment. Perhaps the Emperor maintains some greater precautions." Francis's tone grew thoughtful.
"Sound reasoning! But you spoke of Horus's rebellion, right? Surely others will not rally to his banner?" Magnus suddenly realised the impossibility of the Warmaster fighting his way to Terra alone.
"Ah, well... your world possesses remarkable beauty. So many citizens employ psychic talents, and by the Throne, some even use such gifts for manual labour!" Francis gazed upon the City of Light's thoroughfares with apparent fascination.
Obsidian obelisks covered in runic script rose alongside sky-piercing pyramids, while most citizens employed psychic abilities to aid their daily labours.
"Indeed! Prospero's harsh environment demanded such adaptation. Originally, many dangerous Warp entities dwelt here. Ordinary mortals would never have survived..." When discussing his adoptive world, Magnus transformed into an eager child, sharing precious treasures and recounting countless observations and experiences with infectious enthusiasm.
So absorbed did he become in the telling that he forgot his previous question entirely.
Even the Space Wolves warriors found themselves listening with rapt attention.
The entire group simply walked through the standoff between Fenrisian Astartes and Adeptus Mechanicus, showing no intention of acknowledging the confrontation.
Both factions watched in stunned silence as the Primarchs strolled past their battle lines as though they were sightseeing tourists rather than participants in a tense military situation.
[End of Chapter]
Are you enjoying it so far, brother?? Hmm??