Chapter 21: Brothers
Horus surveyed the ritual chamber with cold calculation. Eldritch symbols scarred the ancient stones. Broken corpses littered the floor, local cultists who had served their purpose.
His gaze swept over twisted flesh and bone fragments arranged in blasphemous patterns. Each mark spoke of careful preparation, a trap years in the making. The Warmaster's lips curved in a mirthless smile.
They had played him for a fool, and he had walked willingly into their snare.
The massive serpentine eyes carved into the chamber's apex drew only his contempt. Crude manipulation. When voices reached him from beyond the Lodge's entrance, he strode toward the exit. The scene outside unfolded exactly as his enhanced perception had foreseen.
"Hmph."
A single sound of disdain. The psychic pressure that followed sent Erebus staggering backward. His augmented frame buckled under the terrible weight of Horus's transformed presence.
Even bent nearly double, the Word Bearer raised his head. That insufferable smirk remained. "Welcome back, Warmaster. Embrace the gifts of Chaos fully."
Confusion flickered across the Mournival's faces. Horus noted their reactions before responding with arctic coldness.
"You're nothing but a cur beneath those entities' table," he said, each word carrying absolute authority. "Keep barking like that and I won't hesitate to put down a rabid dog for my new patrons."
"Big words from the mighty Warmaster," Erebus began.
Four weapons pressed against his shoulders.
"Show your worth right now, Chaplain," Abaddon's voice carried deadly promise. "Or we'll settle every vile deed you've done to our gene-sire."
"Get out of our sight. Now." Horus's command left no room for argument.
Erebus clenched his fists. Confusion and rage warred within him. How had his perfect plan gone so completely wrong?
The Mournival's eyes burned with barely contained violence. Had Horus not ordered his withdrawal, the Word Bearer would have earned immediate execution.
With no other option, Erebus lowered his head and withdrew.
When the interloper had gone, the four veterans dropped their weapons and rushed to their gene-father's side.
"Primarch, what happened to you?" Tarik's concern colored every word.
"What went on in that cursed place?"
Facing his sons' worry, Horus felt something stir in his altered heart. He drew all four into an embrace, and the familiar weight of their devotion pressed against him.
"I got a prophecy, my beloved sons, and with it came power beyond mortal understanding—power enough to change the very fate I was shown."
He paused, feeling their tension. "This transformation is just a small price for such incredible gifts."
He let them go and began walking toward the Lodge's exit. "Maybe we should rest before our next great endeavor."
The four looked at each other uncertainly as they followed. This was unmistakably their Primarch—his voice, his presence, and the paternal affection in his embrace all remained intact. But something fundamental had changed.
The Horus who had once proclaimed eternal loyalty to the Emperor now talked about rest. He suggested a pause when their father should be commanding decisive action.
What did this transformation really mean for all of them?
On Prospero, within the depths of the Ork hulk, Francis and Kelbor-Hal stood facing each other across a makeshift altar. Two mutated creatures bearing vague resemblance to avian forms rested upon it. Each man held a strip of yellowed parchment.
"What... exactly is this?" Kelbor-Hal's vocal grille crackled with bewilderment.
Francis cleared his throat sheepishly. "Something I found in my studies of ancient Terran customs—a sacred ritual for establishing bonds of brotherhood from humanity's earliest eras."
The Fabricator-General's optical arrays widened with amazement. Francis truly possessed remarkable knowledge of antiquated practices.
"What do we need to do?"
Francis considered the question carefully. The weight of deception pressed on his shoulders, but necessity demanded this charade. "The ritual is simple. We write our vows on these parchments, then sacrifice the creatures and burn the written words."
He met Kelbor-Hal's optical sensors directly. "Just follow my words and think of the oath as binding as your faith to the Omnissiah."
Though the primitive ceremony puzzled him greatly, Kelbor-Hal nodded. "Very well."
Francis raised his parchment ceremoniously. "Today, I, Francis..."
"Today, I, Kelbor-Hal..."
In unison: "...pledge ourselves as sworn brothers!"
"We don't seek to share birth on the same year, same month, same day."
"But we swear to..."
Francis suddenly stopped. A thought struck him. "Brother, how long have you lived?"
"Many centuries. I've lost count." Kelbor-Hal's confusion deepened. "Why? Does this matter for the ceremony?"
Francis winced internally. Ancient human traditions and their complications. He forced determination into his voice. "Continue! The ritual must be completed."
"But we swear to meet death on the same year, same month, same day!"
"If either proves false to this oath, may the Emperor's wrath..." Francis paused. "...the Omnissiah's punishment fall on the betrayer! May His favor and knowledge be forever withdrawn!"
The final words echoed through the chamber. Both men brought their weapons down. The mutated creatures died instantly. Blood splattered across the yellow parchments, staining them crimson. A bolt pistol's discharge reduced the bloody documents to ash. Acrid smoke carried their words into the recycled air.
The ancient ritual complete, they stood and clasped hands.
"Brother Kelbor," Francis said, his eyes bright despite internally laughing at the deception.
"Brother Francis," Kelbor-Hal replied with deep resolve, while internally dismissing these useless rituals of biological units.
Francis felt moisture in his eyes. The deception weighed heavily, but the Emperor still drew breath. Maybe he could explain this ruse later. His father might understand the necessity.
Francis carefully extracted the "Ork Brain" from its cultivation chamber. The bio-mechanical construct pulsed with artificial life.
"I don't have a grand warship to offer or masterwork armor to present." He extended the device with both hands. "This humble creation is all I can give to you."
Kelbor-Hal received the offering with reverence, immediately connecting it to his prepared neural interface. The moment the connection engaged, the Ork face within opened its eyes and issued a soft, almost plaintive cry:
"Waaagh~"
Technical data flooded Kelbor-Hal's consciousness through the auxiliary brain. Control panels that had been cycling wildly suddenly stabilized. The familiar sounds of Ork machinery filled the air as ancient systems awakened.
When the final activation sequence completed, the entire hulk rose from Prospero's surface. A deep, thrumming hum vibrated through the superstructure.
"I did it!" Kelbor-Hal's joy echoed through the command chamber. "Praise the Omnissiah! The xenos-tech yields!"
His happiness was so intense that his augmetic frame began vibrating. Energy barely contained within his mechanical form sought release. Steam vented from cooling systems as excitement overwhelmed normal operational parameters.
With a sharp crack, his crimson robes split apart entirely. Kelbor-Hal's humanoid form began an astonishing transformation—countless mechanical appendages burst from concealed housings within his torso, each venting superheated vapor.
The being that emerged resembled a massive steel centipede more than any human form. His face, stretched taut by the liberation of hidden mechanical systems, took on an unsettling quality where flesh met adamantium.
"Francis," the transformed Fabricator-General said, turning his altered visage toward Francis. "You're surely an emissary of the Omnissiah's divine will! Don't worry—I'll personally craft for you the finest warship and armor the Mechanicum can devise."
Francis felt his scalp prickle. The transformation was both magnificent and terrifying, but he pressed on with his hidden agenda.
"If you want to leave, go freely," Kelbor-Hal continued. "I need time to study this gift more thoroughly."
"We're sworn brothers now—no need for such formality." Francis paused. "I remember hearing about some past conflict between you and Horus, even involving the... unfortunate end of his adoptive father."
Kelbor-Hal's transformed features registered surprise but quickly returned to their previous configuration.
"He serves as Warmaster of the Imperium now," Francis continued with deliberate care. "We share brotherhood bonds as well. If any trouble comes up with him, let me step in for you."
He met the Fabricator-General's optical sensors directly. "Even if Horus wants to punish me for interfering, I'll gladly take those consequences for your sake."
"Good," Kelbor-Hal said with mechanical warmth.
Francis raised his hand in farewell. "If the 'Ork Brain' develops complications, tell me immediately—I'll craft you another. Now I should leave. I need to attend to the Emperor's urgent mission."
As he departed, the sounds of Mechanicus prayer-cant reached his ears: "01001001 01001101 01001101 01001111 01010010 01010100 01000001 01001100..."
Francis sighed deeply. "Forgive me, Father. The sacrifices I make in your name keep getting bigger."
To prevent the Adeptus Mechanicus from fracturing into the Dark Mechanicum, he had paid a heavy price indeed. The false brotherhood oath would bind Kelbor-Hal to him.
When Horus came calling with promises of forbidden knowledge, Francis hoped this bond would prove stronger.
Still, he found himself wondering what would happen when Horus tried to turn Kelbor-Hal's loyalty. The Warmaster was persuasive, and the offer of STCs from the Auretian Technocracy would be tempting.
"I'll have to steal some good items from Terra's deepest vaults," he muttered. "The old man owes me payment for this act."
Coming out of the hulk, Francis found Magnus pacing in tight circles around a worried Leman Russ, muttering the same phrase repeatedly: "What should we do? What should we do? What should we do?"
When Leman Russ saw Francis, his weathered features lit with relief as he quickly put a hand over Magnus's mouth.
"Francis! Finally you come out of that mechanical tomb." The Wolf King's relief was obvious. "Can we finally leave this cursed place?"
Francis nodded. Right away, Leman Russ began organizing their departure with renewed energy. The others got busy with navigation calculations, and Magnus came up to Francis on the observation deck.
"Francis, something's troubling you deeply." The one-eyed Primarch studied his brother's expression. "Maybe I could show you the new psychic disciplines I've mastered?"
Looking at Magnus, now having only one of his formerly magnificent eyes, Francis felt concerned. The sight of his brother's mutilation still hurt.
"Not necessary!" Francis replied quickly. "Focus your energies on making sure our Warp transit goes smoothly—save your demonstrations for when we reach Terra."
The thought of reuniting with their father filled Magnus with barely contained excitement. His remaining eye brightened with anticipation.
However, Leman Russ came up at that moment, his expression carrying troubling news.
"The previous orders about Magnus's return have been... changed," the Wolf King said carefully. His weathered face was grim. "New orders call for full military action against the Thousand Sons Legion."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Francis felt his blood turn cold, and Magnus's excitement died instantly, replaced by dawning horror.
The galaxy was fracturing, and brothers would soon fight against brothers. Somewhere in the dark between stars, Horus was gathering his strength.
[End of Chapter]
Hello, how are you? It's me.
Well, today, try to read all the chapters, especially the last one. I want to show you something there.