In the dim cargo hold, the sound of breathing intertwined with the low hum of mechanical operations.
Horus’s questioning made the air grow tense.
Kulen did not back down; even facing the former Wolf Shepherd God, his rigid adherence to dogma as a veteran of the First Legion was ingrained into his very marrow.
“Lord Lupercal,” Kulen used an honorific, but his tone held no hint of retreat.
“Emotion only brings weakness.
Our existence is to execute unquestionable orders.
When we begin to wonder why we kill, the sword becomes blunt.” Horus shook his head, his massive frame casting an oppressive shadow against the iron walls.
“Blind obedience creates many tragedies.
If the Imperium is built upon unthinking killing machines, it is not a haven for humanity; it is merely a massive slaughterhouse.” Karen sat on a nearby crate, observing.
Loyalty that is not absolute is absolute disloyalty.
In the 41st Millennium, if the fanatics of the Ecclesiarchy heard the Wolf Shepherd God’s recent remarks about humans and tools, they would have immediately judged it as high treason and burned him on the spot.
But in Karen’s eyes, this was precisely Horus’s most precious moment of clarity.
Horus understood The Emperor.
He didn’t just see The Emperor as a superior issuing orders; he truly understood that grand blueprint planned for the survival of humanity.
Because he understood, he positioned himself as a successor and a co-builder.
Tools have no subjective initiative; they only strike.
Humans weigh things, reflect, and look for a better way out.
But could one say Kulen was wrong?
The pride of the First Legion, this old knight was as rigid as weathered rock.
The reason the Fallen Angel hadn’t completely gone mad or defected to Chaos during ten thousand years of pursuit was this paranoia—completely objectifying themselves and forging their faith into an insulator.
Absolute obedience, severing emotions, drawing the sword to kill.
In that $#&!
universe full of Daemons and Xenos, emphasizing humanity often meant providing a breach for Warp corruption.
How many Space Marines had become playthings for Slaanesh or Tzeentch just because they felt a bit of so-called sympathy, arrogance, or pity?
Of course, the Salamanders and the Lamenters Chapters were exceptions, as was the Raven Guard Chapter.
Neither of them was wrong.
The clash of their ideologies was a vivid microcosm of this tragic universe.
Humanity and divinity, human rights and survival—this unsolvable problem has spanned the entire history of the Imperium.
Karen even had the absurd thought that, following this logic, would Horus Heresy of those years, in a parallel timeline where the Chaos Gods / The Four Gods did not intervene, have truly been a pure struggle over political direction?
An uprising attempting to lead the Imperium toward a different future, with a starting point that might even be considered righteous?
Unfortunately, those four Pleasure-seekers in the Warp love nothing more than watching this kind of fratricide.
They reached their fingers into this chessboard and gave it a slight nudge, amplifying anxiety and twisting perception, forcibly turning a conflict of ideals into a mad party dragging the human race to hell.
The argument showed signs of escalating.
Kulen clenched his fists, the friction between his knuckles and Power Armor gauntlets making a harsh sound.
Horus took a step forward, the physical pressure brought by his three-and-a-half-meter-tall frame making the air in the cargo hold feel thin.
If they really started fighting, this room wouldn’t last three minutes before being torn into space junk.
Karen knew he had to get to work.
“Stop, stop, stop.” Karen jumped down from the crate and patted the dust off his trousers.
“Gentlemen, if you plan on holding a theological and philosophical debate here and using physical means to persuade each other, please let me know in advance so I can go find an escape pod.” Horus turned his head, and Kulen looked back as well.
“Two Ogryns, huddled in a sunless cargo hold, discussing existentialism and instrumental rationality.” Karen spread his hands, his tone full of mockery.
“If this scene were to get out, the Astra Militarum Political Commissars outside would bite their own tongues off.” ————————
It might not seem tempting right nobut who knows what the future holds?
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”