[In The Emperor’s grand blueprint, the critical moment to advance the next step of the plan had arrived.
The commander of the 16th Astartes Legion, the first Primarch to be found by The Emperor during the Great Crusade.
Also The Emperor’s most favored son, he was bestowed with a new mission and glory.
He was granted a title symbolizing power and responsibility, and in the days to come, he would take The Emperor’s place, commanding his brothers and leading the Imperial forces to continue the Great Crusade.
Meanwhile, The Emperor himself returned to the palace on Terra, immersing himself in a vital secret research project.
A great undertaking aimed at completely freeing humanity from the influence of the Warp.
At this time, the Astartes Legions were scattered across various star systems.
Driven by the Great Crusade, the Empire’s territory expanded rapidly, already covering more than half of the galaxy.
People began to call this era the second Golden Age of humanity.
Under The Emperor’s leadership, Order was redistributed to every corner of the galaxy, and humanity was once again united under a single regime.
It was as if all the suffering of the Dark Age had faded away, and a new dawn was rising.
However, history has a way of repeating itself.
Just as humanity thought they were walking toward the light, the Chaos Gods had already begun to move quietly.
The corrupting vapors of the Warp, like invisible poisonous mists, began to permeate those glorious and noble Legions.
This corruption was silent yet omnipresent, eroding the souls of the warriors, twisting their beliefs, and turning former glory into ashes.
The Emperor perhaps never imagined that his most trusted and beloved son would become the first sacrifice to Loki in this storm.
Malicious pride began to spread, and former glory and faith were replaced by darkness.
The unleashed wolf brings ashes, and another storm is forming.
The galaxy began to burn under the fires of this betrayal; former allies became enemies, and former glory turned to dust.
This storm not only threatened the unity of the Empire but also pushed the entire galaxy toward endless darkness.
The Emperor’s plans and the future of humanity were all teetering in this storm.
And at the center of this storm was the son once most favored by The Emperor; his betrayal was like a sharp blade piercing the heart of the Empire.]
“Betrayal?” Fulgrim, the Phoenix with a paranoid pursuit of perfection, was the first to break the silence.
His voice had lost its usual elegance and confidence, becoming dry and fragile.
“This…
this is impossible.
The word itself is a defect, an ugly blemish; it should not exist among us.”
His gaze swept over Horus, over Sanguinius, and over those brilliant brothers he was once so proud of.
“We are Father’s most perfect creations.
How could we…
betray?”
“Betrayal is powerful because it is unimaginable.”
A cold, hard voice, like rock striking rock, rang out.
Rogal Dorn, the Primarch of the Imperial Fists, stated a cruel fact expressionlessly.
He looked at no one, his gaze locked firmly onto the pitch-black screen, as if trying to pierce through it with his will.
“Any structure, no matter how solid, must consider its weakest link.
Now, it tells us the crack comes from within.”
His words turned invisible suspicion into a tangible threat, making the atmosphere even more heavy.
Just then, the text on the screen changed again, like the chisel of fate, carving a name deep into everyone’s retinas.
[Horus Heresy] At that moment, time seemed to stand still.
“No…” Horus took a step back almost instinctively, the face that always overflowed with leadership, charm, and confidence instantly losing all color.
He staggered, as if struck in the chest by an invisible Warhammer, finally slumping helplessly back into his throne.
“No…
this isn’t true…
this is a lie!
It’s the enemy’s deception!”
His denial was so pale, because on the screen, a new image had already unfolded.
In the image, a figure he was intimately familiar with appeared.
It was himself, yet it was not him.
That figure wore pitch-black Terminator armor covered in evil runes, eyes burning with the crimson fury of the Warp, and a savage, unfamiliar smile on his face.
He was standing atop a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, engaged in a cruel slaughter against Astartes wearing the yellow armor of the Imperial Fists.
[“This was never what I wanted!
I never thought of ordering my Legion to launch an attack!
We once banished the Old Night together, but you betrayed me!”]
[“You stole the power of the gods and lied to your sons.
Humanity has only one chance for restoration.
If you cannot grasp it, then let me complete it…”]
That blasphemous voice, filled with spite and arrogance, spat from the mouth of the “Horus” on the screen.
Every word was like a poisonous thorn, stabbing into the heart of every loyalist in the Throne Room.
“Horus…” Sanguinius’s voice was filled with unbelievable pain.
On his angelic, perfect face, such deep sorrow was revealed for the first time.
He looked at his once closest brother, that being who had become so strange in the images, his massive wings drooping helplessly behind him.
“Look at what you’ve done!
Sorcerer!”