A crude roar suddenly exploded; Leman Russ, Lord of the Space Wolves, glared at Magnus with bloodshot eyes.
“It’s you!
It’s your damned sorcery!
You’re the one who turned our brother into this monstrous state!
You corrupted him with those lies from the Warp!”
“Be silent!
You brawling, stupid wolf!” Magnus, the Crimson King, stood up abruptly, fire of anger and grievance burning in his single eye.
“Jie!
Jie!
Jie!
Jie!”
Konrad Curze’s blood-curdling laughter rang out again; like an excited night owl, he flapped his Talons in the chaos.
“Look!
Look!
What did I say?
I told you long ago that beneath this shiny exterior hide the same rot and maggots!
Order?
Loyalty?”
“That is nothing more than a fig leaf you use to cover your murderous nature!
Now, it has been torn away!”
“And you, Father!” Konrad Curze suddenly turned toward the Golden Throne, issuing the sharpest interrogation.
“This is your most beloved child!
You handed the authority of the galaxy into his hands, and he repays you with a rebellion that sweeps the galaxy!
Where is your judgment?!”
“Enough!” A thunderous roar came not from The Emperor, but from Roboute Guilliman.
The Lord of Ultramar no longer had his usual calm and composure; in its place was a cold rage born from seeing his ideals completely trampled.
“Now is not the time for mutual accusations!
This is a disaster!
A systemic, logical total collapse!”
He looked at Horus, his eyes filled with disappointment and incomprehension.
“I cannot understand it!
Horus, your strategy, your deployment, every one of your decisions was perfect!”
“Why would you make such a…
such a stupid mistake on the most fundamental issue of loyalty?!”
“Because he never truly possessed loyalty; all he possessed was ambition.”
Perturabo’s somber voice rang out as he looked at Dorn, a trace of morbid, vengeful pleasure on his face.
“Now do you see, Dorn?
That palace you guard, that fortress you are so proud of—the biggest breach was opened by the very Warmaster you trusted most.”
“What a…
exquisite irony.”
Dorn did not respond; he just stood there like a silent mountain range.
But everyone could feel that inside that mountain range, violent geological activity was occurring.
Just as the tension reached its peak and the bonds of trust between the Primarchs were about to snap completely, the figure seated upon the Golden Throne finally spoke.
“Horus.”
The Emperor’s voice was not loud, yet it instantly drowned out all the arguing and roaring.
In that voice, there was no anger, no disappointment, only a deep calm that transcended time, and a barely perceptible…
weariness.
Hearing the voice, Horus lifted his head stiffly like a walking corpse, his face covered in cold sweat, his lips trembling, yet unable to utter a single word.
“Come forward.” Under the complex gazes of all his brothers, Horus stood up mechanically and, step by step, walked heavily toward the stairs that reached the heavens.
Every step seemed to crush his glory of the past two hundred years.
“Father, I…” He knelt before the throne, his voice choking, “I…
I didn’t know…
I never thought…” “I know.”
The Emperor interrupted him.
“I know your heart at this moment.
Just as I know that in the thirty years since you returned to my side, there has never been a single thought of betrayal.”
The Emperor’s gaze swept over all his sons below, his voice echoing in each of their souls.
“What you see is a ‘possible’ future.
A darkest ‘possibility’ woven together by fear, suspicion, and lies.”
“The Gods of Chaos do not create; they only corrupt.
They cannot defeat the strongest warriors, so they choose to defile the brightest stars.
Horus,”
The Emperor’s gaze fell upon the Warmaster again, “They chose you not because of your weakness, but precisely because of your strength, your brilliance, and your being beloved.”
“Because only by defiling you can the entire galaxy be plunged into the most complete despair.”
“This is the script they have prepared for you.
A script that sacrifices my most beloved son to ignite a war that burns the entire galaxy.”
The Emperor’s words shook all the Primarchs.
He did not deny the occurrence of the betrayal, but elevated it from a simple ‘defection’.
It was raised to a long-premeditated cosmic conspiracy targeting the Empire’s brightest symbol.
“Now, step down and return to your brothers.” The Emperor’s voice regained its majesty.
“You are still my Warmaster, my Centaur.”
“But remember, from this day forward, all of you will face a new war.
A war against the shadows in your own hearts.”
Horus slowly stood up and walked back to his position, looking soul-shaken.
He did not look at any of his brothers again, only hanging his head deeply.
Inside the Throne Room, a deathly silence descended once more.
But this time, it was no longer due to shock, but because an invisible rift had forever opened between them—The Emperor’s greatest creations.