Wow, I had no idea this premise would be so well received! Honestly, my dear readers, I'm grateful for the positive feedback.
Ok, so I've come up with the mold of which the story's gonna built on. The timeline's a bit messed up, but I can only tell it's somewhere in 999.M41, right before the events of Abaddon's 13th Black Crusade which would later lead on to Guilliman's return. Alright, with all that said, I hope you all enjoy the update. All hail the Golden Throne :)
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Horus met the baleful glare of the Warp with steely resolve. The skies bled with bright crimson, the wind howled with the echoes of a thousand tormented souls. His enhanced eyes could see in the distance, meteors the size of small moons floating in the expanse, that could only be the remains of whole worlds swallowed up by the maw of the Warp.
All of time was meaningless here. Centuries may have passed since his former life, perhaps even a millennia. He did not know how much has changed, just a semblance of an idea from the brief exchange he had with the Emperor. But one thing stood out the most- the storms of the Warp had grown stronger.
The war never ended, not really.
In the years the Chaos Gods held him in their grip, they compelled him to see such malevolence as beauty. He never did, remaining steadfast even as a prisoner to their will.
Horus stood at the edge of the grounds of Hel'Nkuza and peered over the ledge in hopes of finding a path off the rock. Thankfully, the debris field provided a more than adequate medium of transportation as it swirled about in the unnatural vortex of the Warp. One casual push of his feet and the young Primarch leaped off the ledge, landing soundly onto the first rock. Gingerly testing his footing, Horus gradually gained the assurance to press on. One leap followed the other, and soon the Primarch found himself standing upon the remains of an Imperial city, utterly plucked from its foundations and floating in limbo- more or less intact.
Horus ignored the towering structures around him and made his way across the city to find a tear in the Warp or some gate that could lead to the material realm. Horus was wary of the malevolent entities roaming this psychic maelstrom. This was their home, and he was an unwelcome guest, it was highly unlikely they'd let him leave unscathed.
Suddenly, the Primarch stopped in mid-step, ear to the wind as he detected a change in the chorus of howls. They were silent, save for the faint hum of the stormy skies above him. A cacophany of screams in the distance caught his attention, and the Primarch broke into a sprint, jumping through open walls and over fallen structures away from the source of the sound.
He ran, not out of fear, but because he knew the battleground was too open. Had he stayed, the denizens of the Warp would overwhelm him. Horus was no fool, he needed to proceed wisely since he treaded on enemy territory- with nothing but the spear and the testament of his experience to back him.
The Emperor had strained to give him that moment of respite alone, Horus knew there won't be another any time soon. He had to see this through with the only way he was good for- outsmarting the enemy.
Once the Primarch entered the city square with good angles and a tight space, he realized this was where he could press for advantage. They would come through four corridors, narrowed down to six at a time, should they choose to engage. With that in mind, Horus planted his feet firmly in the ground and waited for the enemy to reveal itself.
They came in hordes, hundreds by the looks of it. A mix of traitor marines, daemons and mutated- whatever the hell they were- came rampaging through the city streets and spilling into the courtyard where he stood. Brandishing chain-axes, limbs twisted into spiked appendages and daemon-powered swords, only a handful actually carried bolters into the frey, which was another advantage for the Primarch. Casting their maddened gaze upon the clone, the forces of Chaos gave themselves over to the beckoning rage and attacked.
The Emperor was wise in giving his son a spear, offering him the reach required for moments like these. Horus effortlessly struck down the first wave, weaving in and out as they came at him from all sides. Blood spilled into the cracked cobblestones and all over Horus' armor, staining the white with blackened crimson. As the Primarch fought, he couldn't help but notice a golden aura surround his gauntlets and spear. Whenever he struck at a traitor or even touched a daemon with its blade, the merest nick would set them aflame, indicative of a psychic power greater than he'd ever witnessed or known.
"You deny the darkness in your soul!" The daemons screamed in unison, unfazed as Horus hacked through each and every one of them. "You deny your power!"
"I embrace my power completely! The only thing I deny is your empty promises!" Horus retorted, angry that the Chaos gods would attempt to twist his mind once more. "Never again will I fall to your treacherous lies!" The spear was brought down, and Horus cleaved the largest of the mutants from side to side, lopping off its chest from its lower half. He moved on to the next, centuries of pent up rage in his heart bursting forth like the flames of a wildfire.
"But did we really lie to you, Lupercal?" They persisted. "We showed you the truth! We gave you the means to seize your fate and you spit on our faces!"
"Fate? You have no such power!" Horus bellowed, impaling his weapon into a traitor marine's chest and savagely wrenching it free. "Mankind seizes its own fate, without your aid, you damned parasites! Enough words! This exchange falls on deaf ears!"
The ground shuddered as the street heaved and cracked, heralding the coming of a greater daemon as the Chaos Gods called for a stronger servant to handle the situation. Mortal men would've pissed themselves hearing the otherworldy beast scream hot into their faces, but not Horus. He glared up at the daemon as it belched forth flames and hefted its heavy spiked club from the smoldering chasm it climbed out of. "Then you will die, alone and forever chained to the whims of a glorified corpse!"
"That's where you're wrong! He won't remain a corpse for long!" Horus returned hotly, leaping forward just as the massive club breaks the ground behind him. The harsh Cthonic accent did more than its fair share of intimidation as he grated the words through his vox-capacitor. "My father will return! And that's what you fear the most!"
The daemon screamed as Horus dragged the tip of his spear across its bare chest, opening a gaping wound that burned with the weapon's searing touch. Quickly, the Primarch tumbled over the ground below and drove his spear upwards, impaling the creature upon the groin. Howling and driven mad with the pain, the monster lost all sense and went on a rampage, wildly thrashing like a child throwing a tantrum.
Horus smiled under his helm in amusement and kept his distance, waiting for the right moment to leap back into the frey with his weapon held high.
The daemon's slow movements proved to be its downfall, and Horus seized the opportunity to strike the monster from existence. It was well known that once given over the Chaos or stemming from it directly, the souls of both man, xeno or daemon would be linked to the realms of the Ruinous Powers.
When killed, it is merely banished, never fully vanquished.
But as he soon found out from this battle, it was not the same. For when the daemon was struck down, its spirit did not return to the roiling oceans of the Warp as commanded. Instead, the golden aura from the Primarch's weapon spread over the corpse, eventually overwhelming the spirit as it plucked itself from its mortal vessel and burned it in one flash of bright red. There was nothing to for the Warp to reclaim- the daemon was dead.
Horus blinked twice and gazed down at the spear in his hands in wonder, marvelling at the power emanating from its blade. "Thank you, father." He whispered, truly grateful for the spear that aided him in battle. In all honesty, he would've prefered a heavy-handed weapon, but the power to incinerate daemons and burn away corruption more than made up for the lighter weapon he was gifted with.
How the Emperor came with this, he dared not question it. A boon, that's all it was, and he would leave it at that.
With the battle won, Horus pressed onwards, prioritizing his need to leave the Warp by any means necessary- though of course he'd prefer something technologically oriented. Time for the Primarch felt like hours as he traversed the city on foot, avoiding clusters of daemonkin and slumbering traitor marines as he did so.
He wasn't here for a purge, but one day soon that will change.
Gather allies, the Emperor told him. Once he returned to the material realm, Horus would waste no time in crossing the long borders of the Imperium, hoping that against all odds that he would find acceptance. It seemed foolish to think they would welcome him after all he had done, how far he had flung the Imperium with his civil war. But this was his dilemma to solve, and he had a semblance of an idea how to do just that.
He will need to earn their trust, as all leaders must.
Horus stood upon the edge of the fallen city and looked across the chasm that divided it from the other asteroids in the debris field. His helmet's photolenses shielded his eyes from the dazzling flashes of brilliance from the warped skies as he looked about once more, gaze fixating on the largest space-hulk he had ever seen. The city he stood upon now had obscured it from his sight when he was back on Hel'Nkuza, but now that he could see it…
Various starships, all Imperial by design, perhaps a whole fleet swallowed up altogether. It looked as if two gigantic hands molded and conjoined the ships together like clay, twisting about the metal constructs in odd fashion. He squinted, allowing the lenses to maximize his vision as far as it would allow. He could see a massive tear in the Warp around the space-hulk. It seemed that the hulk was in the middle of a trans-warp jump, but couldn't quite stabilize itself enough to complete it. And so it sat there, caught in a vortex that was constantly pulling it back in while realspace gravity on the outside pulled it out. Horus was amazed the thing hadn't torn itself apart by now.
Turning heel, he began walking in the opposite direction. That was when an idea struck the Primarch- he could use the Hulk as the means for his departure from the Warp!
Horus halted in his tracks and stared forward, unseeing as he contemplated on the thought. How was he supposed to achieve this? No army to back him, no crew to operate the thing, it is insanity to even entertain the venture…
Overhead, the space-hulk groaned as if in pain, and Horus watched as pieces of the massive wreck floated away to join the debris field below. He had to decide now, and it was pretty clear in his mind what he was to do.
The path of floating stones was accessible to the Primarch, and all he had to do was hop from one rock to another until the space-hulk was within reach. It could work, he just had to move quickly enough.
Resigning himself to this endeavor, Horus attached his spear onto his back and leaped off the ledge, grabbing onto the next rock as the edge crumbled under the weight of his armor. Swiftly, he hoisted himself back on solid ground and repeated the act, advancing gradually from boulder to boulder until he came to the long divide.
At least a kilometer lay between him and the space-hulk, and Horus knew this was his only chance- now or never, there was no going back. Surmounting all his doubts, the Primarch backed up and took a running jump, relying on the distorted gravity provided by the vortex to proppel him forward and above.
Lupercal muttered a Cthonian curse as he narrowly missed his destination, slamming painfully across the jagged and rusted surface of the Hulk which broke from his power armor's weight until his hands caught on to a random crack. His weight pulled him down, and for a moment there, the Primarch feared he would lose his grip! But thankfully, the ancient structure held true, and Horus scaled the wall until he gained entry through one of the many breaches in its hull.
Once inside, the Primarch found himself in total darkness. Thankfully, with his enhancements, his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, aided furthermore by the lenses on his helmet. With that obstacle out of the way, Horus began the long journey to the center of operations in the space-hulk…if there is any of the sort at all.
Should any Sister, in her deeds or thoughts, sin, she should willingly and immediately make her fault known to her Superior, and amend with a pure heart. If she does not usually fail in this manner, let her be given but a week's penance, but if her sin is great, let her go apart from the company of her Sisters, so that she may not sit at table with them, nor kneel in prayer at their side. Let her go alone, submitting herself to the will of the almighty God-Emperor of Mankind. Let her don the hood of the penitent and take up the ceremonial Eviscerator, and seek her redemption upon the field of battle.
Such was one of the many rules that governed the life of each and every Sister of Battle.
Maunda yelped and bit her lip as the whip struck her across the shoulders, adding a bloody mark among the others made by the constant flagellation of her superior. The woman shook but refused to succumb to the pain, teeth upon lip until the flesh broke and she could taste the blood fresh upon her tongue. It helped distract her as she mentally recited the canticles of the Sisterhood, knuckles growing white as she grasped the holy pages of her booklet. The words she spoke tasted like ash in her mouth as she faced her fellow Sisters.
"I am far from absolution. Lost to any exculpation. I offer myself to repentance. Before the Emperor I have sinned. Beyond forgiveness. Beyond forbearance. Beyond mercy."
The repentant battle-sister's squad members took the Penitent's wargear and cast it aside. They used the remnants of robes to roughly clothe Silicia. The woman desperately threw a pleading glance their way, begging for some form of assurance. All she saw were blank stares, as if their souls were removed from them as they exiled their Sister upon command of the Confessor- who watched the event from the corner of the room with a strange hungry gleam in his eyes.
"I leave this company of my own free will and by my will shall I return. I shall seek the Emperor's forgiveness in the darkest places of the night."
The hand jerked her head back and Maunda felt hot tears cascade from her cheeks as her hair was roughly shorn with a knife.
The Sisters replied in unison, "When forgiveness is yours, we shall welcome you back. Until such time you are nameless to us."
"See me and do not see me. Know me and know fear, for I have no face today but this one. I stand before you a Sister Repentia, until absolution finds me once more."
The moments were a blur for the young woman as she was put in a cage with all the other sisters-repentia. Once locked, the cage was loaded on to the back of the rhino transport, which would carry the exiles to the front of the desert world of Inousa- an Imperial mining colony rich with relic finds that the Order suspected of corruption. And they were right to suspect it so. A foul shrine had been erected in a far village, summoning a wave of daemons that scattered all across the face of the desert and massacred the populace. An unnamed inquisitor had requested a contingent of the Order of the Bloody Rose to aid him in the investigation and containment of the planet.
Maunda's mind slowly digested the reality of her situation. All those years of rigorous training, fervent prayers and peerless devotion to the Emperor- all for naught. She looked around through the scarlet hood that wrapped her head hopelessly and saw the same look of despair in many of her fellow sisters-repentia. Others looked on with a cold stare, possibly the ones who chose this path out of self-flagellation over the smallest sin.
What had she done wrong?
Gradually, Maunda swallowed the bitter pill and accepted her fate. If the God-Emperor saw her transgression whereas she could not, who was she to defy him? Resigning herself to her duty as repentia, the penitent chose to honor both her Father and the Order- by purging the heretics wherever they may be. Today, Inousa would know fire and blood. And if the payment due was her life, so be it.
Mind rendered numb by the pain of her injuries, Maunda followed doggedly each and every command given to her by the Mistress of Repentance, not even feeling the bite of her neural whip as it struck her arms. The eviscerator in her hands roared to life as she faced the hordes of hell, meeting each charge with steely resolve that rivaled her fellow sisters as they boldly treaded the tainted soil. Each kill was a step closer to redeeming herself, and only the Emperor knew how much further she would have to go.
What was supposed to be a simple purge grew complicated as it progressed. The tiny force sent by the Order soon found itself waist-deep in daemons, all of which served to be their undoing.
By the time the Inquisitor and his retinue arrived at the shrine, only a fatally wounded Maunda was found barely standing on her own with a hundred heavily mutated corpses piled beneath her.
"I told them not to engage without me." Inquisitor Norn said through gritted teeth. He knelt beside the dying penitent and gazed into her tear-stained eyes.
"Our faith…holds us…" She whispered, life leaving her with a sigh. To the Sisters, Maunda was one of the lucky ones- finding redemption in death. To Norn, it was a waste of life and skill. More could have been done had the Order used wisdom over zeal and waited for his command.
Silicia, his ward and a Death Cult assassin, stood silently by his side, waiting for the Inquisitor's conclusion. Norn closed the sightless eyes of the repentia with his gloved hand gently and regarded the woman thoughtfully. Presently, three squads of adepta sororitas arrived, bearing flamers in each hand.
Norn only had to motion for Silicia and they stood aside to let the sisters complete their work. The flames danced over the corpses and heretical monuments. Norn presided over the brief interrogation of the surviving villagers and summarily executed all those he deemed corrupted- or more accurately, allowed Silicia to collect her daily tribute to the Emperor by the spilled blood of the condemned.
Once the business on Inouna was concluded, Norn headed back to his ship to send a status update to the Ordo Hereticus, the only gratitude he had for the day being that it was finished and that it wasn't a plague cult he had to deal with- otherwise he'd be all too happy to let the Sisters handle it for him.
He had been tasked by his superiors to keep close watch over the Sisters of the Bloody Rose lest their zeal cause them to stray from their true purpose. He would never admit it, but Norn hated handling the adepta sororitas, the reasons being too obvious for him to say out loud.
But alas, he had his duty to fulfill and he would do so without further questionings.
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