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The Daemon Primarch of the Iron Warriors, the traitor Lord of Olympia, Perturabo was dead.
The loyalist forces received the news with great jubilation, another awesome feat accomplished by their God-Emperor. Those who witnessed the final moments of that duel between gods felt honored to have seen the power of the Master of Mankind firsthand, and with these thoughts did their courage soar. Morale was raised once again, and the defenders of Adeen drove back the scattered legions of Rust and Iron back to the gathering Warp Storm where the grotesque hand of Nurgle reached out into the Materium.
Saint Celestine, did not receive the news as well as the others, for her heart was heavy and her spirit was crushed.
She stood upon the deck of the operating room where the body of Horus lay interred within a stasis field, alone to gaze sadly upon his ruined visage. Her eyes took in the marred, burnt flesh. Her gaze followed the hideous scars until it rested on the massive gash where his eye and a sizeable chunk of his head used to be. The report was that a Deathmark necron assassin was responsible for the deed, though experts found such a conclusion premature and unlikely. Deathmark assassins were known to be masters of their craft, owing to the necrons' ability to manipulate time itself to their favor. They would not be so sloppy as to leave any of their victims alive, not even a Primarch would survive a leptonic lance.
Celestine did not care for the details. She took small solace in the fact that there was a chance, albeit slim, that her lover would pull through this crisis. The Saint had all the tools necessary to improve the odds of success, handed down directly from the Emperor himself. All she had to do now was give the word, and the sisters hospitallers, astartes medicae and apothecaries would get to work. But fear, rare as it would visit, of failure stayed her hand. Horus was not a Living Saint, he had come back only because at the latter days of the Horus Heresy did the Emperor blast his soul from the material realm and yanked it back when he was needed most. Today, the Emperor was far away, fighting off the daemons threatening the sector.
Horus was not a Perpetual either, and for all his might he was still mortal. Celestine could raise the faithful from the abyss, but she knew Horus. He didn't believe entirely that his own father was a god, and that lack of faith would prove detrimental to him. Failure would mean death, and Celestine had no idea what to do when that happens.
At least here, in her moment of solitude, she would be able to say goodbye. Horus would not hear her, with all interaction blocked by the stasis field, but doing so anyway would bring some semblance of closure.
"We've been through so much together, Horus." Celestine sighed, laying a hand on the metal slab. "The years had passed so quickly that one can easily forget the moments we shared- but not me. I remember them all. From the time we first met on Cadia, vanquishing the Despoiler. I still carry the shame of how I treated you, though you've always said you've forgiven me."
The Saint smiled at the memories, "And our journey through the Warp on a Crusade to restore Lord Guilliman. I remember the day we reached Holy Terra, you were so determined to push against all odds to gain an audience with the Emperor...When we parted ways, that was the first time I felt that longing. I couldn't describe it at the time, for I had no experience in it before. Now I know, I had always loved you, Horus." Celestine blushed, and her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I dreamed of you, you know? Us...together, in a dark room wrapped in silken sheets, doing delicious things to each other." She remembered the forbidden fantasies planted by the Dark Prince of Excess, how Horus defied her vows of chastity and made love to her- something she had once looked upon with unparalleled disgust, and now set her mind and heart ablaze with curiosity.
The Emperor's decree for her to bear his grandchildren did not help in any way.
"Never before have I felt such contentment then, such fulfillment." The Saint swallowed the lump forming in her throat, "I spoke of things my heart yearns for, and I yearn for them even more deeply now than ever. I wanted many things, but nothing compares now to my desire for you to live. I will not say goodbye, Horus. I know you will survive, because if you don't..." Celestine closed her eyes as the tears welled up within them, she refused to say anything spiteful, for as much as she hated Horus for putting her in this situation she loved him too much to threaten him. "Just live, mankind still needs you."
Celestine let out a heavy sigh as she beckoned for the others to begin working, "I need you."
High atop his tower, the Templo Inficio, on the Daemon world Sicarus, the Daemon Primarch Lorgar Aurelian remained as he had been for the last ten thousand years- immobile and upon his knees to meditate on the bidding of the Four Ruinous Powers. No pressing concern, no matter the weight or implication, had moved the Primarch of the Word Bearers from his position. Content with his lot, and secluded from the noise of the outside world, Lorgar kept his full attention on understanding the incomprehensible words of his malevolent patrons.
But, as was the nature of all things, the Primarch's reverie did not last forever.
Khorne himself bellowed in his ear, his thunderous voice of a billion angry warriors nearly rendering him deaf as he chastised him for lingering where he should have been moving. Even Tzeentch, who usually enjoyed the leisure moments spent studying on the secrets of creation itself, was displeased with Lorgar's overall inactivity- something only Nurgle approved. Slaanesh cared little for the attentions of her servant, the Dark God of Excess having its mind occupied with all manner of acts of depravity. Lorgar's eyes opened upon finding out that one of the Four was absent. Swift as the news arrived, even in the timeless nature of the Warp, and Lorgar soon learned of what had transpired in the material realm in his absence. Horus had returned- the real Horus. Abaddon had been slain, his final crusade lost as the other twelve had. Lorgar learned of the return of Roboute and Corvus, and of the retrieval of Leman Russ when Horus dared to venture into the Realms of Chaos. The Primarch then did the impossible and snatched away the Aeldari Goddess Isha from her cage in Nurgle's palace. When he thought things couldn't get any worse, Lorgar soon learned that the Emperor himself was brought back from the brink of death. Nurgle had thrust his servants into a desperate campaign to bring his companion back to where she belonged, and would lay waste to the Imperium while the Emperor was not yet at his strongest form.
Lorgar sighed deeply. He knew where this road would take him, and all he had given his life for to build- ruin.
Alas, he had already pledged, sacrificed and betrayed so much for his choice. Though the way led to hell, Lorgar would stand by it. Chaos would still be eternal, and he was content with that thought. He then donned the Armor of the Word, curiously unmarred by even the corrupting influence of the Warp, and took up the heavy maul, the iconic Illuminarum. He then opened the doors of the temple that he might at last take part in the unfinished crusade to bring the word of Chaos to all unbelievers.
Lorgar marched down the path, steps formed from the cracked slabs upheld by unseen hands to support his feet as he descended to the earth. Slaves, warriors, priests and acolytes bowed where they stood and stepped aside to let the Primarch through. The very ground trembled with every step the Herald of the Word took, and the earth split with abyssal fissures at his very presence. Lorgar smiled to himself and headed towards the basilica where his devoted Dark Council of Black Apostles sat, awaiting for the day he would finally leave the tower to command them once more.
Kor Phaeron rose up from his high throne, the seat in which he was elevated above the other six Dark Apostles, the former three slain in the past at the hands of the Imperium's champions. The most recent being Erebus, whom Horus blotted out of existence upon Ibrium.
Lorgar chuckled at the memory, "Blood spent, blood wasted. A fitting end." Kor Phaeron, just like his Primarch, was pleased with the demise of his rival. With Erebus gone, no longer will the Word Bearers stagnate through inaction. Even better, Lorgar was with them now, an omen that bode well for the traitor legions as it would mean they would finally resume the crusade into the Materium.
"Lorgar! At last, you join us!" Kor Phaeron greeted, rising from his seat to approach the towering figure.
Lorgar grasped his adoptive father's arms in response and smiled, "I have meditated for far too long, father. The work of Chaos had stalled in spite of the capable hands I entrusted the responsibility to. But let bygones be bygones, I have returned to lead you. The time has come for us to venture out of the Warp and bring the Word of Chaos to the Imperium of Man, and we must do so ever swiftly- for the Anathema walks among the living once more!"
"A delay of the inevitable!" Kor Phaeron scoffed, "The False Emperor will fall as he had before!"
"If the Chaos Gods will it, it will be the last time." Lorgar declared, laying his eyes upon the brass basin in the middle of the dark sanctuary where a massive bonfire blazed bright in the malevolent red light. "Summon all my sons, gather the fleets and the armies loyal to the Ruinous Powers! We march for Terra once again!"
The Emperor sat on the steps leading up to the command chair of his flagship. His swords lay scattered in a wide ring around him, for his mind was too taxed to lift them about. Absentmindedly, he toyed with the godspear Soulrender in his hands. He did not think of the war at that moment, but of the final hour he had spent fighting his son Perturabo. He remembered the day when he birthed him into the world, an innocent babe wrapped in a gestation pod ready to claim his glorious purpose as Primarch of the Legio Astartes. Now, only to be reclaimed in death, another son was gone forever. The Emperor honored his final wish, and did not capture his soul to be used for any schemes- be it by his own or by some other.
"You are in pain, love?" A soothing voice whispered in his ear.
The Emperor closed his eyes and basked in the comforting presence of the Eldar goddess. Her influence amplified by the Golden Throne, Isha was able to reach him from Terra itself. He was grateful for her thoughtfulness, knowing through personal experience the demands of the decaying piece of Dark Age technology with every use. Even now, Isha was concerned for him over herself. "I am." He breathed, "I killed my own son today."
"Ohh..." He felt her astral form nestle its head upon the crook of his neck as its long and slender arms snaked over his shoulders in a gentle embrace. "I know how it feels...there is no greater agony than this. I mourn with you..." The Emperor knew, better than anyone, she understood. Isha had to stand by while her fellow gods slaughtered her own children, and unlike him, she could do nothing but plead and beg for the bloodshed to stop.
"Yes, I mourn. But I must be strong." The Emperor replied. "Chaos will use my sons against me. For the sake of mankind, I must put aside my love for them and do what must be done. It is the only way."
The two shared one moment of silence, broken only when Isha spoke of the final goal in this war against the Lord of Decay. "Do you know how to defeat them? Do you know how to end this war?"
The Emperor knew the answer to that riddle, having exhausted every means to kill the Chaos gods. "Once, I thought starving them through unbelief was the solution. But now I know better. Ten thousand years sitting immobile upon the Golden Throne broadened my perspective. I must become what I've devoted all my life to fight. I must become Chaos."
Isha stared at him as he rose up to walk forward into the observatorium, "Many a millennia ago, the Eldar gave birth to the Chaos God of Excess. Slaanesh, in turn, devoured every soul it could get its hands on- be it gods or mortal. I will do the same. Once I've successfully defended this sector, I will return to Terra and begin a grand construction of a warp-tech device capable of devouring the essence of the Dark Gods. I will tear apart that faded piece of equipment, the Golden Throne, that which served as my prison for ten thousand years and siphon the life forces of the Warp tear it would form."
The Emperor smiled grimly, "Then, when Nurgle comes for us, we will eat him whole."
Isha met his declaration with silence, and her eyes widened as hope filled her heart. "Is such a thing possible?"
"It is, for I ordain it so." The Emperor replied. "One prodigal son of mine once said Chaos cannot be destroyed, it can only take another form. Nurgle is the patron of death and decay. He is the architect of destruction, despair and of vitality- aspects that can be conquered." His hands curled into fists, "In another life, I refused to embrace what I truly am, but those days are over. I am the God-Emperor of Mankind, and if the odds prove to be in our favor, I will become the God of Death."
The Emperor approached Isha, "But I cannot do it alone. Stand with me...fight with me...and rule with me."
Isha's gaze fell. She was not a destroyer, nor a devourer as many of her god-kin had become. She was the Goddess of Life and Fertility, a cultivator and builder. But as all things do, she knew she must change. This undertaking, ambitious and almost impossible though it be, would need her support- the Emperor would need her support. Isha looked up at her savior, then at the disembodied hand of her captor spilling into realspace. "I will be there when you need me...to end this war, whatever it takes."
"Then so begins the end of the Dark Gods."
Horus stirred, gasped as though he was drowning, then sat upright on that chilling metal slab he was brought in. The cool air kissed his naked skin, and he reflexively tightened the loincloth around his waist. His head pounded like a drum, and it hurt so much to think that his eyes clenched tightly while the Primarch fought to surmount his crippling agony. A loud curse erupted from his lips, Horus grabbed onto his aching temples and pulled his feet down to touch the cold steel deck that stretched across the recovery chamber.
The memories that floated around his mind were a mess, Horus could not make sense of any of it. But as the minutes ticked on, the Primarch began to recollect. First, and naturally, came the most earliest of experiences. Horus remembered a battle, he was on a desert world fighting against someone he knew very well- someone he knew personally. It later led to his injury, and likely his internment into this chamber.
His fingers traced his shaved crown, lightly touched the tender flesh of freshly welded skin across faint surgical scars all over his face and neck. Horus rubbed his eyes in an attempt to calm the violent throbbing of his swollen brain, then hissed in agony upon realizing that it only made it worse.
"He's awake!" Someone yelled excitedly in the other room, the noise serving only to increase his suffering as even the most gentle of whispers would set him off in a haze of crippling pain. "Lord Horus is awake!"
Horus bellowed, "SHUT UP!" He brought his hands over his ears to drown out the world in a shroud of white noise. The Primarch was vaguely aware of the people entering the chamber, all of them eager to inspect their lord for any complications. His response was swift, and he demanded solitude, preferring that he recovered alone. Fearing his wrath, the medical staff exited the room as swiftly as they had come, leaving only one person in the chamber to face the agonized Primarch.
"Get out, whoever you are..." Horus whispered, eyes still clenched tight that he wasn't able to see his visitor.
Gently, but firmly, the voice of the visitor spoke. "I will not." Horus opened one eye in annoyance, and he recognized faintly the angelic woman who graced him with her presence. This one was dear to him. And yet, her name was lost in the dimming reaches of his injured mind. He stared long and hard at her, grasping faintly for the hard-sought name, only to have it slip through his fingers like sand every time.
The angel approached him and reached out to touch his face, "Come, let me ease your suffering." She held him close to her breast and lovingly caressed his neck. "There, is that better?" Horus felt the healing energies of her psychic emanations reach out and calm the ache of his ruined crown, but he could not deny the discomfort brought upon by the stiff, unwelcoming texture of her breastplate as it pressed hard against his face.
Horus squinted as he regarded her beautiful face, still at a loss of what to call her. Eventually he gave up and confessed of his shortcomings, "Forgive me, lady. I know that I know you, somehow, but I cannot recall your name. Please tell me, who are you?" He prayed she would answer and not take offense, for it may work well for him to hear of something familiar, then perhaps his memories might be brought to light.
He sighed in relief upon hearing her chuckle in amusement, a sure sign she was not offended. She bent down suddenly and applied a light kiss on his lips, "My name is Celestine, Horus. I am your friend, and your lover."
"I...I was not expecting that answer." Horus said honestly, "But it is a good thing to wake up to. Thank you, Celestine."
Celestine helped him up, and steadied him on wobbly legs. Horus leaned on the Saint as she walked him out of the room to be inspected by the apothecaries, the hospitallers and the servitors awaiting him outside. Once he was safely in their hands, Celestine bade him goodbye and turned to leave.
"Wait, where are you going?" Horus asked.
"I am needed elsewhere, Horus. I must remind you, there is still a war to be fought." The Saint answered, "Don't worry. When this is over, I intend to visit you as soon as I can."
With that, Celestine disappeared into the dark halls of the battlecruiser, leaving Horus discouraged as he soon remembered what 'war' she spoke of. "Get me back into the fight, whatever it takes." Horus said to the apothecaries.
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