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The Adeen System had been sundered to its core. The vicious exchange between traitor and loyalist had rendered the once beautiful sub-sector into a desolate wasteland, littered with a rich bounty of scrap that soon attracted the greenskin hordes. The Orks, by chance ending up on the battered sub-sector, swarmed over both the forces of the Ruinous Powers and the Imperium of Man. Fortunately, this circumstance proved to be one that the Emperor needed to distract his enemies from his main goal- winning the first step of the war against Chaos. The greenskins proved to be a taxing nuisance to the heretics, and this opportunity was exploited by the Master of Mankind.
He ordered the fleets to fall back to Terra, where he would begin his long work at fixing the unfinished Webway Project that he might at last rid himself of the Golden Throne once and for all.
Ten Millennia ago, it took him years to gather enough resources and willing hands to even begin to construct his greatest scheme- to find safer waters for his kin to travel on through the Warp. He would've been able to fix Magnus' folly, had the Chaos gods not brought the possessed Warmaster to Terra's doorstep. Today, he was faced with the same problem.
Nurgle himself was coming to reclaim Isha.
The Emperor's ambition involved gathering strength from the influx of souls, aided greatly by the warp-tech devices recovered from the Dark Age of Technology, that he might devour Nurgle whole and achieve apotheosis. To do so, he needed Terra rid of one other greater threat, and so the Webway Project must be finished.
As the fleets entered the Warp and made their speedy headway for the capital, the Emperor did as he should've done in the Great Crusade and involved his sons in his ambitions. He grew concerned with the welfare of Guilliman and Corvus, who were both up to their necks fighting the xenos threatening the Imperium's borders. Though his sons insisted that they had faced nothing new and needed no concern on his part, the Emperor ordered a tenth of his own retinue of the Imperium's champions to bolster the ranks of the Ravenguard and the Ultramarines- a gesture that the two Primarchs begrudgingly accepted.
Guilliman was impressed by the pacing of thought the Emperor was going through, and gave voice to his support of the daunting endeavor to rid the Ruinous Powers of one of its dark patrons. As father and sons talked it over the holocron, the Primarch of the Ultramarines voiced his own concerns regarding his homeworld. There had been no news or contact from Ultramar and its surrounding systems in the past month. While the bulk of the Ultramarine task forces had made for Armageddon to rid the galaxy of the Thrakan threat, the sub-sector became a black spot on the map. Worried that something was amiss, Guilliman requested someone investigate in his stead, for the Ultramarines had their hands full on Armageddon.
Leman Russ was not around to hear of the Emperor's schemes, having his full attention focused on searching for the lost Primarch of the Dark Angels- Lion El'Johnson.
The Raven Lord was skeptical of his father's plans, however, and questioned the validity of the Emperor's plans. He had learned, through a lifetime facing Chaos at every turn, that anything that involved the Ruinous Powers never resulted in anything good. In a harsh, unforgiving future, the destruction of one evil gave birth to another more terrifying replacement. In the words of the traitor Primarchs Alpharius and Omegon, "You cut off one head, two more shall take its place..."
Chaos will just take another form, and from there it's back to square one.
This fact was not lost on the Emperor, and he made it clear that he would go through with his plan regardless of the risks. He would also have his sons support his endeavors, no matter the doubts that prevented them from doing so. The Imperium was spread too thin at this point, and in his great wisdom, the Emperor knew that he could not instigate a second war in the Webway and at the same time have humanity face the horrors of the frontlines without proper guidance. A recall of Imperial forces at a grand scale would have to be in order, and so the Emperor gave his trusted lieutenants and representatives to beckon all defenders from outlaying territories to give up their positions momentarily in order to focus their resources on forming a sort of blockade around the Solar System.
For if the worst should occur, and the War in the Webway failed, mankind would be ready to face the wrath of the second Eye of Terror- birthed directly within the heart of the Imperium.
Such a burdensome task would not be accomplished so quickly, no matter the feverish pace his loyal subjects moved to accomplish his assignments, but the Emperor accepted the results with an understanding mind. He spoke words of encouragement, much needed encouragement, to the masses whenever he could. His thoughtful speeches aided them greatly and allowed them strength to face the grueling day-to-day trials that came their way. He thanked them for holding true to their duties as loyal servants of the Imperium should do, and assured them that when the time came, they would see the fruits of their labors and rejoice in the culmination of both their efforts.
He needn't say much, for the masses were eager now more than ever to serve their returned God-Emperor.
The fleets arrived upon Holy Terra's airspace, returned from a long attempt to stall the Plague God from wresting Isha from the Golden Throne. Yvraine's prophecies were half truths at best, showing that the will of the Emperor defied the fates- undying proof of his divinity. Once there, the Emperor instructed the fleets to begin forming a rally point in a protective ring about Terra, where all who chose to assist would gather to prepare for the coming storm. He left them under the capable hands of the recovered Primarch Horus Lupercal, and journeyed down to the Imperial Palace to relieve the Goddess Isha from her duties holding the Golden Throne in his stead.
He rushed into the throneroom with the Adeptus Custodes sprinting not far behind, fearing that his beloved would've suffered the same fate as the late Sigillite when he held the Golden Throne some ten millennia ago. He found Isha asleep, unharmed by the archaic device of that long forgotten age, as though the worst the Golden Throne had done was sap her of but a sliver of her strength. The Emperor approached the goddess and gently shook her.
"Isha?"
Isha's lips curled into a smile, and her eyes opened halfway. Weakly, she croaked from a throat that ran dry moments before. "Ah...you've returned?"
The Emperor nodded, "And you've held true, as you've promised."
"I told you..." Isha attempted to stand upon unsteady legs, and would've fallen had the Emperor not firmly held to her arms for support. "...I've endured far worse than this..."
"You will never have to, when I'm done here." The Emperor declared, summoning his coterie of enginseers, tech-priests and the many archmagi from Mars that still remembered his plans of the original Imperial Webway Project- including Belisarius Cawl himself. Isha watched them curiously as they started breaking down the gilded walls of the ancient throneroom, revealing even more ancient warp-tech pipeworks and tubes leading down to a maze of complicated systems that resembled a sort of web that span the whole continent that was the Imperial Palace.
She leaned against the Emperor and inquired of the meaning of all this, "Is this...what I think it is?"
"One of my greatest failures about to be fixed." The Emperor replied.
Horus crossed his arms and sighed heavily as he stared out of the windows of the fully restored Divine Fury.
Too many things occurred while he was out of it, most did not bother him at all, but one thing did and it was keeping him up most nights. Perturabo was his brother, and out of all the Primarchs Horus was the closest of a brother to deserve that name as far as the Lord of Iron was concerned. He had plans, on a scale that stood on par with his own father's ambitions. Perturabo was a dreamer, a proud man, but a dreamer and there was no sin in that.
He envisioned an Imperium enlightened and absent of the shackles of ignorance, superstition and bigotry. Horus envisioned the same, but recognized the Emperor's methods, namely his seemingly endless campaigns against the xenos, would eventually make those dreams a reality. Perturabo, for some reason or another, could not and would not wait for it, resulting in his decisions that plunged him headlong into darkness, and his sons along with him.
He deserved better, and Horus hated the Ruinous Powers for exploiting his brothers for their own gain- even more so than before.
Horus's eyes darted sideways when he sensed the presence of a herald, then beckoning the servitor to speak. "What is it?"
"Master Lupercal..." The servitor's electronic, monotonous voice replied. "The Saint Celestine of the Order of Our Martyred Lady requests your presence aboard her vessel. She stated that it is a matter of a personal nature, and that she eagerly awaits your compliance..."
Horus' expression changed, and he smiled at the invitation. Celestine had been very...kind to him since his recovery days in the Adeen Campaign, but as of late became absorbed in her duties leading the Sisters of Battle against the traitor astartes, the Iron Warriors, when they were scattered the day their Primarch was slain by the Emperor. And now, it seemed, they would both have that rare chance to enjoy a brief respite from the madness of the endless wars waged in the name of mankind.
"Tell her I shall be there shortly."
Horus left the ship in Admiral Goodwill's care and embarked on a Thunderhawk towards Celestine's flagship, a battlecruiser provided by the Imperial Navy as a token to the Ecclesiarchy which was in turn transformed into a mobile chapel that doubled as a mobile starfort of its own, dubbed the Enduring Truth. Horus arrived without an escort, feeling that there was no need for one in the holy sanctuary of the adepta sororitas. Their zealous vigil was enough to assure him of a safe passage, in and out.
The Primarch met some sister neophytes who guided him through the halls of the vessel and into the chambers of the Saint. These halls were long enshrouded in mystery and closely kept secrecy, as were all that lay claimed by the Ecclesiarchy, and with good reason. Horus did not feel awed by the unfamiliar air, but he did find it unnerving to say the least. The neophytes stopped at the threshold of a pair of ornately carved black marble doors that showed two seraphims upholding the sun on the right and the moon on the left, their scantily clad bodies leaving little to the imagination as they turned forward and beckoned to any who would dare enter- prompting the Primarch to wonder at the inspiration of the artist who carved the elaborate impression.
Horus entered the wide and very spacious room beyond, his keen nostrils suddenly assaulted by the sweetness of burning scented candles upon their stands in each of the far corners of the chamber. Their dim light was enough to illuminate the Saint, who stood in the middle of the room with her back turned to him. Just beyond her was a bed that easily covered half of the room itself, and had a number of soft furs sprinkled with pink rose petals about them.
Horus' brows noticeably bunched up in his confusion, even more so when the doors suddenly slid shut behind him, locking him in with the Saint. His mouth moved ever so slightly, the word falling out in barely above a whisper. "What the fuck..."
Celestine's wings fluttered slightly, and she turned around. Horus saw that she was dressed in only a light robe of bright scarlet, tightly wrapped about her body and bared only a bare minimum of her shoulders. A deep blush was on her face, which did her true feelings no justice as she was now feeling faint with fear and embarrassment. Celestine cleared her throat nervously and spoke first, "Greetings, my lord. I'm pleased to have you come on such short notice." The Saint clapped her hands once, commanding her twin geminae who stood at the wings of the chamber to assist her. Two more sister acolytes seemingly appeared out of nowhere and began swaying lit censers back and forth, as if to start a holy sacrament.
"What is the meaning of this?" Horus looked on in shock as he saw from the dim light what exactly did the geminae sisters wore. Aside from a tightly wrapped piece of parchment across their eyes like a blindfold, a series of similar holy writs were draped and wrapped about their breasts and loins like makeshift pieces of underclothes! The Primarch heard the hiss of his armor protesting as it was removed from his body by the geminae. Now clad only in his loincloth, the Primarch was horrified at the feeling of the prying hands of the maidens reach to rid him of the last bit of his garments. The bundle of cloth dropped to the floor, exposing the Primarch's nakedness for all to see.
Naturally offended, Horus then moved and clamped down firmly onto the maidens' hands to put a stop to their ministrations. He flashed a somewhat annoyed look at Celestine and demanded an answer. "Celestine?"
The Saint looked at him blankly, unable to understand she was doing it all wrong. "My handmaidens are merely preparing us, my lord."
"Prepare us for what?"
"The deed." Celestine said, looking a little hurt now. "The consummation of our love..."
"STOP!" Horus declared firmly, commanding all to leave. "Get out, all of you."
The sisters knew better than to refuse the Primarch, and bowed reverently at both Horus and their Saint before exiting the chamber.
Celestine was confused at her lover's reaction and racked her brain trying to find out what she had done wrong, "W-Why? Have I done something to displease you?"
"No, Celestine." Horus sighed and shook his head, approaching the trembling Saint and surprising her when he gently pried off the robe and revealed the heavenly sight beneath. Horus took in the fullness of her breasts, the perfect curve of her waist and of her hips, right down to the bountiful legs and feet that graced the earth with its touch. He moved behind her and nestled his face between the base of her wings and breathed in scent of her flesh. "This is just simply not the way it is done."
Celestine closed her eyes and gasped as the Primarch kissed the base of each wing, she loved how he took his time with her, once half expecting him to see the deed done as the ritual she thought it would be.
Then, as if reading her thoughts, Horus leaned in and kissed her ear. He whispered as he rubbed her shoulders tenderly, "This is no ritual or a mere holy sacrament, it is an act as old as time itself but one that must not be demeaned through thoughtless rites and ministrations. Come, let me show you what I mean."
The Primarch took her by the hand and led her to the bed, beckoning her to lay down. Celestine obeyed, her heart aching to know the many things her lover would show her that night. She crawled across the valley laden with soft furs, squeaking in surprise when she suddenly felt Horus' hand clamp firmly onto her ankle and pull her back. Dragged across the furs and pushed about to face him, Celestine gazed up nervously as the Primarch loomed over her.
Horus smiled reassuringly, "I won't hurt you, Celestine..."
"I-I know that..." The Saint breathed, back arching as Horus' insolent lips traveled down from her chin to her neck, then to the valley between her breasts. She shivered when he came to rest on her belly. Just like that dream, where the Dark Prince Slaanesh planted in her mind the highly coveted fantasies she had for the Cthonian paragon. Similar in only the slightest, for this one was a very different experience.
She felt no fear, just a tiny bit of hesitation, not for Horus but for herself. Celestine second-guessed if she was worthy of this act, her thoughts battled against one another, she just wanted it to be perfect. One night, one perfect night, removed from the horrors of this dark future. A night where she could forget being a Saint, and just become Celestine.
A woman joined with a man, wrapped up in his loving embrace.
Outside, the less-than-prudent sisters gathered at the chamber entrance, ears pressed to the doors to listen to the shameless cries of their Martyred Lady and of the brutish grunts of the Primarch atop of her. Mischievous smirks and knowing looks were exchanged as the hours ticked on. And then, there was silence.
"Disrespectful waifs!" The mother-superior yelled upon seeing the neophytes eavesdropping on the sacred sanctum, "To your quarters this instant! A thousand prayers of penitence and ten lashes for each of you when I see you out here again!" Her words were met with a titter of embarrassment as the women scattered like a horde of rats.
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Yes, that would be a thousand prayers of penitence and ten lashes for my chapter full of heresy. Worth it, Slaanesh would be proud :)