A/N: Thank you for all the new reviews, follows, and favs! The response to this story has been nothing short of amazing, and the both of us that run this account can't be any more grateful for the readership that we have. To anyone that has clicked and read this story so far, thank you all so much.

Additionally, we'd like to wish everyone here a very belated Merry Christmas. We're very much late, but we thought we'd like to extend the gesture. A Happy New Year as well to you all. Let's look forward to 2019 and let's ring in 2019 with a new chapter.

Horus Lupercal stood on the bridge of the Vengeful Spirit, looking over the assembly of ships before his own. The fleets of the five legions in the Akum-Sothos Sector, in addition to the forces of their new found allies, the local rebellion, gathered at the far edge of the sector facing Terra. In the days following Russ' joining, Perturabo and Magnus advised Horus that the best course of action was to make their position easily defensible so as to stand a chance against their father's Loyalists who had been sent to destroy them. Reluctantly, Horus had sent ambassadors to the rebelling worlds, seeking their alliance. The resistance was able to be won over, with the promise that if the Emperor can be defeated, the Imperium will be made more acceptable by the standards of the sector's people. Horus didn't exactly know what they meant, but they'd expressed desire for a less Terra-centric regime and a more tolerant entity. Knowing the struggles of his brother Magnus, Horus had no problem with such stipulations.

Horus was nervous. This would come as no surprise to a mortal going against his circumstances, as any logical Manlet would be afraid. But a Primarch, nonetheless the Warmaster of the Imperium, feeling fear? The presence of unease in his mind merely served to further unsettle him as it was a foreign presence there. Yes, he was accustomed to grief, often for the Imperium's losses in the Great Crusade, and so too he was accustomed to annoyance especially when dealing with Russ. But to find anything remotely similar to fear… was thought by most to be impossible. Yet here he was pacing the bridge of his ship, desperate for any sort of update to break the bone-chilling silence of his wait.

This was his father he'd be waging war with, the most powerful Human to ever exist in every considerable way. This was the man who created him and his brothers, so perfect he often wasn't even considered a man to begin with-

"Lord Horus! We are receiving communications from the flagship of the XVth Legion! Lord Magnus requests permission to come aboard!"

Horus jumped and looked around. He walked towards his son who had spoken, thankful none of his men had seen that…

"Allow them aboard, Fleet Master."

The Fleet Master nods, and soon Magnus the Red materializes on the bridge before Horus' own eyes. He looks around for a bit to take in his surroundings before turning to face him, a worried expression explaining the reason for his visit.

"Brother... I must speak with you… alone, please…"

Horus sighs and nods, turning and motioning for Magnus to follow. They make their way to Horus' private chambers, walking past scurrying Luna Wolves Astartes as they do. Upon reaching his chambers, Horus turns to Magnus.

"Well? What is it?"

Magnus glances to the side, as he softly says "We're running out of time, they're coming closer, and they'll be here in the next several days. Do you think 5 Legions of our sons and the mortal resistance here are enough to fight off our father's Custodes and the elite of the Imperial Army?"

A shadow falls over Horus' face, and he responds, in a tone of borderline defeat, with a simple "I do not know brother… We are up against possibly insurmountable odds, and we cannot trust that contacting any of our remaining brothers, if we even can now, will result in anything more than them branding us traitors…"

Horus then looks Magnus in the eye, putting his nervousness behind him for a time.

"But we must face the odds regardless. We were created to embody the values of Humanity, and our values call us to rally against tyranny and betrayal. If we must die to do so, then so be it. We will die heroes, even if only to ourselves. Aye brother?"

Magnus smiles in a fatigued manner, and nods, saying "Aye indeed, Warmaster."

It is then that there is an aggressive knock on the door, as a Marine proclaims "Sirs! Imperial fleet approaching! It bears the markings of the VIIIth Legion!"

Magnus and Horus share a panicked glance as they rush to follow the Marine, who is already sprinting off towards the bridge. Entering the bridge, the brother Primarchs witness Luna Wolves and Magnus' Honour Guard, the Sekhmet, frantically rushing around the room.

Horus steps forward and bellows "Fleet Master! Establish communications with the VIIIth's capital ship, now!", in response to which the Fleet Master shakily nods and attempts to follow the order. He barks at the Astropath, who is silent for a while before responding.

The Fleet Master goes pale, and worriedly yells to Horus "T-the Night Haunter wishes to speak with Lords Horus and Magnus personally, at this very moment."

Horus and Magnus once again look at one-another, and Horus tells the Fleet Master to request he board the Vengeful Spirit, which he obeys. Before too long, all eyes in the bridge are on the pale, black-eyed, ghastly form of the Eighth Primarch as he materializes in front of them. Once fully present, he is silent for a few seconds, looking around at the Astartes and Primarchs in his presence.

He then looks directly at Horus, and says "Brother. I have decided to take upon myself a new hobby, which I have little to no experience in. I wish to have hope. Hope fate can change... and, hope that I can join in on your little… revolution?"

Constantin Valdor stands on the bridge of the ship given to him by the Emperor of Mankind for the task of snuffing out his rebellious sons. As he stares out into the void, he smiles. Truly, to serve the Emperor is an honour. The Astartes are fools to defy their purpose, even if it requires them to die. To die in service of the Emperor would certainly be the most glorious fate imaginable. He rubs an armoured finger over the tattoo on his forehead and chuckles. The eight-pointed star, of the Emperor's new benefactors of course. The chuckle turns into maniacal laughter, and the other Custodes around him follow suite, giggling and guffawing like madmen. Oh, this campaign shall be fun, if not a challenge as they hope.

"Astropath, how far away are we now!?" he spews out between body-shaking spurts of laughter.

"M-mere days, my liege. W-we will be there within the Terran week!"

Valdor grins widely, and growls out a sadistic "Good…" as his only response, before resuming his cackling fit. Fun, fun indeed...

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