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Horus' footsteps echo through the hollow corridors of the space-hulk. Being the superhuman that he was, he could never tire just from walking, and yet the distance he traveled felt like he had walked full circle on the surface of a moon. And still he hadn't reached the command center.
Inwardly, he hoped the space-hulk would hold together long enough for him to gain access to the controls and stabilize the trans-warp engines so he can leave this hellish place.
The darkness lifts as he enters a junction in the halls, dim lights emanating from weak sources further inside. Horus remained cautious, but proceeded onwards, never one to let idleness hinder his decisions. He passes by a massive breach in the wall and looks down in surprise at what he found.
The remains of some great beast lay sprawled over the rent opening, overall humanoid in appearance but had two extra arms that sported three sharp talons on each conjoined finger. A xeno, without a doubt, but nothing like he's ever seen before. Just how far had the aliens come since his absence?
Faint echoes of bolter-fire reaches the Primarch's ears, and he nears the direction of the sounds to listen for its source. He estimates its exact location by the trail of bodies left in the halls and the steady patter of weapons discharge in the distance.
Red human blood could be seen smeared across the floor, and Horus came upon a fallen bolt-pistol. It bore the wings of the Aquila, and some words in High Gothic that he could distinguish as old proverbs of sorts- or a crude prayer to the Emperor.
Did the teachings of Lorgar twist Imperial society so much that they finally accepted his father as a deity? If so, things have truly become a downwards spiral- but Horus knew he had a fault in that. Sighing in sad resignation, the Primarch picks up the weapon and presses on, hoping those fighting the xenos on the space-hulk would give him a straight answer.
Horus' pace quickens as the bolter-fire diminishes to a loud clash of steel and a cacophany of growls and loud curses. He emerges into the engine-room, finding the remnants of a spacemarine battle squad with their backs pressed to the wall as a hundred or so of those xenos kept dropping from the cracks in the ceiling and floor. Amongst the bodies of his battle-brothers strewn around him, a lone spacemarine, bearing dark crimson regalia with the Blood Raven etched on his breastplate. Behind him was a more advanced version of the Thunderhawk warcraft, remaining stuck in the breach it made when it seemingly slammed face-first into the space-hulk's hull.
Horus hesitated in revealing himself, knowing full well that his betrayal had closed all doors for forgiveness with his people. The Imperium was not the Emperor, they neither possesed his infinite mercies nor his bountiful compassion. As soon as he shows his face, they will kill him.
And so the Primarch was left with this dillemma, a faint idea forming in his mind as to how to solve it.
Deception was necessary. He would introduce himself as a nameless warrior, discarding his name as the penitent man he was until his mission to carry mankind to a brighter future was done- then and only then will he reveal himself. Come what may, be it rejection or death, his path to redemption will be realized.
Consigning himself to this endeavor, Horus jumped down from the catwalks and joined his battle-brother against the xeno-incursion. The spacemarine beheld him with surprise as he cuts down the aliens with that burning spear from behind, slowing the raging torrent to a mere trickle.
He takes a moment to process this, but seized this opportunity, rallying to the Primarch and pressing the attack until the aliens were driven back into the shadows from where they came. Dark green corrosive blood adorns their armor and weapons upon the battle's conclusion, and the transhumans withdrew to lick their wounds.
Horus looked upon the spacemarines, both the dead and the lone survivor with pride, seeing them continue the war against the xeno as true heroes of the past have done. "Well fought."
The spacemarine approached the Primarch warily, hand on his sword as he regarded him with the utmost caution. "I thank you for your timely intervention, stranger. For that gratitude alone, I shall give you the chance to explain yourself. How have you come here, in the Warp of all places? Speak honestly, if you please."
Horus calmly replied, an alibi closest to the truth at the ready. "I understand your cause for suspicion, brother, but you have nothing to fear from me. I remained trapped in the Warp for what felt like years, no doubt longer in realspace, and I came upon the space-hulk in my daily wanderings." He held up his spear, "If you suspect me of corruption, you have only to look upon this holy weapon in my hands- see the purity in it and make your decision."
There was a long pause as the Blood Raven digests the Primarch's words, "You speak the truth, then. The Warp has a habit of swallowing up anything it comes in contact with. In this case, both you and I have fallen victim to its pull. I am Sgt. Aggregius of the Blood Ravens 2nd Company."
"Well met, sergeant." He bowed his head, "I am nameless. I have forsaken both name and chapter when I failed the Emperor and the Imperium. Do not ask me who I was before, I shall not take up that mantle until I have finished my walk of penance."
"Ah, a brother-pilgrim?" Aggregius remarks in approval, "A good omen. The God-Emperor has blessed me twice this day. May our Father strengthen your resolve and guide you down the path of righteousness."
Horus helped the sergeant drag the Thunderhawk out of the wall and push it to steady ground. "Forgive me, Aggregius, but I am not up to date with the current events. Tell me, I pray, what has become of the Imperium in my absence?"
The Blood Raven shrugs, "I am uncertain as to how specific you want my answer to be for that question, brother. But alright, steel yourself, for I bear news of a grim nature."
Aggregius begins a long list of misfortunes that befell mankind. As suspected, Horus learned the hordes of Chaos have sunk their talons into the ranks of the Imperium, corrupting both neutral and loyalist to the Warp. Yet what disturbed the Primarch the most was hearing from the sergeant how the people have regressed to a superstitious and near-barbaric theo-military cult that ultimately worshipped the Emperor, ironically inspired by Lorgar's teachings.
Aggregius described the day to day massacres on the borderworlds, billions and billions of loyal guardsmen thrown to the meat grinder against Chaos, the bloodthirsty Orks, and the new xeno race of devourers called the Tyranids- much like the ones they faced today. It surprised Horus that the sergeant told him of these things in such a calm and resolute manner, as if these were just the tip of the iceberg!
When asked about the fate of the loyalist primarchs, his beloved brothers, the news devastated Horus.
Lion, Jaghatai, Leman and Rogal, Corvus and Roboute…missing at the time when the Imperium needed them most.
There were frequent purges of worlds, be it innocent or otherwise, by the Ecclesiarchy. Civil wars were commonplace amongst the split Imperial factions over the most petty of reasons, proof that the Imperium was shattered to its core-
It was enough to drive the Primarch to tears. And though his helm hid his face, Horus wept silently in front of the sergeant. "Aggregius…"
"Brother?"
"I grieve for the Imperium. But it would be unwise for us to tarry in the Warp any longer than we should." Horus glanced around, "Is the Thunderhawk operational?"
The sergeant shook his head, "No. Vox-communications are about the only systems left intact from the crash. What are you planning?"
"This space-hulk is not without its own means of interstellar travel. From what I saw outside, it has trans-warp capabilities- albeit unstable. I think…I think we can take command of the vessel and use it as our escape tool."
"Do you have technical experience, brother?" Aggregius inquired, "Or shall we beseech the machine-spirits to lead us in this endeavor?"
"Machine…what?" Horus began, "Oh…never mind. Yes, sergeant, I have technical experience. And I believe I can get us off this hellscape in one piece. But it would require traveling through the dark corridors and facing more of these…tyranids. Are you prepared to do that?"
Aggregius takes the clip out of his bolter to check the rounds remaining and slaps it back in, "I am. Figured I would face them anyway, might as well be now."
"Good. Stay at my back and stick close, I'm taking point." Both men knew the importance of that tactic. That way, the brunt of the xenos' attack would fall on the Primarch, giving the sergeant plenty opportunity to take their enemies down from a distance. With only the two of them facing the immeasureable hordes of the tyranid genestealers, it was only logical that they exploit every advantage that comes their way.
"Oh, and take that vox-communicator you spoke of with us. We may need it should we establish contact with the Imperium."
"Check your weapon, fix bayonets and prepare to charge!" Mercutio shouted, calling for his company to rally behind him as he stood under the cover of the trenches. The lieutenant peered above the cracked earthen wall at the enemy's position.
Shells struck the battleground in wild abandon, throwing clumps of dirt and entrails in all directions. The sight of the bodies piled in hills all around them was enough to unnerve most men. But these weren't the ordinary men and women of the Astra Militarium. These were the Cadian Whiteshields- youths trained from the age of six in the war-ridden worlds of the Cadian sector. Mentally and spiritually fortified, with a grim acceptance of things that would send lesser humans screaming in terror, the shocktroopers hold true to the tenet of offering their lives for the Imperium.
Training day was designed to whip them into shape, and by the Emperor's Golden Throne, Mercutio will do just that. Live rounds with live Ork marauders, the perfect test to temper their resolve.
Cadia would've been a beautiful second Terra, rich in wildlife and minerals that mirrored the holy capital world. But alas, in the 41st Millenium, there stands no opportunity to appreciate such luxuries. Sitting at the threshold of the Cadian Gate, right in front of the Eye of Terror, the fortress world was always the target of the horrors of the universe.
From Ork Waagh!s to the Black Crusades of the dreaded Despoiler, the populace was forced to transform into a warrior society as the situation demands.
The lieutenant's orders were clear. Press the attack and observe the men, tear out the weak and leave the strong to be sent up to join the veteran ranks that will be deployed on distant worlds. But the lieutenant knew each and every one of those under his command- he grew up and trained together with them. Not a drop of Cadian blood will be wasted. They were the best in the whole Imperial Guard, and Mercutio was confident that many of his comrades will see the end of this day.
In the distance, the Orks produced a cacophany of barbaric yells, grunts and obscenities in broken Gothic, a stark opposition to the united warcries of the Whiteshields 115th Battalion.
"All together now! Fire!" Mercutio bellowed, drawing his power-sword and thrusting it towards the advancing enemy. The second he did so, a thousand lasgun discharges pierces the Ork ranks with blinding speed and pin-point accuracy. Bodies pile up by the hundreds as the dead fall over, forming a flesh wall that the rest scrambled to climb over.
Faulty bolters fire aimlessly over the corpse mound, bullets felling the entrenched guardsmen only by the threes and not much else- and those brave cadians suffered minor wounds. Medics rushed in and dragged the injured and incapacitated out to the rear while the lieutenant ascended the ramp, sword high in the air. "Guardsmen, CHARGE!"
The Imperial Guard rallied to their commander, steel bayonets ready to eviscerate Ork flesh and defend their territory with savage fury. They roared in defiance at the green-skinned xenos, blasting them to pieces with their lasguns and shouldering the weight of the enemy's backlash, only to retaliate with a near-frenzy battle fervor. Throughout the battle, Mercutio's sharp eyes scanned the troops, watching and taking note of those who stood out- whether it was skill or lack thereof- the lieutenant took into account all the same.
"Push!" Sgt. Ekohr, a gnarled old veteran with most of his limbs consisting of bionic counterparts, strained against the Ork brutes. His chainsword draws great torrents of alien blood, covering him completely with its foul-smelling ichor. "Push, you lazy bastards!" He snarled at the young ones, "Do I have to do everything myself?!"
"Calm down old man!" Mercutio laughed, "How embarassing would it be that you die this day from a failed heart?"
"That's fine, I've got two of them!" Ekohr retorted, indicating the cardiac-engine sitting next to the organ in his chest. The Whiteshields leap from the mountain of corpses, advancing deep into the Ork Waagh! settlement.
How the greenskins managed to land on the fortress world and build upon the scrap laying within the forests, Mercutio hadn't the slightest idea. Be it the negligence of the defense force, or the ignorance of those up high, today was a good chance to rid Cadia of them. At least this time, his men would gain the experience they needed to know the Orks, and would use this to their advantage in future battles.
Crude machinations pepper the guardsmen pouring through the demolished gates with bolter rounds, weapons lashed together from salvaged battlegrounds that somehow functioned perfectly to the gretchins operating them. Seeing how the Ork defenses pinned and boxed in the advancing guardsmen, the lieutenant called for a vox-communicator to run to his side, and he grabs the reciever. "Fire Control! Initiate Earthshaker barrage on the following coordinates."
"We read you, lieutenant, initiating Earthshaker barrage as requested." The woman on the other end replied, "Be advised, keep your head down."
"Loud and clear, control." Mercutio said, calling for his men to hit the dirt as fourteen massive rounds slam into the Ork positions. Each successive barrage lived up to the name of the artillery ordnance name, shattering the earth wherever they struck, reducing Ork and machine to ash and red mush.
A sharp ring remained in the lieutenant's ears as the barrage ceased. Once the dust settled, Mercutio peered over from cover to examine the remaining enemy forces. To his relief, the barrage had completely devastated the Ork Waagh, leaving him and the Whiteshields to clean up.
A fitting end. He had no intention of facing more of the beasts, since they had a nasty habit of accumulating like fungus on a tree. These Orks were disorganized compared to those he'd faced before, for if they were otherwise, the results of this battle would've been messy to say the least.
Horus tilted his head to the side as he stared at the holo-map emanating from the faulty emitter upon the wall. The image blinks a few times, fixing itself as the Primarch taps lightly on its surface.
"Anything, brother?" Aggregius inquired, putting another round through the massive tyranid hulk crawling through the bloodied floor.
"The Warp meshed the command centers together in one place." Horus observed, "But judging from the tyranid hordes we've encountered, I believe their nests stem from there as well."
"So…" The sergeant takes a moment to digest the Primarch's words, "We're walking into the maw of the beast that could mean our freedom? The irony of it…amuses me."
"Don't dwell on it for too long." Horus chuckled, "Come, we will face the aliens anyway, might as well do it on their home."
"What I would do to get a flamer right about now." Aggregius comments, falling in step with his comrade as they descended deeper into the space-hulk's depths. As they traversed the long and narrow hallways filled with flesh and mucosal linings, Horus couldn't help but notice the cracks on the walls start to grow. He halts in his footsteps and glances upwards, realizing that the strain realspace and the Warp was causing on the space-hulk had reached a point where it had proven too powerful to withstand.
"Sergeant, pick up the pace!" Horus says in alarm. Both transhumans witness the tear grow, until they could see the bright red and violet cosmic storms of the Warp outside. Their pace quickens until they break into a sprint.
As they passed the thick globs of gestation pods, the tyranids burst at their presence and pursued the fleeing duo, unaware of the bigger danger that was the sundering of the space-hulk.
The entire Imperial ship wreck breaks away from the collected debris, taking an entire section of the hulk with it! Horus, seeing an opening in the space-hulk in which he could leap onto, takes Aggregius by the arm and makes a desperate running-jump through empty space- relying heavily on the vortex's pull to bring them close.
His gamble pays off, and the transhumans land safely aboard the space-hulk.
Inside his armor, Aggregius' chest was heaving. "Damnation, that was close!" He helps his friend back to his feet, "A good thing you saw it in time."
"I had a feeling it would happen soon." Horus agreed, "Come, with a tremor like that, most of the tyranids would have been alerted to this place. The command center should be close now."
The two enter a large chamber that resembled an old variant of an Imperial chapel. Among burst gestation pods and flesh-webs, ancient computers and navigation equipment lined the walls and floor, suprisingly in better condition than Horus first envisioned. "What exactly where you doing that brought you and your men to the Warp?" He inquired of the sergeant.
Surprised the man would ask him now, Aggregius answers. "We were supposed to regroup with the rest of our company on a distant forge-world beset heavily by Ork pirate fleets. The stabilizers failed, somehow. I judged it as sabotage when we were swallowed up into the vortex. It is common these days to have a traitor in our ranks."
Although the sergeant meant nothing of it, Horus warily took note of the word 'traitor', imagining just how the sergeant would react should he know of his true identity. He turns to the navigation computers, coaxing them to activation. Blue light emanates from the computers as they respond to his call, some sparks flash from other stubborn machines. Busy with his ministrations, the Primarch would've fallen victim to the ambush had Aggregius' perceptions been dulled.
"Brother! Look out!"
Horus instinctively dove to the side, just in a nick of time as a torrent of bio-plasma washes across the chamber, melting the computer and floor where he stood seconds ago!
"Bile-beast!" Aggregius bellows, discharging his bolter at the massive hulking creature crouched atop the metal statue behind Horus. The Primarch returns to form and readies his spear.
The Carnifex leaps off its perch and lands with a loud crash, snarling angrily at the two transhumans trampling upon its territory. With an ear-splitting cry, it lunged for Horus, bone-talons ready to rip and tear at his throat.
Bolter-fire was not enough to penetrate its thick hide, as Horus soon found out. But fortunately, that was not the only weapon at their disposal. As effective as it was with daemon-flesh, the emperor's spear was sharp enough to pierce tyranid bone-hide, such as the case with this bile-beast.
Ignoring the bio-plasma eating at his armor, Horus met the tyranid's charge with his own, driving the spear through its chest with such strength that it buries itself past the first layer of bone and out protruding from its back! Grinning victoriously, Horus plants his foot against the fallen brute's chest and tears his weapon free, turning back to finish the space-hulk's reactivation of its stabilizer fields so they could be on their way.
"Well done, brother." Aggregius remarked, "An amazing weapon. Where did you find it?"
"The Emperor granted me this weapon." Horus replied honestly, tapping at the controls and bringing every essential system online.
Aggregius rolled his eyes and shrugged, skeptical about his friend's claims. "If you say so." In his defense, anyone can claim the Emperor's blessing. The Ecclesiarchy does it every time, though each relic in their possession is clearly of xeno origin.
Standing at the helm of the massive vessel they were in, Horus piloted the space-hulk out of limbo and forward into realspace. Aggregius watches him work with interest, careful not to let his thoughts wander into techno-heresy and mutters a prayer of forgiveness for his friend.
The operation of these machines were an act of necessity, but was a sin nonetheless.
As they emerged from the Warp, the vox communicator begins to crackle with life, drinking in all the channels emanating from nearby outposts. Aggregius selects the clearest comlink and addressed the voice on the other end.
"This is Sgt. Aggregius of the Blood Ravens 2nd Company. To any Imperial vessels, I beseech your aid. My squad has been wiped out, and I am aboard a space-hulk with one ally. We are deep within a tyranid infested zone. Whether it be extraction or containment, I pray help would come soon."
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