Chapter 912 - 911: The Warmaster Has Fallen

Davin, officially designated 63-19 in the Imperial Archives, the 19th world brought into compliance by the 63rd Expedition Fleet.

The tribal warriors of this world had been crushed within mere hours under the assault of the Luna Wolves Legion.

After the battle, Horus continued his crusade, leaving the reconstruction of Davin to his mortal friend, Eugene Temba, while the task of spreading the Imperial Truth was handed to Kor Phaeron, First Captain of the Word Bearers.

After the Luna Wolves were renamed the Sons of Horus, Horus was shocked to receive a report from Chief Chaplain Erebus: Governor Temba had betrayed the Imperium and launched a rebellion.

The Warmaster could not allow rebellion to stain his glory. Furious, he personally led the orbital assault.

The Sons of Horus trudged through thick mud and foul filth. Even the superhuman eyesight of the Astartes could not penetrate more than a hundred meters through the dense fog.

Suddenly, an enormous bloated body rose from the swamp and lunged toward Garviel Loken, Captain of the 10th Company.

Rotting, yellowed horns and a grey-green eye, beneath a decaying brow, fixed on Loken. A fanged maw opened in a hideous chuckle.

A slimy arm reached for Loken's armor. He swung his sword, cleaving into the bloated form, as if striking a thick meat-shield.

Disgusted, Loken triggered his combat stimulants, accelerating his metabolism.

Bang!

The rotting flesh burst, showering his Mark IV armor with pus and gore.

Boom, boom, boom!

The 10th Company opened fire, tearing the decaying limbs apart but the abominations still advanced.

"Heads!" Loken shouted, firing a bolt round into a decaying skull, shattering it to charred bone.

The 10th Company obeyed, their bolt rounds turning the shambling green monsters' heads into sprays of viscid slime.

Splat, splat...

The green abominations collapsed into the swamp, dissolving as if melting, releasing a nauseating, foul-smelling liquid.

He saw more of the creatures emerging from the mire, reaching out with sickly, yellowed claws.

A buzzing cloud of flies swarmed, their hum filling the comms with static. A wet, slimy voice chanted: "Praise the Father of Plagues, Lord of Decay—"

A fat fly slammed into a Son of Horus, clogging his respirator grille.

The Astartes tore off his helmet in a frenzy. His flesh was decaying at a supernatural rate, his skin darkened and peeled away while necrotic fluid filled his armor.

Loken swung his chainsword again and again, a monotonous, brutal rhythm. His arm grew heavy, the blade's teeth clogged with viscous fluid and rotted flesh.

He knew he couldn't continue like this. He cycled through comm channels, trying to contact his allies, but the same wet, clinging voice filled every frequency.

"Praise the Lord of Decay—"

Then a clear, powerful voice suddenly cut across every channel "This is the Warmaster! All Sons of Horus, to me!"

Fresh energy surged through the Sons of Horus. They rallied, advancing towards the signal.

The signal originated from the heart of the mist-shrouded swamp, the Terra's Glory, Temba's flagship, which had crashed during the compliance campaign. It now stood like a mountain of rusting steel.

Rust encrusted its Gothic spires. Rotten vines, like a spider's web, clung to its hull.

Hastur Sejanus, Captain of the 4th Company of the Sons of Horus, said to the Warmaster as he approached the wreck: "You should not personally lead the spearhead, my lord. Members of the Mournival can do it in your place."

Erebus, Chief Chaplain of the Word Bearers, watched Sejanus with a dark expression. His sudden interjection was affecting his plan.

Horus Lupercal laughed lightly. "It has been far too long since I strode into battle with a blade in my hand. If I had known becoming Warmaster meant being forced away from the front lines, I would have refused the title."

He remembered Nareth's decapitation of the Blind King's leader and his spearhead into the heart of Murder's Megarachnids. His resolve hardened.

"Erebus, take your warriors around to the opposite side of the wreck. We'll crush the traitors from both sides."

Erebus gripped his crozius, bowing with a smile.

"As you command, my Warmaster."

Horus then addressed the Mournival.

"Ezekyle, establish a defensive line on the left flank."

"Little Horus, you take the right."

"Hastur and Tarik, clear this area and guard our rear."

"I have a traitor to kill. Move out!"

Horus led his forces into the Terra's Glory, through corridors of twisted, buckled bulkheads.

A foul wind creaked through the passageways. Black mold spread across the walls.

Rumble!

A deafening roar shook the wreck, the vibration striking through Horus's heels.

The Terra's Glory tilted, slamming into the swamp. Fountains of mud erupted. The wreck began to collapse.

Horus kept his balance with ease, but many Sons of Horus were not so fortunate. They tumbled and fell, thrown in every direction.

Horus drew his golden blade. His iron-grey eyes swept over the gleaming sword, which seemed to hold a burning fire within. It was a gift from his brother, Ferrus Manus, a precious token commemorating his ascension to Warmaster.

Horus had been somewhat surprised when he received it.

Ferrus had once been considered a candidate for Warmaster himself and though he was closer to Fulgrim, he had always been on good terms with Nareth.

Ferrus had accepted their father's choice, without resentment for himself or Nareth.

Horus raised the golden blade. Its light dispelled the thick, corroding fog.

He oriented himself, heading for the Terra's Glory's central causeway.

The unnatural tilt and constant sway didn't slow his pace.

Clang, clang...

Rusted hatches swung and clattered. With a low hum, a bloated green form lurched towards Horus.

He swung his sword, like a fiery meteor, cutting a path to the bridge.

He surveyed the room. Mold-covered banners hung from the high ceiling.

Corpses, sewn into tattered cloth in grisly fashion, wore the grey wolf uniforms of the 63rd Expedition Fleet.

"My friends, I will avenge you!"

He charged into the bridge, his voice a promise.

"Praise the Father of Plagues, Lord of Decay—" The wet, slimy voice repeated, a low, droning litany.

He followed the sound to a bloated, swollen form, holding a glittering, diamond-edged blade.

Tatters of cloth hung on its grey-green body, golden shoulder boards and silver buttons buried in folds of fat.

"Temba." Horus approached his former friend, the governor he had appointed.

"Warmaster!" Temba rasped, clutching the infected wound on his chest.

"Don't call me that, you abomination."

Temba tilted his head, hissing. "Abomination?"

"You are not Temba. You are filth spawned by the Warp!" Horus roared.

"I am Temba. I am the friend you left behind." Every word Temba spoke sounded thick and wet, as though bubbling from the depths of a swamp.

"I am Temba, your loyal servant, left to rot in this corner while you chased glory among the stars."

"Even so, old friend, I am still willing to share the power of the Warp with you."

"It is truly magnificent."

Horus ascended the steps, advancing on Temba.

"That power is raw, uncontrollable. Untrustworthy."

Temba shook his head. "You have only seen part of it. It is full of life, ambition, desire."

"It will help you rule all things and reign over the galaxy."

"The galaxy already has a master. The Emperor." Horus shouted.

"And where is he?" Temba sneered. "He destroys anyone who defies his will, and now he has left this entire mess for you to clean up."

"What kind of leader is that? He is nothing but a tyrant."

Horus reached the top of the dais, raising his golden blade.

"Nothing in the galaxy happens by chance. It follows a deep thread of fate, Chaos."

"Chaos is the primordial force of creation, and it will also be the force that brings about its death."

"Old friend, I can see the ambition in your eyes. You need only accept Chaos, and you will-"

"I have no interest." Horus drove the sword into Temba's chest. Ferrus's golden blade pierced his layers of fat, reaching the traitor's heart.

Horus withdrew the blade, trailing foul ichor.

Temba laughed, ignoring the fatal wound. He raised his rune-covered blade.

His blue-black lips hissed, "Warmaster Horus!"

The blade spun, aimed at Horus's throat, a height he once would have had to leap to reach.

Horus raised his own blade to parry.

Clang, clang, clang...

Temba's assault was fierce. His bloated body moved with supernatural speed and agility.

Horus was forced onto the defensive. He couldn't understand how Temba, who had never been a great swordsman, could possess such skill.

He stepped back, his right foot landing on a lower step.

He ducked, evading a cut, his golden blade slicing across Temba's belly. Viscous blood and foul fat splattered the deck.

Clang!

The diamond blade tore away Horus's pauldron.

He spun, his blade striking again and again. Temba's bloated form erupted in gouts of pus, revealing sweet, tangled innards.

The cursed blade blazed with brutal hunger, its edge trembling, eager to drink Horus's blood.

Horus retreated, luring Temba forward. He seized the moment to swing his golden blade low, slicing through Temba's swollen ankle.

Crack! Crack!

The bones gave way. Temba's ankle buckled, unable to support his bulk. Broken bone pierced his flesh.

Horus raised his sword, trying to bind Temba's blade.

The cursed sword twisted in mid-air, aiming for Horus's exposed shoulder.

Both blades struck at the same moment. The golden blade crushed Temba's heart.

The cursed blade pierced Horus's chest.

A grunt escaped Horus's lips. The shimmering blade burned his arm.

He clenched his jaw, and with a wrench, tore through Temba's body.

Bang!

The swollen mass fell upon Horus. He dropped his sword, embracing his fallen friend.

He cradled the bloated corpse, blood streaming from his shoulder, unheeded.

He walked down the dais, step by step, carrying Temba.

"Father!" Sejanus rushed to him, his eyes filled with worry at the blood streaming down his arm. He reached out, taking the body.

He felt his father's weakness through the contact.

Thud, thud, thud...

Footsteps sounded nearby.

Abaddon, Torgaddon, and Aximand hurried over.

Abaddon and Aximand moved to flank Horus, trying to support him.

"I will walk out on my own," Horus said, his voice weak and low.

He walked, step by step, out of the Terra's Glory. As he was about to take the final step, he straightened, quickening his pace.

Bang!

His boots struck the ground.

The Apothecaries, seeing the blood, rushed towards him.

The Sons of Horus looked on with concern for their father.

Horus forced a smile. He was about to speak when his legs buckled.

Boom!

The Warmaster's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed.

The Sons of Horus watched in horror as their father, the great Lupercal, the Warmaster of the Imperium, fell.

A faint smile touched Erebus's lips.

....

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