Chapter 474: Secrets of the Imperium, Father and Son, the God-Emperor!
Sanguinius's request was not excessive. After pondering for a moment, Goge Vandire finally nodded in agreement.
The history of that great rebellion ten thousand years ago might remain a mystery to ordinary folk, but for the Terran high command present, it was hardly a secret at all.
After all, this chapter of history had been dissected countless times by Imperial scholars. Much of its hidden truth had already been unearthed. The reasons for Horus's betrayal, the motives of the rebels—these had gradually become known.
Very soon, several long-preserved records were uploaded to the Vengeful Spirit. The Primarchs stared intently at the data before them.
They read swiftly, and before long, all the complex and tangled documents had been consumed.
The Imperial scholars had analyzed the Horus Heresy in exhaustive detail, from every possible angle and perspective, even going so far as to argue the case from Horus's own viewpoint.
After learning of this sorrowful past, the Primarchs fell into silence. Loyalists and traitors alike were unwilling to be the first to speak.
Those who betrayed the Imperium had not necessarily been wholly evil; those who remained loyal were not necessarily paragons of virtue. Each had their own perceived interests at stake.
But one thing was undeniable: the culprit behind the rebellion was indeed Horus. This left everyone feeling conflicted.
At that moment, Horus himself looked awkward and sullen. He had to admit that he had once entertained similar thoughts—he could easily have become this universe's Horus.
Had the Emperor not guided him, the misunderstanding between father and son would only have deepened.
Horus found himself at a loss for words.
At times, one cannot empathize with one's former self. Horus had often regretted the foolishness of his past self, who had caused so much grief to the Emperor.
Yet when he recalled how the Emperor had kept secrets from them—concealing truths about the Warp—resentment stirred within him as well.
These matters were difficult to judge in terms of right and wrong.
But there was one thing Horus could never forgive himself for: raising his blade against his own brothers. If he ever encountered this universe's version of himself, he swore he would strike the wretch down without hesitation.
Fortunately, the other Primarchs were rational enough not to judge him for what they had read.
After all, Horus had always treated his brothers well. In their universe, he was unquestionably the keystone of the Primarchs.
Without Horus, so many differing personalities could never have united.
Seeing the trusting looks his brothers now gave him, Horus felt a warmth in his heart. He would rather sever ties with the Emperor than ever again fight his brothers in life and death.
"Horus, these were not your deeds, nor did we do anything wrong. You and I need not bear any burden for what happened in this universe."
Sanguinius's voice broke the silence. The handsome and kind-hearted Primarch was one of Horus's closest brothers. Reading of his own death at Horus's hand had pierced him to the core.
Memories of fighting side by side clashed with visions of Horus's blade descending upon him. It left him dizzy, almost reeling.
He dared not imagine how his counterpart in this universe had felt—such despair and heartbreak. But here and now, he and Horus were well, with no such fate looming.
"It's too great a pity. He's dead, and I cannot wash away this shame with my own hands."
The "he" Horus referred to was, of course, this universe's Horus—the Warmaster of Chaos, slain by the God-Emperor. Yet the sins of that Horus had plagued the galaxy for millennia.
"There are still chances to cleanse your shame. Here, the Warmaster Abaddon was once your subordinate."
Goge Vandire interjected. By now he was convinced these Primarchs truly hailed from a parallel universe ten thousand years past.
Horus's eyes gleamed with thought. If Abaddon remained, then at least there was a chance to set his house in order.
At this, the real Abaddon standing not far behind Horus wished the ground would swallow him whole. He knew he should never have come—only to be scourged by the mocking stares of so many Primarch lieutenants.
The boisterous Leman Russ burst into loud laughter, jesting openly with Horus:
"The Luna Wolves truly have a reputation! The Four Ruinous Powers themselves all pick your sons for Warmasters of Chaos!"
"We others, it seems, are only fit for supporting roles."
Horus's lips twitched. He could not tell whether Russ was genuinely oblivious to how cruel the joke was, or if he had meant to twist the knife.
One Horus, one Abaddon—both reduced to the lapdogs of Chaos. Could anything be more ironic?
Horus kept his angry silence, fists itching to march into the Warp then and there, drag Abaddon out, and strike him down on the spot.
"In that case, let us each cleanse our own ranks. The loyalists will hold Terra. The rebels shall purge their own, killing their corrupted sons of Chaos."
Mortarion's voice rumbled through his heavy breaths. He had always been a grim man, and his relationship with the Emperor had never been good.
The only figure he could truly admire—Horus.
Had Horus rebelled here, Mortarion would likely have followed. But given the present circumstances, his elder brother would never betray them again.
Thus, Mortarion too would follow his example, and prove his loyalty.
With Mortarion taking the lead, Fulgrim, Perturabo, Angron, and others declared their resolve: they would each personally lead their legions against the traitor Astartes, to wash away a stain that had never truly belonged to them.
In that instant, the Primarchs' collective thirst for battle reverberated through the Warp, surging like a tidal wave.
The traitor legions heard their fathers' voices echoing clearly.
Every Astartes who had betrayed the Imperium heard his own gene-sire's call. Terror gripped them—an inexorable fear of judgment closing in.
"This is impossible! That old man cannot have returned…"
On the Black Legion flagship, Abaddon clutched his ears, breaking down. In the Warp, all secrets were laid bare.
And in that same moment, the traitors felt the suffocating dread of death pressing upon them.
He heard the long-dead Horus swear to kill him, felt the searing hatred in his heart.
Abaddon knew the truth—he had never truly earned the favor of the Four Gods. To all, only Horus had ever been their true Warmaster.
He was but a stopgap, a poor substitute.
The fallen Warmaster Horus had died valiantly beneath the Emperor's blade, becoming a hero to every servant of Chaos.
Now the reborn Imperial Warmaster Horus sought to cleanse the traitors and reclaim the banner of justice. And they— they were destined for the dustbin of history.
Damn it! What method did the Corpse-Emperor use to bring Horus back to life? He was long dead—there's no way he could be alive again!"
Abaddon howled in a frenzy, nearly losing his mind.
"Corpse-Emperor" and "False Emperor" were the insults Chaos forces most often used when referring to the Emperor.
To the forces of Chaos, the recent events were nothing short of the uncanny: Guilliman's sudden revival, a second sun blazing within the warp, and now the sudden reappearance of long-dead Primarchs.
These bizarre and unfathomable signs made Abaddon suspect that perhaps the Emperor hadn't truly slain the traitor Primarchs back then, but had instead hidden them away.
It wasn't only Abaddon who felt fear—several other fallen Daemon Primarchs had also heard the same whispers.
Someone was coming to kill them, to atone for the sins of the Primarch Legions, to wash away the shame.
Though each Daemon Primarch believed these voices to be false—most likely some trick devised by the Corpse-Emperor—they could not suppress the unease and irritation gnawing at their hearts.
…
Meanwhile, Horus and the other Primarchs had already arrived at the Imperial Palace on Terra, their identities confirmed.
Led by High Lord Councillor Goge vandire, they came before the Golden Throne and looked up at the Emperor.
Gazing upon that skeletal, withered form, Horus and the others fell into grief-stricken silence.
In their memories, the Emperor had always been vigorous and strong, a sovereign radiant with divine majesty.
But this figure slumped upon the Golden Throne bore no trace of godhood—if anything, he seemed more akin to a daemonic god.
Yet no one dared to voice reproach or doubt. They all knew the sacrifices the Emperor had made for the Imperium of Man.
Beneath the Throne yawned a jagged, broken webway breach, through which daemons and warp entities could spill into realspace to slaughter without restraint.
That wound had been torn open long ago by Magnus's careless blunder, and it was this fatal accident that had forced the Emperor to use his own body to seal the rift.
Slaying Horus had left him gravely wounded; sitting upon the Throne to block the breach forced him to endure ten thousand years of agony as his soul and flesh were torn apart, compounded by the psychic weight of humanity's collective consciousness pressing down upon him.
It was all of this that had left the Emperor in his current nightmarish state.
Horus, looking at him now, felt as if he were gazing upon a sun in its twilight—he could sense that the Emperor of this universe had reached his very limit, on the verge of collapse at any moment.
The Custodes and Sisters of Silence stood nearby, keeping their eyes fixed on the gathered Primarchs, ready to respond to the slightest hostile movement.
"Father, we… have returned!"
After forcing the words out, Horus fell silent again. What more could he say to this pitiful husk of a once-mighty ruler?
The Imperium in decline, the Emperor bereft of sons, forced to kill his chosen heir with his own hands, besieged by Chaos, his great Webway Project ruined, mankind nearing extinction, the universe itself teetering on collapse…
His burden was unbearable.
The Emperor, locked in his stasis field, gave no reaction to Horus's call. He remained utterly still—but his silence was a response in itself.
Mortarion raised his head, his body trembling uncontrollably.
Raised since childhood under the yoke of alien sorcerers, he was acutely sensitive to psychic force—and he could feel the terrifying magnitude of the Emperor's power seething within that skeletal husk.
It was a power that could erupt at any instant, annihilating everything in existence. The Emperor had never exuded such a dreadful aura before.
The suffocating foreboding forced Mortarion to instinctively take a step back.
He truly feared that in the very next moment, the Emperor would lose control, unleashing a psychic storm that would reduce the entire solar system to ash.
At last, Mortarion understood why the forces of Chaos had not simply stormed Terra outright—facing such a living doomsday weapon would be nothing short of suicidal.
"Father, we will atone for their sins—we will cleanse the shame of the Primarchs," Horus declared. He spoke not only of redeeming his own alternate self, but of redeeming the entire Luna Wolves Legion.
That name had once stood as the highest honor of the Imperium—yet now it had been cast aside, reviled as the Black Legion.
This was something Horus could not endure.
"There is no need. They will pay the price for their actions."
The Emperor's voice seemed to come from some distant realm. By the time Horus came back to his senses, he realized that he had been pulled into a psychic projection of the warp.
Here, the Emperor appeared as he had in his prime, a stark contrast to the corpse bound to the Throne.
"Father…"
Horus looked at him in astonishment, almost falling to his knees.
But the Emperor shook his head, eyes filled with the same paternal love tinged with sorrow as ever. "I am not your father. My son Horus was slain by my own hand ten thousand years ago."
Slaying Horus was the Emperor's unhealing wound, the deepest pain in his heart.
If he could choose again, he would have abandoned the Webway Project, devoting himself instead to his sons.
If humanity's extinction was fated, why had he forced himself to struggle against inevitability—only for it all to end in blood between father and son, with grief for the faithful and triumph for their enemies?
Yet when he beheld another universe's Emperor standing united with his sons, his heart found a measure of solace.
Not every strand of fate ended in darkness and despair.
"His failings, his mistakes have already been atoned for in death. You need not bear the burden of his sins."
"Your father has already given you his orders. You need only carry them out. The rest has already been arranged."
Unlike what Horus had expected, the Emperor did not receive him in wrath. Instead, he was gentle and compassionate, like a father reunited with his son after ages apart.
Horus's heart ached. He longed to embrace his father and weep, but the pride of the Warmaster of the Imperium would not allow such sentimentality.
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