Chapter 32: The Battle of Isstvan III Begins
"Don't worry, brother," Francis said calmly. "With Angron's support and two full Legions, we can withdraw safely if things go wrong."
Leman Russ frowned, his weathered face showing concern. "Wouldn't that be dangerous? We don't know how far this rebellion has spread. What if all our brothers have turned traitor?"
The Wolf King trusted few beyond the Emperor himself. Only Francis commanded such trust.
Francis was quiet for a moment. "If they all rebel, then I'd tell you to surrender. That way, no matter who wins, we survive."
Leman Russ went pale, his hands shaking. "You... you're actually thinking about rebelling!"
The Wolf King's hand moved toward his great axe, killing intent flashing in his grey eyes.
"How can you think that of me!" Francis laughed, clapping his brother's shoulder. "I'm loyal to the Emperor alone. I was testing you, brother. Look how quickly you got alarmed!"
Leman Russ relaxed but looked annoyed. "Don't say things like that, Francis. Even as a joke, it could draw unwanted attention from Terra."
Francis's smile turned predatory. "Imperial bureaucrats? They'll make perfect test subjects for my laboratories."
Leman Russ fell silent, unease crawling up his spine.
The chamber doors opened, and Space Wolves warriors entered. They stiffened when they saw Francis's expression.
"My lord," one veteran said to the Wolf King, "we have word from the Warmaster."
"Speak."
"The Warmaster knows the Soul Drinkers Legion is with our forces. He orders both Legion and Primarch to proceed immediately to the Isstvan III system for an important meeting."
"Three days have passed since we received this order. We await your command, my lord."
The warriors delivered their message precisely, though their discomfort around Francis was obvious.
Leman Russ glanced at his brother, who nodded slightly. After thinking briefly, he spoke.
"Tell the Warmaster we'll comply. We'll proceed to Isstvan III for this meeting."
"By your will, my lord!"
The warriors hesitated, creating awkward silence.
"Why are you still here? Prepare for departure immediately."
The Space Wolves parted, revealing Bjorn, Captain of the Third Great Company. In this timeline, he still had both arms since the Thousand Sons remained loyal.
Bjorn approached respectfully, carrying several sealed containers which he presented to Francis.
Both Primarchs looked confused.
"We thank you for your help in the recent battle, Lord Francis," Bjorn said formally. "These are trophies from previous campaigns. The Soul Drinkers told us of your... research interests."
Francis took the containers, reading their bio-hazard labels with growing excitement. "Xenos specimens: Nomads... Warp Parasites... Enslavers..."
His eyes gleamed. "Excellent specimens! These will serve my work well."
Leman Russ reached for the containers, but Francis clutched them protectively. "These are sincere offerings from your gene-sons, brother. I must accept to honor their gesture. Get your own if you want some."
Francis departed quickly, securing his prize.
Bjorn watched him leave, confused. "My lord, is he...?"
"Don't ask," Leman Russ sighed, covering his face. "Someone will suffer for this gift, mark my words. Keep your distance from him in future."
After dismissing his warriors, Leman Russ was about to think when Francis's head appeared around the doorframe.
"Get extensive anti-gas equipment. You'll need protection when meeting the Astartes on Isstvan III."
The Wolf King nodded. "Understood. But why don't we gather loyal brothers immediately and confront Horus directly on Isstvan III?"
"Brother, your strategic thinking needs work!"
"If you contacted other Primarchs now claiming Horus turned traitor, would they believe you? Would they follow your commands over the Warmaster's?"
"Think carefully. Do you have strong bonds with our brothers like Horus does? If I recall, your first encounter with...?"
Leman Russ lunged forward, covering Francis's mouth while hissing urgently, "By the Throne, how do you know such details? Your power is seeing the future, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," Francis replied after freeing himself. "Such is the gift of foresight." He vanished again.
As Leman Russ settled, Francis reappeared with more advice.
"After Isstvan III, go immediately to Isstvan V for the next meeting. When you encounter Ferrus Manus, tell him this..."
"What message?" Leman Russ demanded, frustrated by his brother's incomplete communications.
"Tell the Iron Father: if victory proves impossible, he can withdraw without any shame!" Francis disappeared again, leaving the Wolf King speechless.
Meanwhile, in the void near Isstvan III, aboard the Vengeful Spirit...
Darkness filled the Warmaster's private chambers. Destroyed furniture and twisted metal showed recent violence.
Whispers from the Warp assaulted Horus's mind:
"By my calculations, this war cannot be won. Only through alliance with me shall victory be achieved."
"Come, play with us. Pain has no meaning here."
"Skulls for the Skull Throne! Power beyond imagination awaits."
"Approach, my child, and receive eternal existence."
The Chaos Gods' corruption ate at the Warmaster's sanity.
Horus lay on his bed, fighting the alien thoughts. "Begone! All of you, begone!"
"I won't yield to you! This power is mine! My soul remains mine!"
"The Imperium will be mine!"
"I'll kill the False Emperor and storm the Warp itself, claiming all your strength!"
Pain shot through his skull as visions plagued him. Magnus sat on the Golden Throne, smiling warmly. The Emperor looked with pride at all His sons, except one.
"NO! NO! NO!!!"
"That throne is MINE! Mine by right!"
"Magnus doesn't deserve such honor!"
Horus's rage destroyed the reinforced bed and reduced the chamber to wreckage. The entire battle-barge shook from his fury.
Outside the sealed doors, Sons of Horus warriors exchanged fearful glances. The Warmaster's episodes had worsened since leaving the Serpent Lodge, though none dared speak of it.
Two hours later, the portal opened, revealing Horus in perfect composure. The contrast was almost supernatural.
"Report. When do the World Eaters arrive?" His voice carried familiar authority as he entered the strategium.
"We've heard of complications involving their Primarch, my lord. Their arrival is uncertain."
Horus's fist crashed against the tactical display. "Worthless! Completely worthless! He deserves purging like those two lost Primarchs!"
The outburst ended suddenly. Settling into his command throne, Horus's expression became calculating.
"What of the Eleventh Primarch?"
"Lord Francis travels with the Space Wolves contingent. They've acknowledged your summons and are moving to the coordinates."
The intelligence reports detailed Francis's recent activities, especially his genetic research.
Horus studied the data with growing interest, his strategic mind seeing opportunity.
"Perhaps Francis will be receptive to our cause. He understands the Imperium's corruption better than most."
"The False Emperor purged His own sons. Surely Francis understands such hypocrisy."
"Once he grasps the Emperor's true nature, he'll join our righteous rebellion."
The Warmaster grew enthusiastic as he convinced himself. The assembled Sons of Horus responded with thunderous acclaim:
"For the Warmaster!"
"For the Warmaster!"
"For the Warmaster!"
On Malchorea...
"Achoo!"
Francis rubbed his nose irritably. "Someone's talking about me. Wonder if they're blessing or cursing me." He gestured toward Angron, who sat weeping in the corner.
"I have no ill will toward you," Angron replied through tears, "only pure sadness." He clutched a small flower, plucking its petals rhythmically.
"Pull yourself together for a moment, Angron. I need to discuss something important."
"What?" Angron looked up with tear-bright eyes.
Francis leaned forward, his voice carrying an unusual tone. "Tell me, brother... do you desire to become the Warmaster?"
[End of Chapter]