Chapter 34: Prepare to Attack
The moment Francis crossed the threshold, Horus followed and sealed the chamber behind them.
"Don't turn around. I speak as Warmaster of the Imperium."
Francis paused, uncertain of the protocol required by such formality.
"Do you understand the Emperor's true design?" Horus began, his voice heavy with revelation. "He's preparing to sacrifice all humanity on the altar of His ascension to godhood."
"Before that transformation, He'll eliminate every Astartes, just as He purged the Thunder Warriors when their purpose was fulfilled."
"I am sure you understand the Emperor's hypocrisy! We're nothing more than tools to be discarded, instruments of—"
Horus's words grew passionate, his eyes beginning to redden as his emotions escalated.
"I accept." Francis interrupted in mid-speech.
The Warmaster stopped mid-sentence, stunned by the immediate agreement.
"You... agree? Do you understand what I'm proposing?"
"Yes. You want to kill the False Emperor. I agree completely, count me in."
Looking into Francis's clear, trusting eyes, Horus recalled the envy that had once consumed him. In fevered visions, he had even fantasised about destroying Francis's gestation pod before his awakening.
Such base jealousy! Such animal instinct!
Here stood a brother offering unconditional trust, while he harboured such vile thoughts. The shame hit him like a physical blow.
Without warning, Horus embraced Francis tightly.
Though puzzled by this emotional display, Francis returned the gesture warmly.
"To forge a reality where all Astartes might find happiness," Horus whispered, "I have no alternative."
"I understand completely, brother. I, too, want to pursue genetic advancement without restraint, to elevate the Astartes beyond their current limitations! To achieve true transcendence!"
Francis's passionate declaration made Horus's twin hearts race.
"My excellent brother! Show me your research achievements!" Horus demanded eagerly.
Francis activated his Hundred-Eyed Bio-Armour, every optical organ blazing to life across his form.
Horus fell silent, processing this revelation.
There was no doubt about it; it was certain Francis had already chosen rebellion. The Warmaster suspected that if he hadn't acted first, Francis might have started the uprising himself.
"This campaign requires the elimination of warriors within our Legions who maintain loyalty to the False Emperor," Horus explained gravely. "We have no choice, for the salvation of all Astartes, we must sacrifice a portion."
"You should prepare lists of the untrustworthy, so we can purge them when the moment arrives."
The words carried tremendous weight, for despite their necessity, these were still his gene-sons.
"But..." Francis began hesitantly.
Sensing reluctance, Horus pressed urgently, "For the new world we'll create, sacrifices are mandatory. We've already committed to this path."
"The difficulty is that our entire Legion participates in the rebellion."
Horus stared in shocked disbelief. "All of them?!"
"Yes. Every last Soul Drinker."
"Impossible! How could that be?"
The Warmaster's eyes widened as he roared his disbelief.
"See for yourself," Francis suggested, guiding Horus toward the Soul Drinkers' rest quarters.
The Astartes were consuming rations and maintaining equipment when they noticed their Primarch's approach. Instantly, they rose to attention with perfect synchronisation.
"Soul Drinkers!" Francis called. "What is our battle cry?"
Without hesitation, thousands of voices responded in thunderous unison:
"Slay the False Emperor! Humanity belongs to Chaos!"
"Slay the False Emperor! Humanity belongs to Chaos!"
The acoustic wave sent Francis's hair streaming in the artificial wind. Unfortunately, Horus's bald scalp offered no such dramatic effect.
Francis turned to his stunned brother with sudden inspiration. He nudged the motionless Warmaster and whispered conspiratorially, "Do you want hair restoration? I have specialized genetic treatments for follicular regeneration."
Horus's already wide eyes expanded further with alarm.
"No... unnecessary. I am... content as I am. You may keep such innovations for yourself."
With that said, Horus turned to depart immediately, as if some profound psychological blow struck him.
"Wait! Let's discuss this further! Where are you going?" Francis called after him.
"Don't follow me. Angron and the others are waiting in the left conference chamber. Go find them."
Horus's withdrawal was absolute, leaving Francis unable to pursue.
Very well, having committed to this course, he might as well investigate his other brothers' situations.
Crossing the bridge corridors, Francis noticed every passing Son of Horus recoiling at the sight of his bio-armour's alien appearance.
He shook his head dismissively. Clearly, they lacked exposure to true scientific advancement; their provincial minds were trapped in conventional thinking.
As he approached the conference chamber, voices drifted through the sealed portal, Angron's familiar tones mixed with another, softer speaker.
"Is the sensation truly so remarkable?"
"Beyond description. The deeper the relaxation, the more profound the euphoria becomes. Words can't capture this transcendent experience!"
"How did you achieve such a modification? Don't the Butcher nails typically induce only rage and bloodlust in you?"
"Francis deserves all credit; he is truly the greatest physician in Imperium. I vouch for that title, and it suits him perfectly."
"Do you have additional units? Perhaps I could also—"
Francis drew a sharp breath; suddenly, he was a little reluctant to enter. As someone with meta knowledge of 40k, the directions of that conversation seemed... problematic.
"Who is there?"
Two voices called simultaneously.
With no alternative remaining, Francis steeled himself and opened the portal.
The scene within was less scandalous than he thought. Fulgrim, Primarch of the Emperor's Children, stood before Angron, who reclined in a simple chair. Their positioning had created unfortunate implications, nothing more.
Recognising the impropriety, Fulgrim immediately claimed his own seat with fluid grace.
Only then could Francis properly observe his brother.
Fulgrim possessed striking silver-white hair that flowed like liquid mercury down his back. His eyes resembled deep mountain lakes, sparkling with intelligence and cunning calculation. His features achieved such perfect symmetry that they seemed sculpted by master artisans, creating an unforgettable impression of beauty.
As expected of the most aesthetically gifted among their brotherhood, Francis mused. Even transferred to feminine form, such perfection would remain unmatched.
"Too long have we been apart, Francis," Fulgrim spoke with gentle warmth, though his brow furrowed slightly. "Your... transformation is quite dramatic."
The Hundred-Eyed Bio-Armour's alien magnificence clearly disturbed his refined sensibilities.
"Death and resurrection tend toward significant change," Francis replied with self-deprecating humour.
Throughout this exchange, his countless optical organs scanned Fulgrim continuously, detecting clear Warp-taint upon his brother's essence. The corruption was external, forced integration rather than willing acceptance, with two distinct powers writhing in constant conflict.
Furthermore, Fulgrim's attention repeatedly returned to Angron, his legs shifting restlessly beneath the table, betraying his agitation.
The three Primarchs sat together in uncomfortable silence. Francis had never encountered such awkward situation before.
Finally, Fulgrim turned to Francis with eyes full of tender inquiry.
"I have been told you created that device on Angron's skull? Could you craft another one?"
Francis didn't show any emotion, but inside his head was screaming warning signals with mini Francis shouting 'Hell no', 'That motherfucker was weird from the start'
"The device was created using Angron's specific neural architecture," Francis answered truthfully. "He has the Butcher's Nails, so without precise modifications, installation would be fatal."
"I see. So anyone bearing the Butcher's Nails could receive such modification, correct?"
Angron and Francis "..."
Fulgrim's response sent chills through Francis's entire body. 'While lore said he was a good primarch for some reason, I am having doubts about his private life'
Fortunately, Horus chose that moment to enter the chamber.
The Warmaster surveyed the scene: Angron sprawled in artificial bliss, Fulgrim regarding Francis with unmistakably flirtatious glances, and Francis garbed in armour crafted from alien flesh and blood.
Though the operation hadn't yet begun, Horus was now self-doubting about the decision that he had made since the start of this operation.
Unbidden, whispered words echoed through his consciousness: "By calculation, you cannot win this battle. Only by joining me can you achieve victory~"
Horus violently shook his head, banishing the treacherous thought.
"We're approaching planetfall," he announced with forced authority. "The operation begins momentarily. Prepare yourselves for war."
[End of Chapter]
Are you winning son?