Excellent fluff (formerly Re: [Epic] did you know...

From: Oki Purwanto <oki_at_...>
Date: Wed, 22 Jul 1998 00:55:20 +0800

Arrgghh, what the heck. Let the naysayers scream their heads off in the
Warp. The stuff below is just excellent. Enjoy !

BTW if anyone has got different versions of the final battle, I would love
to read them.

Regards
Oki





The Horus Heresy

The Horus Heresy was the single largest upset in the history of the Imperium.
The Emperor's favoured primarch led half of his precious Space Marines
against him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even through the shields, the impact makes the imperial palace shake. With a
screech of tortured stone, an angel topples from its alcove high on the
throne room wall and crashes to the marble floor a kilometer below. It
shatters into a million pieces. Splinters of stone flash across the hall
like shrapnel.

From his throne the Emperor watches his warriors mill around in confusion.
This hall holds ten thousand men, seasoned veterans, and all are now
panicking. He knows they are more frightened by his silence than by the
enemy. They look to him for leadership, and he can give them none.

For the first time in his millenia long life, the Emperor knows despair. The
magnitude of his defeat stuns him. The lunar bases have fallen. Most of
Earth is under the Warmaster's heel. Rebel Titans surround the palace and
are held at bay only by the desperate efforts of a few loyalists. It is only
a matter of time before the palace's defences fail and the last bastions of
resistance fall.

"Sire, what are your orders?" asks Rogal Dorn, massive dark-haired Primarch
of the Imperial Fists. His golden armour has lost its lustre, is dented in a
dozen places by bolter shells. The Emperor doesn't answer. He is lost within
himself seeking answers to his own questions.

He has come at last to the dark place, the time of testing, the era hidden
from his precognitive vision and beyond which he cannot see. The moment he
has always dreaded has arrived. Is my time over, he wonders ? Is this where
it all ends ? Is this why I have reached the limits of my prophetic powers.
Is this where I die ?

He feels bewildered. Even now, with the Traitor Warmaster's forces battering
at the gate, he finds it difficult to believe that he has been betrayed.

Horus was more than a trusted comrade, more like a favoured son. Of all the
Primarchs, the Emperor relied on him the most. Not for a second had the
Emperor doubted him, not even when word had come from the Savage worlds that
the Warmaster was gathering forces. He had deluded himself that Horus must
have good reason to do so without consulting him. I should have been warned
by the failure of my precognition, he thinks.

"Sire, what are your orders?" asks Kane, acting Fabricator- General of the
Adeptus Mechanicus. He stares at the Emperor, a trick of the light turning
the glass slits of his brass mask into accusing eyes. Once more, the Emperor
does not reply. Kane's presence reminds him that not even the head of the
Adeptus is to be trusted. His superior, the former Fabricator-General, has
chosen to side with Horus.

On Mars, civil war rages between factions of Tech-priests. Ancient forbidden
weapons are being deployed. Viral plagues kill millions. Fusion bombs scar
the earth.



So much will be lost. He thinks of the slow piecing together of the old
science. The librarium technologicusis in flame now, ancient core data
systems in meltdown. The time of re-building is over. The Great Crusade, as
much a quest for knowledge as a war to reclaim the human worlds, is ended.
The Warmaster's treachery has seen to that.

"Sire, what are your orders ?" asks Saguinius, angel winged Primarch of the
Blood Angels. He gazes at the Emperor with blazing eyes, his face a mask of
terrible beauty.

The Emperor knows they rely on him for guidance. They still believe in him.
They think he can lead them from this trap. They are wrong.

Horus is the greatest the galaxy has ever known. Who should know better than
his creator ? He is schooled by a century of warfare. There will be no way
out, no loopholes, no flaws in the plan. The Warmaster would have to be mad
to leave one.

The Emperor looks down on the faces of his followers, sees the trust written
there, feels the weight of responsibility it brings.

He knows that for their sake, he must try, even if it is hopeless.

He casts forth his clairvoyant sight, lets his mind drift beyond the ruined
gardens of the palace, over fields where colossal Titans battle by the
twisted light of the sculpted moon. He sees the whole war spread out beneath
him, his pitifully outnumbered legions being mowed down by the traitor
hordes. He reaches up to the sky, where he senses the fleet of battle barges
that rain orbital doom upon the tortured earth. Amid those thousand
glittering points, he finds the Warmaster.

Hope flickers within him. The shields of Horus' ship are down. Briefly, he
wonders why. Is the traitor's confidence so overwhelming? Does he wish to
witness the battle himself. Or is it a trap ? The Emperor touches the ship
and recoils from what he senses within. How could Horus have done this, made
a pact with the ultimate abomination?

The Emperor comes to a decision. Trap or not, this is the only opportunity
he will get. He has no option but to seize it; the position is so desperate.
Even as his spirit returns to his body, the ominous thought strikes him that
the Warmaster must know this.

"What are your orders, Sire ?" Sanguinius asks again. The Emperor's eyes
snap open. His voice full of authority.

"Prepare to teleport. We will take the battle to the enemy."

The men smile confidently. They now have a purpose. While he reels of the
teleport co-ordinates they move, without question, to obey.

A flash of light, a feeling of coldness. They have teleported into the
Warmaster's ship. The Emperor takes an instant to reorientate himself and
realises that something has gone wrong. He stands in a vast, warped chamber
with only a few marines in attendance. The terminators and the Primarchs are
not present. How is this possible he wonders. Could Horus have disrupted the
teleportation beam ? Is he so powerful ?

Insane voices gibber madly inside his skull. There are figures trapped in
the stone walls of the vast room. Hands reach out for him, grasp at him with
rock like strength. He shrugs them off easily. His comrades are not so
lucky. Bolters chatter and flash as the marines attempt to fight off their
daemonic assailants.

A man screams as he is drawn into the dark and slimy walls. As he vanishes,
ripples spread from the point of his disappearance. The Emperor's sword
lashes out, severing limbs, freeing trapped marines. He summons his psychic
energies. A nimbus flickers around his head as he unleashes his power. A
tidal wave of destruction rips through the daemons, leaving his own men
unscathed.

He scans about him, seeking the Primarchs but the walls of the Warmaster's
battle barge are resistant to his mindsight. He gestures for the surviving
marines to follow him.

They wander through a ship distorted beyond all recognition by the warping
power of Chaos. Great sphincter doors distend from walls of flesh-like
stone. Transparent veins bear rivers of blood along the conduits in the
floor. Carpets of mucous cover a road of tongues.

Winged and distorted things that might once have been human flit through
archways of bone and perch on ledges of rib. The marines gasp in horror. He
exerts himself to calm them, psychically soothing their fear of this
dreadful place. All the while he scans the area looking for the spoor of
Horus. He knows now the nature of the pact the Warmaster has made and the
dreadful consequences of his victory.

They pass pits that gape like glistening gullets in the floor and echo the
beats of a distant giant heart. They are showered by waterfalls of stinking
yellowish liquid that cascades down cliffs of carved cartilage. Sometimes
they hear weapons fire but when they arrive at the source, they find nothing.

Mists of Rainbow vapour drift across their field of vision, obscuring
corridors of carnivorous stone. Clouds of insects swarm over their
faceplates and choke the extractors of their air pipes. They switch over to
internal oxygen supply.

They are ambushed by scuttling skull-faced things in the armour of marines.
They fight off hordes of mutated beasts. One by one they die. In the end the
emperor stands alone. Then and only then is he allowed to enter the presence
of Horus.

The Warmaster bestrides the body of a broken angel. Behind him, the tortured
earth fills the viewport, a bauble for Horus to seize with one clawed hand.
Corpses of massacred marines lie everywhere.

Face glowing with internal bloodlight, Horus speaks. "Poor Sanguinius. I
offered him a position of power in the new order. He could have sat at the
right hand of a god. Alas, he chose to align himself with the losing side."

The Emperor stands transfixed, trying to force frozen words from his tongue.
In the end, he can only whisper "Why?"

Mad laughter rings out. "Why? You ask me why ? Have all those millenia
taught you nothing ? Weak fool, your timidity prevented you from binding the
forces of Chaos. You shoed away from ultimate power. I have bound it to my
will and will lead humanity into the new age. I, Horus, Master Of Chaos !"



The Emperor looks at his former friend and shakes his head. He sees the trap
that has ensnared Horus. "No man can master Chaos." he says quietly. "You
have deluded yourself. You are the servant, not the master."

A look of rage transfigures the Warmaster. He stretches out a hand and a
bolt of force leaps forth. The Emperor screams as agony wracks his body.
"Feel the true nature of my power, then tell me I am deluded," roars Horus,
in the voice of an angry god.

Beads of sweat stand out on the Emperor's forehead, he steels himself
against the pain. "You are deluded," he says.

Once again Horus gestures and lances of pure poison sear through the
Emperor's veins. "I let you come here, old friend, so that you could witness
my triumph. Kneel before me and I will spare you. Acknowledge the new master
of mankind."

Desperately, the Emperor summons his power and lashes out. Lightening
flickers between the combatants. The stench of ozone fills the air. The
Emperor leaps forward, sword raised. Weapons clash as battle is joined on
every level: physical, spiritual and psychic.

Bolts of force flicker as mortal gods clash, balancing the fate of the
galaxy on every blow. Runesword and lightening claw ring against each other
with a sound like thunder. Energies potent enough to level planets are
unleashed.

A backhand buffet from Horus knocks the Emperor through a stone bulkhead.
The counter stroke tears a supporting column out of the ceiling as the
Warmaster ducks.

In the warp the Emperor hears the Chaos powers howl as they feed their pawn
more power. The Lord of Humanity stands alone against their massed might and
knows that he is losing. Somehow he cannot bring his full force to bear on
the Warmaster. Horus shows no such restraint.

A lightening claw cuts the Emperor's armour as if it were cloth, sheers
through flesh and bone. The Emperor ripostes with a psychic stroke intended
to disrupt the Warmaster's nervous system. Horus laughs as he deflects it.

His claw takes the Emperor across the throat, opening windpipe and jugular.
Another blow severs the tendons from his wrist, causing the sword to drop
from nerveless fingers.

Insane laughter echoes round the chamber. Horus breaks several ribs with an
almost playful punch. A surge of energy seers the Emperor's face, melting
the flesh till it runs, bursts an eyeball, sets the hair alight. The Emperor
stifles a whimper, wonders how he can be losing. Blackness threatens to
engulf him.

Horus graps his wrist, splintering bones. Blood pumps from the Emperor's
throat. Horus lifts his foe high above his head and brings him down accross
his knee, breaking his spine.

For a second, the Emperor knows only darkness, then a flare of agony brings
him back to consciousness as Horus rips his arm from its socket. The
Warmaster howls with bestial triumph.



Suddenly, the battering stops. Through his good eye the Emperor sees a
solitary Terminator has entered the room. The marine charges towards the
Warmaster, stormbolter blazing. Horus looks at him and laughs. For a moment
he stands triumphant, allowing the marine to see what he has done to his
Emperor.

The Emperor knows what is going to happen next, sees the gloating triumph on
Horus' face. There is no trace of his friend left there. There is only a
daemon driven by insane destructive fury.

Horus turns his burning gaze on the Terminator and the marine's flesh flakes
away to reveal his skeleton, then even that is gone, reduced to dust.

The Emperor sees the trap that has been set for him. He has been restraining
himself, trying not to hurt one who had been as a son to him. Now he sees
that there is no trace of his trusted comrade left. He knows that he must
stop this semblance of his former friend and avenge the fallen Terminator.
He [would] strike one deadly blow. He will get no other chance.

He gathers every particle of his power, focuses it into a mighty bolt of
pure force, more coherent than a laser, more destructive than an exploding
sun. He aims it at Horus, a lance of power destined for the madman's heart.
Horus senses the upsurge of energy and turns to face the Emperor, a look of
horror on his face.

The Emperor lets fly. It strikes the Warmaster. Horus screams as destruction
rains down on him, twisting and writhing in titanic agony. He strives
frantically to counter the Emperor's deathblow but his struggles become ever
more feeble as the lethal energies play over him.

Driven by all the force of his rage and pain and hatred the Emperor wills
Horus's death. He sense the forces of Chaos retreat, disengaging themselves
from their pawn. As they do so sanity returns to the Warmaster. The Emperor
sees realisation of the atrocities he has commited flicker across Horus'
face. Tears glisten there.

Horus is free, but the Emperor knows he himself is dying amd that the powers
of Chaos may once again possess the Warmaster, and he will not be there to
stop them. He cannot take that risk. Horus must die. Yet, for a second,
looking into his old friend's face, he hesitates, unable to do the deed.
Then he thinks of the slaughter that still goes on outside, may go on
forever. Resolve hardens within him.

He forces all mercy and compassion from his mind, empties it of all
knowledge of friendship, camaraderie and love. His eyes lock with Horus and
see understanding there. Then with full cold knowledge of what he is doing,
the Emperor destroys the Warmaster.

Rogal Dorn enters the chamber. Horror fills him as he sees the mutilated
form of the emperor and the shrivelled husk inside the Warmaster's armor. He
curses himself for taking so long to fight through the Chaotic hordes. He
knows now why their attacks ceased and why the ship is reverting to normal.

He rushes to the Emperor's side, detecting the faint pulse of life. Perhaps
there is yet hope. Perhaps the ruler of the Imperium may live. Dorn will do
his best to ensure it. - Bill King 1990 ( Taken from WhiteDwarf # 131 )
Received on Tue Jul 21 1998 - 16:55:20 UTC