Chapter 165 - Reunion Once More
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"Commander, you haven't seemed yourself lately. Agitated one moment, listless the next."
Loken said it plainly.
Seated in the command chair with his eyes on the star charts, Horus coughed twice.
"Don't worry about it. I just haven't had a battle to fight, so I'm... ahem." He pivoted without missing a beat. "Have your weapons and power armor been properly maintained? As First Captain, you can't afford to slack off, Loken."
Loken responded in earnest.
"M-my weapons and power armor stand ready for you at all times, my Wolf God."
"Well. Good."
Horus was already reaching for another deflection when Loken cut straight to it.
"Are you... missing Lord Kaelen?"
The last shred of pretense was gone. Horus stopped trying.
The great bald head poured himself a drink, downed it in one go, and breathed out slowly.
"Habit, Loken."
He said it like that was the whole explanation. Then he kept going.
"A habit. Our time as a trio was shorter than all the years I spent leading the Legion — but we built something real in those months. I got used to that way of living."
He paused.
"You're right. With Kaelen gone, I feel the absence. Because I can't hear it from anyone else, those jokes of his, those strange, sideways topics he'd drag out of nowhere just to take the edge off."
As he spoke, he cast a vaguely aggrieved look at his son.
"You should learn something from your Uncle Kaelen."
"My lord, I am a warrior. I don't have Togaddon's gift for banter."
"Ha. That kid could always make me laugh too."
Horus shook his head, still smiling.
"Loken, I once asked Kaelen, if he could become a Space Marine, which Legion he'd want to join. Take a guess."
Loken looked genuinely puzzled.
"Wouldn't Lord Kaelen naturally come to us? The Luna Wolves?"
Horus shook his head.
"His first choice was my little brother's Raven Guard, after Corax returns. After that, Jaghatai Khan's White Scars. And if neither of those, then Guilliman's Ultramarines."
"I was curious too, at the time. So afterward I studied my brother Guilliman's work — the Codex Astartes — and I came to understand well enough where our Legion's weaknesses lie."
"The sons of Cthonia are fierce fighters. That's never been in question. But gang culture has seeped into the Legion's bones. Cliques, factions, warrior lodges everywhere. On the surface it looks like brotherhood and mutual improvement. In practice it's insular. Exclusionary."
"So when I rebuild the Legion, that habit gets left behind."
"Then will Lord Kaelen join?"
Horus smiled at that.
"I think if I offered him a posting as my advisor, he'd be willing enough."
The command chamber door opened. Sevatar stepped inside and reported.
"Lord Lupercal, the fleet is preparing for its final Warp jump. We will arrive in the Yax System shortly and rendezvous with Lord Guilliman."
The fatigue in Horus's face cleared all at once.
"Good. Understood."
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Horus's fleet arrived in the Yax System one week later.
Before they got there, they had already helped Guilliman drive off and shatter the plague fleets pressing against the Five Hundred Worlds.
Victory in the void belonged to the Imperium.
Now the Imperial forces were massing on Yax itself, the planet on which the fate of the entire Five Hundred Worlds depended. This was where the Loyalists would make their final stand against the forces of Chaos.
Horus ordered the fleet's main strength to hold at the system's edge and within the asteroid belts. He himself pressed on to Yax with a small flotilla.
He knew that preening peacock Fulgrim was already on his way. The best way to handle an arrogant, fallen brother was to keep the fist hidden until he came close enough, then put it through his face.
With everything arranged, Horus took the small assault flotilla, Konrad Curze at his side, four full-strength Astartes chapters embarked, and drove straight for the surface.
The once-prosperous capital plaza of Yax had been gutted and remade into a massive forward command hub.
The wind still carried the faint smell of rot and gunpowder.
When the transport vessel with its striking livery settled onto the landing pad, Guilliman was already there, honor guard at his back, waiting.
The hatch opened. Horus came out first. A step behind him came the Lord of Night, Konrad Curze, expression still dark, but the madness gone from his eyes.
"Brother!" Guilliman closed the distance in a few long strides, arms open wide.
Horus laughed and went to meet him. The two giants came together hard, their armor crashing with a deep, resonant CLANG of metal. Then Guilliman turned to Curze and clapped a hand on the shoulder of this brother who had always lived in the shadows. Curze didn't smile. But he gave a slight nod.
"Look who made it."
A teasing voice, from somewhere behind Guilliman.
Horus turned. Standing on the steps were Kaelen and Cullen.
He grinned and crossed to his mortal friend, the two of them embracing and bumping fists.
"How did it go, my Wolf God?"
"Same as always, my friend. We came home with a victory. In this whole expedition, only the plague fleet gave me anything worth taking seriously."
"And the T'au Empire?"
"Those ones?" Horus waved it off. "I didn't even bother with full strength."
3 months apart, and the three of them fell straight back into easy conversation. The atmosphere felt nothing like a battlefield. It felt like a tavern, comfortable, unhurried, like there was nowhere else to be.
Until a set of footsteps broke through.
Steady, but hesitant.
Horus's laughter died. He turned toward the sound.
The moment he saw the face, the Wolf God went still and drew a sharp breath.
Behind him, Curze's whole body locked up. The muscles along his jaw twitched, a visible, involuntary thing. Whatever was moving behind his eyes was hard to read, and harder to name.
"Is it you? Brother?"
Horus took one instinctive step forward. Then he stopped. His voice carried something close to disbelief.
Standing before them was the cloned Fulgrim, dressed in that suit of Byzantine purple power armor.
The flawless quality that had surrounded him during the Great Crusade ten thousand years ago was still there, unchanged, intact. And with the blessing of Sanguinius's feather added to it, there was something else beneath it now: a purity that settled the chest, that made the breath come easier.
"Lupercal. It's me."
Fulgrim answered quietly.
He moved half a step forward, reaching out, then he looked at Horus. He looked at Curze, coiled tight beside him. And he let his half-raised hand fall, slowly, back to his side.
He couldn't bring himself to touch them. These hands had been stained with too much. He would not let them dirty something this hard to come by.
And when his gaze finally crossed Konrad Curze's, the cloned Fulgrim looked away, almost in disarray.
➤ Next: The Final Battle Begins
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