The Warmaster sat on the strategium throne, observing reports from Isstvan III on the array of pict-screens before him and calculating all of his next moves inside his head.
Streams of combat statistics flowed across the screens, while pict-relays displayed the ongoing battles in Choral City. The World Eaters were at the centre of a monumental struggle. Thousands of people surged into the plaza before the Precentor's Palace, and the streets ran red with blood as the Astartes slaughtered wave after wave of Isstvanians who charged into their guns and chain blades.
The palace itself was intact for now, with only a few wisps of smoke indicating the fierce battle raging within it, as the Emperor's Children fought their way through its guards.
Vardus Praal, that wannabe follower of Chaos, would soon be dead, but Horus cared little for the fate of Isstvan III's rogue Planetary Governor. His rebellion was a tool, as it had allowed Horus to eliminate those he knew would never follow him on his great endeavour to march to Terra and kill his father.
What he wasn't really checking was the trenches. The information he got from Mortarion indicated no big problems on that front, and most importantly, the Dies Irae was doing more than well and would soon be notified of the 'changed circumstances'.
Horus looked up as Erebus of the Word Bearer's Legion approached.
"First Chaplain," Horus said sternly, "Matters are delicate. Do not disturb me needlessly."
"There is news from Prospero," Erebus replied, unperturbed.
Shadows swirled around his feet and the crozius he wore at his waist. The energies of the Warp were in full use and showed just how far this one had fallen, or how far he was already born at.
"Magnus?" Horus asked, suddenly interested.
That was another of Horus' ploys. His brother, Magnus the Red, was the second most powerful psyker in the galaxy after their father, and Horus knew that he would become a problem and could stop their plans.
So, after a great and stupid mistake on Magnus' part, the Emperor had one of his most secret plans ruined and ordered his son, Leman Russ, who just so happened to be his executioner, to capture Magnus and bring him to Terra.
Now, Horus saw this as his chance, and since his treachery hadn't yet been known and he was the Warmaster, he changed the order he had received from the Emperor. From 'capturing' Magnus, to 'killing' him.
This caused a massive war between the Space Wolf legion under Russ and the Thousand Sons under Magnus. And it would be known as the Burning of Prospero, the home planet of Magnus and his legion.
"He still lives," Erebus said, "but not for lack of effort on the part of the Wolves of Fenris. The fighting was to our advantage and effective."
"Magnus lives," Horus snarled. "Then he may yet be a danger."
"Not anymore," Erebus assured him. "The spires of Prospero have fallen, and the Warp echoes with the powerful sorcery Magnus used to save his warriors and escape. And he is no longer the same as he was before, if the signs are to be believed."
"Always sorcery," Horus remarked. "Where did he escape to?"
"I do not know yet," Erebus replied, "but wherever he goes, the Emperor's dogs will hunt him down."
"And he will either join us or die alone in the voids of the galaxy," Horus said thoughtfully. "To think that so much depends on the personalities of so few. Magnus was nearly my deadliest enemy, perhaps as dangerous as the Emperor himself. Now he has no choice but to follow us until the very end. If Fulgrim brings Ferrus Manus into the fold, then we have as good as won."
Horus waved dismissively at the view screens depicting the battle in the Choral City. His genius strategic mind already saw the patterns and knew what would happen. At least from the parameters he knew about and the feedback he got.
"The Isstvanians believe the gods have come to destroy them, and in a way, they are right. Life and death are mine to dispense. What is that, if not the power of a god?"
.
The controls of the Thunderhawk felt unsteady in Tarvitz's hands, as if the ship itself was trying to break free and spin wildly into the abyss of space. His training on these newer Astartes gunships had been minimal, and most of what he had learned had come during atmospheric manoeuvres, skimming low to drop troops or provide fire support. Now, he was alone, piloting a craft he barely understood how to control.
[Thunderhawk, identify yourself,] crackled a voice through the ship's vox system.
He had just crossed into the engagement range of the Andronius, and the defence turrets had locked onto his position. If fortune favoured him, he might buy a few precious moments before they fired, moments that could put distance between himself and the Andronius.
Moments he desperately needed.
[Thunderhawk, identify yourself,] the voice repeated, and Tarvitz knew he had to stall for time.
The distance from the Andronius, however slight, was his only hope.
"This is Captain Saul Tarvitz, en route to the Endurance on liaison duty."
[Wait for authorisation.]
He scoffed internally, knowing that authorisation wouldn't come. Each second he bought out there brought him closer to safety and further from the Andronius. He pushed the Thunderhawk thrusters to their limits.
[Stand down, Thunderhawk. Return to the Andronius immediately.]
"Negative, Andronius," Tarvitz replied, feigning a glitch in the transmission. "Transmission is breaking up."
It was a desperate trick, but it might give him those crucial extra seconds, but that was it.
[I repeat, stand--]
"Go to hell," Tarvitz said finally.
At the same time, on the deck of the Andronius, senior deck officer Saeverin brought news to Lord Commander Eidolon of the Emperor's Children.
"The pride of the Emperor is en route. Though the vessel's Navigator reports they're facing difficulties. Lord Fulgrim won't be joining us anytime soon."
"Has he sent any word regarding his mission?" Eidolon asked sharply as was his way.
"Communications remain quite poor, but from what we've gathered, the news isn't optimistic."
"Then we must make up for that with our conduct and the excellence of our Legion," Eidolon declared, his confidence unwavering. "Others may be more brutal, resilient, or stealthy, but none can match the perfection of the Emperor's Children. Regardless of the challenges ahead, we must always strive to reach perfection."
"Of course, Commander," Saeverin responded, but just as he finished, a series of warning lights flickered to life on his console.
His fingers moved over the controls as he turned to face Eidolon.
"Lord Commander, we may have a situation."
"Do not speak to me of problems," Eidolon snapped.
"Defence control reports they've detected a Thunderhawk heading for the planet's surface."
"Is it one of ours?"
"It appears so. I'm getting verification now."
"Who is piloting it? No one is authorised to descend to the surface."
"The last communication was from Captain Saul Tarvitz," Saeverin said.
"Tarvitz?" Eidolon said, a grimace crossing his face. "Damn him, he's a constant nuisance. Where's he headed?"
"To the Choral City," Saeverin replied.
Eidolon's lips curved into a cruel smile. He didn't like Tarvitz and his lack of ambition to truly reach perfection in all things, and his effortless way of doing things.
"He's trying to warn them. He thinks he can be a hero. Send out fighters and shoot him down. We can't afford any complications at this stage of the plan."
"Aye, sir."
.
Tarvitz needed to hurry up, but it seemed that his noble character and loyalty weren't going to be rewarded today, as he got into the sensor range of the Death Guard Strike Cruiser, the Eisenstein.
During an earlier battle in the Isstvan System, Captain Garro of the Death Guard had been wounded and lost one of his legs, which an augmetic one had now replaced. The gyros had not yet meshed with his nervous system, leaving him denied his place at the Death Guard speartip during the ground assault on Isstvan III.
He was just informed that an Emperor's Children Thunderhawk was passing through our engagement zone.
"Sounds like trouble," Garro said. "Put us on an interceptor course."
"Yes, Captain."
The roof of the Thunderhawk hummed with the vibration of high-atmosphere friction, but Saul Tarvitz barely noticed, too focused on the task at hand and the betrayal. He gripped the flight controls, wrestling the heavy gunship through a chaotic, spinning trajectory as Isstvan III tilted wildly across his view screen.
Behind him, the predatory silhouettes of his own Legion's fighters pursued with that cold and methodical way that proved their wish to achieve perfection, painting the black void with ruby-red lances of laser fire.
Heavy impacts jolted the transport's frame. Red crisis alerts and system notifications flared to life across the cockpit console, reflecting off the polished purple-and-gold sheen of his power armour.
The automated warning runes in his retinas flashed erratically as the port engine shuddered, shrieking in mechanical agony.
Tarvitz attempted evasive manoeuvres but couldn't defend himself. He used all the skills he had, but the unfamiliarity of the vessel made this an impossibility against the perfection of his legion... a fact that he disliked very much right now.
BEEP--BEEP--
Desperate to shut out the static of his failing systems, Tarvitz reached for the tactical vox-unit, half-expecting to hear the mocking, arrogant voices of his treacherous brothers gloating over his impending demise.
Instead, a heavy, familiar Terran voice cut through the link.
[Thunderhawk on a closing vector with the Eisenstein. Identify yourself immediately or face defensive fire.]
A wave of relief washed over Tarvitz, nearly causing his grip on the cyclic stick to slip.
"Nathaniel? It is Saul! By the blood of the line, it is good to hear your voice, my brother!"
On the bridge of the Eisenstein, Captain Garro stared hard at his tactical display, his brow furrowed beneath his helmet. Beside him, the glowing icons of the tracking plot showed Tarvitz's lone gunship weaving through a lethal bracket of interceptor fire and taking damage.
[Saul? What is the meaning of this? Why are your own fighters attempting to tear you from the sky?]
"It is treachery, Nathaniel! A betrayal of everything we have bled for!" Tarvitz yelled over the scream of his dying engine, hauling the craft into a violent bank.
He tried to fly down and reach Choral City, and pushed the nose of the Thunderhawk down, almost shooting vertically. Below, the massive hull of the Andronius and the rest of the armada hung in low orbit, about to act as executioners.
"The Warmaster has sealed the planetary vox. They are loading the guns. They are preparing to purge the surface with the Life-Eater virus!"
Disbelief crackled over the link.
[What? Saul, that is madness. The Legions are victorious below. The compliance is earned.]
"I swear it to you on my life, on the honour oath we bound together on the bloody fields of Preaixor!" Tarvitz's voice cracked with immense desperation. "They have cut off all ship-to-surface channels. If I cannot punch through this fighter screen and drop a warning to the surface, ninety thousand of our battle-brothers are going to turn into liquid sludge where they stand!"
Several attacks hit the Thunderhawk and caused it to shudder and Tarvitz to lose control for a second, before managing to get it back and move out of the way in the nick of time.
Garro froze. His analytical, stubborn mind reeled against the sheer horror of the claim. Every instinct forged in the Imperial Truth told him such a monumental crime was impossible. You couldn't betray the Emperor; that was just not possible, was it?
And even if that were true, then their gene father, Mortarion, would have to know about it. He wouldn't do that to his sons... right?
Yet, he looked down at the eagle emblem Tarvitz had carved into his vambrace years ago. Saul Tarvitz did not lie. He did not exaggerate... he was his brother, his friend...
As Garro wrestled with the terrifying weight of a decision that would redefine his existence and perhaps save the Imperium of Man, his vox suddenly hissed with static, then was overridden by a completely foreign, heavily distorted signal.
The voice that cut into the channel didn't belong to the polished ranks of the Emperor's Children, but it did carry the familiar cadence of Garro's own Terran veterans. And yet, there was something different about it.
It was deep, metallic, and carried a chilling, dual-layered resonance, like dozens of voices speaking in perfect, synchronised unison through a single vox-grill.
[Eisenstein, authenticate tactical override code Omega-Gothic-Three,] the voice rumbled from the surface of Isstvan III, cold and urgent.
[This is the inner western trench line, Death Guard vanguard. Captain Garro, your honour-brother speaks the truth. The upper atmosphere is already registering orbital tracking telemetry for a heavy saturation strike. The Life-Eater is coming.]
Garro's hand tightened on his power sword's hilt.
"Identify yourself. Who commands that channel?"
[You may call me Alexei. Consider me the first of the dead who refuses to rot, Captain,] the voice replied, a grim, mocking undercurrent running through the metallic echo.
Alexei was speaking through the hijacked vocal synthesiser of his newly claimed Death Guard body. He had attempted to do it and, surprisingly, created a digital vox-virus that took control of the systems and connected to the Eisenstein to warn Nathaniel Garro, one of, if not the most important, men who would warn the Imperium of the coming conflict.
He and Tarvitz were, without a doubt, two of the biggest heroes of the Horus Heresy. Although that was hard to say, it is true that without them, the Imperium will definitely fall and be defeated by Horus.