Chapter 195: The Return of Horus

As Horus walked the ruined path, visions assailed his eyes—scenes so grotesque they might have broken a lesser mind.

He saw Astartes—those once-proud warriors of the Emperor—reduced to marionettes, slain by mortal men wielding strange powers. He watched as fanatical cultists knelt in bloodied mire, flagellating themselves in frenzied worship. Nobles died like vermin, while the devout perished in blind folly. The Imperium, whether led by the high or the low, seemed to be drowning in a vortex of decay and madness.

Had it not been for Dukel's visage appearing at the end of the vision, Horus might have believed the Imperium had fallen fully under Lorgar's influence.

It was Dukel's presence alone that convinced him this could not be real.

Because the long-lost master of the Second Legion—once a brother, once a paragon—could never return.

The erasure of the Second and Eleventh Primarchs had long haunted him. In their disappearance, Horus had come to understand a grim truth: that Primarchs, Astartes, even heroes crowned in glory, were but weapons. Tools of war. Cast aside when their usefulness waned—just like the Thunder Warriors before them.

"Dukel... he was a warrior I admired. His courage was unmatched," Horus murmured, eyes heavy with sorrow as he turned to Lorgar.

"The disappearance of the Second was the beginning. If a warrior like him could be buried and forgotten, then what hope is there for any of us? I don't know the meaning behind these visions, but I know this much—he will never return. Our failure, my failure, will doom the Imperium to collapse beneath the weight of mortal incompetence."

His voice trembled with anguish.

He had once glimpsed the future—the fate of mankind laid bare. He saw the Emperor entombed, the Primarchs vanished, and a crumbling Imperium ruled by fragile mortals, lost in darkness with no light to guide them.

The erasure of the Second and Eleventh only served to reinforce that prophecy. Deep within, the seeds of rebellion were beginning to stir once more.

Lorgar's voice pierced the silence. "Brother, I know you cling to the past, but I must tell you—Dukel has returned. It has been ten thousand years, and he now wears the mantle of Warmaster."

"What...?" Horus's eyes widened. "Ten thousand years? That's impossible."

"And what you saw—was no illusion," Lorgar added. "It is all real."

Horus reeled. "Tell me everything. If Dukel is truly back, how could he allow this darkness to fester?"

Lorgar's tone grew grim. "My words cannot capture the weight of these ten millennia. But here, in this realm where time and space are illusions, history and future alike can manifest before your eyes. You can see the truth for yourself—but you must hurry. Once the sun rises here, you will lose your chance to return to the real universe."

Silence fell as Horus stared into the shifting ether.

"…Then I will see the truth with my own eyes."

Summoning his resolve, he prepared to face whatever horrors lay ahead.

Under Lorgar's guidance, Horus watched one fragment of history after another pass before him—each one a dagger to the heart.

He saw the Emperor enthroned upon the Golden Throne, his mortal shell discarded. Once a man, now a god, surrounded by worshippers who knew nothing of the truth.

And in that moment, Horus felt no surprise. Deep down, he had always suspected it. The Emperor's grand vision, he believed, had always been a lie—a stepping stone to ascension.

He watched as his brothers fell one by one.

Guilliman, mortally wounded by Fulgrim's blade.

The Wolf, charging into the Eye of Terror on a fool's crusade.

The Lion, struck down by the traitor Cypher, left broken.

Dorn, maimed and barely alive.

And with the demi-gods gone, mortal hands took the reins. The result was exactly as Horus had foreseen: ignorance, war, and endless collapse.

The Imperium he had bled for during the Great Crusade had become a nightmare—its people enslaved by superstition, its wars endless, its purpose lost.

"All this… because I failed," Horus whispered. His voice was hollow.

"I missed my chance. I could have prevented this…"

He clenched his fists, fury smoldering beneath his skin.

"Father… you have failed your sons."

It took every ounce of discipline not to let his wrath consume him.

This was the dark future he had once rebelled to prevent—now made manifest.

Countless billions had been fed to the furnace of war. Their hopes, dreams, and lives ground to ash by the unrelenting machine of the Imperium. They worshipped gods, not knowing it was the failure of those very gods—Primarch and Emperor alike—that had cursed them to a life of darkness.

"Do not despair," Lorgar said gently. "There is still a way. If you return to the real universe, you may yet stop this."

Horus exhaled. The fire in his eyes dimmed—but only slightly.

"You surprise me, Lorgar," he said. "I never thought you cared for the Imperium's fate."

A trace of sarcasm hung on his voice.

"But tell me—what of Dukel? How could he let all this happen?"

"I don't care for the Imperium's rotting corpse," Lorgar replied. "But our goals align, Horus."

He looked into Horus' eyes, and his voice grew cold.

"We must stop Dukel. He has gone mad. Madder than any daemon prince, madder than even the gods. His madness unnerves even them."

"That's why I brought you back."

"No…" Horus recoiled. "That's not possible. He would never—"

"Come. See for yourself."

Lorgar led Horus to a monstrous, blood-soaked factory.

A scene of unspeakable horror unfolded before them.

Creatures—some mortal, some daemon—were bound to conveyor belts like livestock. Their souls and bodies were tortured beyond comprehension, their screams echoing through the void. Pain dripped from the very air. And then, silence—collapse.

The vision shifted.

Dukel stood at the center of the stars, staring into the void. And in that moment, the galaxy trembled.

A great black star devoured the Sea of Souls. Warp energy, immeasurable and ancient, was siphoned into oblivion—drawn to an unknown end.

Even as an illusion, it was overwhelming.

Horus felt it—an omen of the end. The very fabric of the universe was unraveling.

Lorgar spoke again.

"I don't know where Dukel found the forbidden technologies he now commands, but the first thing he did upon awakening… was to begin the final annihilation of reality. If we do not stop him, there will be no Imperium, no Warp, no Chaos. Only oblivion."

"That's... that's insane," Horus whispered.

His thoughts scattered like ash in a solar wind.

But Lorgar was not done.

"Come. There is still more you must see."

"In this realm, we are granted glimpses of fractured futures," Lorgar said, gesturing toward the scene unfolding before them. "This is the future that Dukel will bring upon the galaxy."

The illusion that followed was deathly silent.

The stars vanished. The void became absolute.

The entire universe was unraveling at an impossible speed. What remained of the material realm collided with the Immaterium, birthing an apocalyptic cacophony—one final scream before absolute stillness.

Humanity had vanished.

There was no trace of the Imperium that once spanned the galaxy, no sign of the trillions who had lived and died under its iron rule. They were gone, as if they'd never existed.

Even Lorgar, who had seen this vision many times before, flinched. Fear flashed through his eyes, raw and unfiltered.

"Horus, my brother," he said, voice low with urgency, "if you cannot stop him—everything you see now will come to pass."

Lorgar turned his gaze away, unwilling to look any longer. "Come with me. We must return to the Materium. We've little time left if we're to prevent this catastrophe."

Horus stood in stunned silence, struggling to process the impossible revelation. A great warlord—newly awakened from ten millennia of oblivion—struck mute by the scale of destruction he'd just witnessed.

Seeing this, Lorgar forced their journey onward. This time, his steps were faster, more desperate.

Eventually, they arrived at a gate rising from a churning, obsidian sea—a crystalline monolith that shimmered with unholy power. From the other side came sounds of war: battle cries, roars, and the echo of steel.

The discordant howls unsettled Horus. Unease wormed into his thoughts.

Then, from the blackened waters, shapes began to emerge—figures cloaked in golden flame. They cried out his name, beckoning him to return to them.

Horus faltered.

There was something hauntingly familiar about these fire-wreathed shades. They stirred something deep in his soul—an ancient memory he could not fully grasp.

They were small, almost childlike. But their presence was weighty, pulling at something sacred and buried within him.

"Come with me, Horus," Lorgar said. "This universe needs a hero. A true one."

He stepped forward, voice edged with pleading desperation.

"As long as you take this step, everything changes. You will return to the material universe, and complete what you once failed to finish."

He pointed to the figures burning in golden flame.

"These are nothing but ghosts from the Warp. They seek to stop you from violating the taboo of resurrection. They'll do anything to deceive you, to keep you here. Don't listen to them, brother. Only you can prevent the coming annihilation."

Lorgar's voice rose with intensity.

"When the sun rises from this sea of ruin, no force will be able to bring you back. Horus, will you abandon your destiny and allow the galaxy to fall into eternal void?"

The words struck Horus like thunder.

He hesitated for only a moment longer. Then, slowly, he turned his back on the spectral figures—those golden, desperate phantoms clawing toward him through the ocean. They strained to reach him, but something unseen held them back.

Horus gave them one last glance.

Then he stepped into the crystalline gate, his expression resolute.

He had returned to finish what he started.

He would confront Dukel, bring him back from the abyss—or destroy him, if need be. The fate of the universe hung in the balance.

Behind him, the little figures cried out in anguish. Their voices, high and sorrowful, echoed through the void. They begged him not to leave them behind.

But Horus did not turn back.

He walked forward, his silhouette vanishing into the shimmering portal.

And when the two Primarchs disappeared, the realm shattered.

The Warp, ever violent, tore the illusory space apart with tempestuous fury.

The cold, golden sun finally rose from the sea. But it was too late.

Four immense shadows, ancient and malevolent, entwined themselves around the light. None could fully escape into reality—but neither could the sun shine past them.

Its light was caged.

Its warmth was lost.

Horus awakened.

He emerged from the nutrient tank, eyes wide and alert.

Around him knelt the Word Bearers, their armor slick with ritual oils, their expressions filled with religious fervor.

"Glory to the returned warlord!" one cried.

"Greetings, Great Horus," another intoned reverently. "Speak your will, and we shall carry it to the ends of the galaxy."

Their voices blended into a choir of devotion, every word dripping with fanaticism.

The Warmaster had returned.

And the galaxy would tremble once more.

"No need," Horus said coldly. "I remain loyal to the Imperium. I don't need your aid."

He rose from the nutrient tank, the fluid still clinging to his form. But just as he prepared to move, he froze.

A strange sensation.

He looked down at his hands—foreign, unfamiliar.

"This... is not my body," he said, his voice sharp with suspicion. "What is the meaning of this?"

"My lord," one of the Word Bearers said, bowing low, "your original form was destroyed—slain by Abaddon, the Despoiler. What you inhabit now is a clone. But rest assured, the vessel matters not. Your power, your essence—remains undiminished."

"Abaddon," Horus growled the name, his tone laced with disdain and restrained fury. The title twisted like poison on his tongue. Then his eyes narrowed. "A clone? Who among you dares to claim the power to clone a Primarch?"

"It was Fabius Bile, my lord," the Word Bearer replied reverently. "Once a son of the Emperor, now a renegade. He perfected the art of bioengineering. Not only you, but several of your brothers have been reborn through his craft."

At that, Horus' gaze turned thoughtful, a spark of interest igniting in his eyes.

He remembered. He had been among the first—found by the Emperor before most others. He had watched his brothers return, one by one, during the Great Crusade. Among them, Dukel—the third to be found—had been his closest peer.

Horus knew well the immense might Dukel wielded. Godlike strength, peerless command. Even in the early days, Horus had accepted without bitterness the Emperor's decision to grant Dukel the mantle of Warmaster.

On equal ground, he had no confidence he could defeat him.

Now, however, Dukel held the throne of the Imperium—and wielded power surpassing even that of old.

Horus had returned to stop him... but in truth, the task felt insurmountable.

Until now.

The Word Bearer's words stirred something within him. A bold thought. A dangerous idea.

If others had been cloned… then perhaps the key to salvation lay not in singular defiance, but in reunion.

Horus rose, silent and resolute, and strode toward the laboratory's exit.

"My lord, where are you going?" the Word Bearer asked, moving to block his path.

"Out of my way," Horus said. He shoved the Astartes aside with ease. "I said I don't need your help. Stand in my way again, and I'll break your wretched form."

The warning lingered like venom in the air.

As he approached the door, the heavy bulkhead opened with a hiss of steam and hydraulics.

Beyond it stood a towering figure, tall as Horus himself.

His skin gleamed like burnished gold. Robes inscribed with burning sigils hung from his shoulders. A crown rested upon his brow, etched with runes that shimmered with Warp-born power. The air around him shimmered with arcane force.

The being's piercing blue eyes locked onto Horus—as if peering into his very soul.

"Why resist us, brother?" the figure asked. His voice was deep, smooth, tinged with ethereal power. "This time, we are the saviors of the galaxy."

Horus didn't stop.

He brushed past the crowned figure without a glance.

But as the two demigods passed one another, Horus whispered so only the figure could hear:

"I will stop Dukel. I don't need the Ruinous Powers. I only need my brothers."

And then he was gone—his steps unbroken, his will unwavering.

The first thing Horus did upon his return?

He set out to find Fabius Bile.