Capítulo 44: Epilogue Two: The Wounded Legion
Location: The XVI Legion Barracks Complex, Terra.
Date: 814.M30
Across the infant Imperium, the Lunar Rebellion caused a noticeable shift. The blood and iron shed to protect the entire system earned the trust of newly assimilated solar states. A sense of optimism and confidence spread through the solar system. This new zeitgeist was still tempered by a sense of foreboding. Humanity now had a chance to reclaim the galaxy, but the literal legions of hell and countless xeno horrors stood in the way. Reactions varied, Uriah, Phillip and their respective acolytes ensured that the people's utter faith in the human spirit was irrefutable, and among the Legions a sense of excitement and invincibility was common.
The experiences of the rebellion and the implantation of enhanced Geneseed had further tempered the Astartes. Each bloodline reacted uniquely. Some feasted and swore oaths of brotherhood. Artistic masterpieces related to the failed insurrection popped up within various Legion Complexes. Even the most somber of the Twenty took stoic pride in the success. Only one legion proved an exception to this atmosphere of celebration. The XVI had been wounded, suffering the worst casualties of the entire battle. They had lost many of their Legion's most respected warriors, nearly their Primarch, and most tragically of all, their self-confidence.
While they had not truly lost any of the battles they waged on Luna, the death and resurrection of Horus proved traumatic. Officially, Horus had been gravely wounded facing an unspeakable monster from the depths of the Warp and needed intense care from the Emperor to heal. The far grimmer truth had spread in hushed whispers across the XVI Legion. The accounts of survivors from within the cult's temple were told to awestruck recruits and horrified battle brothers. Few things gossip and whisper like disheartened soldiers away from combat. This knowledge rattled the Astartes, they were close to there genefather, closer than almost any other Legion. A sense of failure and inadequacy had become rampant. If they could fail in protecting Horus, what else would they fail at?
To further complicate matters, this feeling was shared by the Lupercali. The normally charismatic and respected Primarch had changed. He had become sullen, taciturn and self-isolating. Horus was not there when his sons needed him. The Primarch had withdrawn from his sons, doing the bare minimum of his duties and spending his time locked within his study. The XVI Legion took all of this as confirmation of their failure, for why else would their Primarch abandon them unless they were unworthy?
In truth, Horus did not hide himself away out of any malice towards his sons. Instead it was out of shame. The event another reality would call the Horus Heresy played over and over again in his mind. Horus felt unworthy and disgusting. To know you are fully capable, and responsible for dooming every human being to an extinction of nightmares is something none could possibly bear lightly. So Horus sat in his study, staring at the Spear of Destiny and pondering fate.
The Lupercali felt broken. His father had told him as much himself. He had been damaged in his mind, body, and soul. His right eye burned away, memories undermined his being, and an ethereal wound permiated his soul. Horus had been unable to stop the Dark Gods. He had only been able to deny them, and it cost Horus dearly. Part of him wondered if he was truly worthy of being called a Primarch. How could he, considering he had been broken and mutilated so easily? As usual, his thoughts then shifted to the Spear and he found himself once again pondering its purpose and power. Did his father really not trust him enough that he had gifted him a tool of protective suicide?
Horus felt his mind inexplicably drawn towards the Spear. Whenever he ventured down this path of brooding and misery, it ended the same: the Spear and what it did to him. It had been stabbed into his brain, and in some metaphorical way it still was. It was always at the edge of every thought he had. Whether he was drilling his Legion, formulating battle strategies, or simply training, the Spear was always pressing at the back of his mind. So month after month. Horus sat within his study and pondered it, trying to understand why it kept pulling him back to it's light. He suspected some part of him was still within it. The severed part of his soul residing within, perhaps.
Grooming himself and dressing in simple fatigues, he turned to leave his chambers to start a new day, preparing to put on a mask and hold court with his Legion. As he left, he reached out for the spear, without even realizing it. Just before his fingers touched the ancient metal he paused. Primarchs are true superhumans. Every act and action is weighed and measured at speeds beyond human thought. Impossibly, some instinct had tried to make him grab the Spear without his intent. Shaking his head softly, as if to dispel what ever vexed him, Horus left the troubling relic and journeyed to his court.
Each Legion held a court, where strategy, ceremony and discussion took place. The current XVI Court was held within the grand hall of their barracks complex. Horus entered the austere but beautiful chamber in the somber, dour mood that he has possessed for the last few months. Although he masked his emotions well, the XVI Legion was one of the most psychically attuned Legions to their Primarch out of the Twenty. Though he gave no outward sign, some imperceptible feeling put the entire court on edge. The hundreds of Astartes and mortals milling about kneeled as one to his presence. Silently, Horus took his seat upon a polished white-marble throne. With a gesture he commanded the court to rise. They did and the day started in earnest. Logistics were discussed, strategy was debated, and ancient records were consulted. Everything they did contributed to the role that the XVI Legion would take in the Great Crusade, and even working with intense psychological damage, the Lupercali showed his utter mastery of the art of war. Throughout the proceedings, a weight of misery seemed to cloud the chamber. While their cousins celebrated and prepared with vigor. The XVI seemed to be stumbling along in a daze.
The court continued until a great boom echoed through the chamber. The mighty stone-doors forming its entrance were thrown open with terrifying force and purpose. To the shock of the Legion a giant strode into the hall, completely nude except for an impromptu loin-cloth crafted from a Astartes robe. The giant was clearly an Astartes, but stood over even the largest XVI battle-brother. Sweat soaked black hair covered his shoulders and twin Custodes flanked him. With the stoic emotionless that marked their kind, one of the Custodes proclaimed: "Apothecary Primus Fabius of the III has completed his restoration of Master Ezekyle Abaddon. He is now delivered to his Legion."
Without another word the Custodes turned and left. Silence filled the hall as the giant shook his hair from his face, exposing the Lupercalian features and sharp jawline of Abaddon the Redeemer. Shock rippled through the crowd as the massive Astartes marched towards his Primarch, father and son locking there remaining eyes. Determination poured from Abaddon as he approached. Massive iron-taught muscles moved as Abaddon kneeled before his father. Speaking in a familiar but somehow more powerful voice, Ezekyle said: "We have returned."
Shouts of celebration and clapping filled the hall. The hero of Luna had rejoined his brothers. For a brief moment, the months of misery and anguish evaporated. Rising from his throne, Horus helped his geneson to his feet. A few of the Legion serfs in attendance murmured amongst themselves in surprise as they saw that the Redeemer almost matched the Lupercali in height now.. For a brief moment, the spear and the Heresy vanished from Horus's mind. His worry and guilt temporarily replaced by the fact that his favored son and the heart of his legion had returned to him. That moment of peace was broken as quickly as it came. Subtly, Abaddon whispered two words into his father's ear: "I know"
Icewater filled the Primarchs veins as he matched his son's eye, his stomach sinking as a cold sweat broke out on his palms as both of their missing eyes flickered with ghost-light. In that moment Horus understood why his subconscious drew him back to the spear over and over. It did not harbor his lost soul-stuff. It had transferred it. Abaddon held the wounded part of his soul. His transformation made this clear.
Quickly, Horus grabbed his son by the shoulder and escorted him from the chamber. Hushed whispers followed their exit as Father and Son retreated. Utter panic filled Horus. His worst fears had been realized. The fact that his brothers vaguely knew about his alternate self and the horrors the Lupercal had comitted filled him with despair. For one of his sons, his most favored gene-kin to know… He had no right to call himself a Primarch. Once they entered his chambers and he bade his son to sit, Horus wheeled around to look at Abaddon. "What did you see? how much?" he asked in a voice that reeked of humiliation and regret.
Horus expected to see fury or disgust in Abaddon's face. Insead he saw a calm stoicism. Softly, the Redeemer spoke, like a handler soothing a cornered beast: "Everything. The Heresy, the Siege, the Black Crusades. I saw what roles the Dark Gods meant for us to play."
A faint noise came from Horus, it took Abaddon a moment to realize what it was. The Primarch wept. Shame and disgrace oozed from Horus like a festering wound. Falling to his knees, the Lupercali felt worthless. An utter failure, damned by sins beyond count. He had failed his father. He had killed an untold amount of humans and damned the species to a long, slow decline into oblivion. The guilt he felt was what he deserved for what he had done. For what he was going to do. To be a Primarch and a failure? This was what he deserved, to be brought low and made to suffer in front of those he loved. To his surprise, Abaddon rested a hand upon his shoulder. With great adoration, the Redeemer spoke to his father as a mentor does to a wayward star pupil. "The actions I saw were not yours. and never could be. The monster of the Heresy sacrificed kin and cause to fulfill its ambition. That is not you and could never be you, Father. The Four offered you everything, asking only for you to betray us. You refused. You were given the exact same offer the Lupercal was, and you refused to such a high degree you were prepared to do the exact opposite of what he did. Instead of sacrificing everything for yourself, you were prepared to sacrifice yourself for everything. You stood tall against the forces of evil and won. They very fact you fought and died for the Imperium speaks volumes more than a mad vision of impossible futures. You look at me as if you expect me to loathe you, to hate you for what some other version of you did. Father, I love you. Not for any one thing you did or did not do, but because of who you are. On behalf of the entire XVI Legion, I say these words. You are our father. You have proven your worth through actions time and time again."
Horus looked up at his son, tears streaming down his face and whispered softly, as if saying it too loud would break the spell and end the dream. "Do you forgive me?"
Picking the Speartip up from the study's desk, Abaddon responded in the same gentle, soothing tone. "Father, how can I forgive you for crimes not your own? You are innocent of the Horus Heresy The Emperor, your Brothers and I all know that. Now you must too. It is time for the Lupercali to rise. For the XVI Primarch to be whole again."
At speeds only a Primarch should have been able to move at, Abaddon drove the speartip into his father's main heart. It had once given a shard of his soul to Abaddon. Now it was time for Ezekyle to give it back. The missing piece removed itself from Abaddon the Redeemer, flowed along the ancient metal and into Horus. Like a cornerstone restored, Horus felt himself be restored. Sparks of energy crackled across the Primarchs body as he stood tall. Taller than he had in months. Pulling the blade from his chest he looked at Abaddon.
The Astartes had retained his new bulk and his time as soul-host had altered him. More than a mere Astartes, but now free of a broken demigods heart. Father and son embraced once again, both of them baptised in fire, war and resurrection. The men who denied Chaos and shirked the title Warmaster left the study to greet the Legion and march towards the dawn. Gripping the shaft slick with his blood, Horus held the speartip. It would never leave his presence again.
Reborn and filled with power, Horus entered his court and addressed his Legion. "My sons, my comrades, my warriors! I must apologize to you all. In my suffering and misery, I neglected my duties and let my pain become yours. This is unacceptable. The False Gods of the Warp showed me visions of horror beyond belief. Convincing me of my culpability in atrocities. Ezekyle Abaddon has returned to us and helped me see the light, more than earning his title of 'The Redeemer'. The Warp's threat is terrible, it struck us low. Yet it is not invincible. We did our duty and succeeded. My sons we did not fail, for sometimes the only victory against the darkness is preventing its success."
"The Emperor once said those words and I love my father, but I say he is wrong! We shall prove him wrong! The dangers that haunt this cosmos shall not be merely stalled. The Emperor made us to be the tip of the spear. His Spear of destiny! We shall do what we were meant to: plunge ourselves into the heart of darkness and bring death to mankind's foes! The lessons of Luna will make us stronger. The XVI Legion will be the first to take a name. In ages past, the greatest warriors of the day came together in a brotherhood to protect pilgrims traveling to a holy land when they could not protect themselves. Not only were these warriors stoic guardians, but were the deadliest troops on the battlefield, ready to cut the head off the snake should the need arise. Through the struggles of the day were great, they persevered in the face of their crucible. In remembrance for the crucible that nearly broke us, and our duty to be the guardians of mankind upon its Great Path, we shall be known as the Lunar Templars!"
A triumphant roar broke through the Legions ranks. From shame and horror, recast, reborn under lunar light and shining spear. On that day, the XVI cast aside its numerical heading. Being the first Legion to claim a name. The Lunar Templars would do its duty and strike the enemies of man like a lance cast from the heart of Terra.
Somewhere else in the Imperial Palace, two beings played a game. The Revelation and the Sigillite sat across from each other, moving pieces across the board and discussing fate. The game currently rested on a single word piece. The cracked Sacrificed King could lead to Regicide for either side. A golden smile crossed Revelation's face as he pulled a card from the deck. Both he and Malcador stared at it in silence as he placed it on the board. The Spear card pushed the Sacrificed King forward, tightening the noose around Malcadors pieces. The Sigillite could still see how he might claim victory, but that possibility became harder and harder with each game they played.
Exhaling, Malcador stood up from the table and stared down as his four Crowned pieces. Each a match for the Emperors single Golden Crown. The game was far from over, he just wondered if he would live to see its conclusion. Till then he would do his duty and counsel his oldest friend.
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