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"Cadia's fall is inevitable. A foregone conclusion."
In the cramped cargo hold, mortal, Primarch, and Astartes sat cross-legged on the cold tal floor, a makeshift war council of three.
Kaelen spoke first, laying out the preordained future without elaboration. Horus and Cullen had long since placed absolute faith in his ti-spanning foresight. No explanation was needed.
"Abaddon will lead the Black Legion and the Chaos warbands in full force, launching the 13th Black Crusade. They'll suffer setback after setback on the ground, but they'll hold absolute dominance in the void."
As he spoke, Kaelen arranged spare tal parts on the floor into a crude map. A worn bearing for Cadia itself. Scattered screws for the Imperial defenders and Chaos traitors. And at the center, an octagonal piece of scrap steel, the Blackstone Fortress, a structure capable of shaking entire sectors.
"After two brutal ground campaigns, a furious Abaddon will stake everything on one throw and crash the Blackstone Fortress directly into Cadia. The Great Rift tears fully open. The Imperium gets split in two, the Dark Imperium and the Sanctum Imperialis."
"On pure tactics, the Imperium has no chance. Once the void war collapses, it doesn't matter how brilliantly the ground war is fought. Nothing stops Ezekyle's fleet."
Horus stared down at the floor-map. Tactical solutions cycled through his Primarch-grade mind at blinding speed, each one assessed and discarded in fractions of a second.
He could deduce multiple ways to crush Ezekyle's fleet. He could see them clearly. But every single approach hit the sa fatal wall: the Imperial Navy and Astra Militarum at Cadia would have to accept his command. Completely. Without question.
And was that even possible?
Hand the fleet to the Warmaster who launched the rebellion that nearly destroyed the Imperium ten thousand years ago?
The Inquisition's hounds, rabid at the first scent of heresy, would turn their guns around the mont they learned of his existence. They'd pour every last effort into purging him before a single order was given.
"Then what do we do?" Cullen's voice was low, his brow furrowed. "Blend into the Guard and fight alongside them? Disguise ourselves as Ogryns?"
Kaelen gave a slight nod.
"I don't want us drawing too much attention either. A rebel Primarch from ten millennia past — even if this Lupercal is not that Lupercal — would be enough to set the entire galaxy on fire. Add a Fallen Angel to the mix, and it's practically a double festival for the Inquisition and the Dark Angels."
He glanced at Cullen with keen interest. The Fallen Angel shifted visibly.
"My Lord Knight, wanting to relive the charge of the Great Crusade is perfectly understandable. But those juniors of yours — the ones who hunt Fallen more zealously than they kill xenos, they'll be dropping by Cadia too. The Dark Angels 3rd Company specializes in crushing all forms of defiance. Once they set their sights on you, a reserved seat in the Rock's interrogation cells will be waiting. VIP treatnt."
Cullen's jawline went rigid. His teeth ground together with an audible creak.
He knew his successors. He knew them well. Even if he produced ironclad proof of a dream-visitation from the Emperor Himself, they'd knock him unconscious and drag him back to the Rock first. Questions could wait.
The battle-hardened veteran shut his mouth and never ntioned the front lines again.
Silence settled over the cargo hold.
"Your specific plan," Cullen said, forcing out the words like he was paying for each one.
"We wait. Two people who can speak with weight before Guilliman."
Kaelen raised two fingers.
"First: Belisarius Cawl, an Archmagos Dominus of the chanicus who has survived since 10,000 years ago. Guilliman left contingency plans back then, ordering him to develop the technology to pull him back from the brink of death. Second: the Imperial Living Saint, Celestine, the Emperor's own chosen, and a psyker powerful enough to shift the tide of battle."
Latch onto those two. Hitch a ride on the expedition to Macragge.
That was the core of Kaelen's plan.
"Absurd." Cullen gave a cold snort. "Two of the Imperium's most central figures, why would they believe a mortal of unknown origin? Let alone a... rebel Primarch?"
"That's why we need a pledge of allegiance with enough weight behind it."
Kaelen leaned forward, his gaze burning as it fixed on the Wolf of Luna across from him.
"Abaddon will personally teleport onto the field in the final phase of the ground war."
"At the mont of maximum chaos across the entire battlefield. My Wolf of Luna, you will face this current Warmaster of Chaos, your once most valued firstborn son, in a reunion 10,000 years in the making. Right before the eyes of the defenders."
"Let Abaddon's own hand verify who you are."
Horus grasped the full shape of it instantly. His voice was steady.
"That Archmagos's database will still hold my foundational genetic archives. The Living Saint can see through the essence of a soul at a glance. When they witness a Lupercal uncorrupted by the Warp, one who strikes back at Abaddon, their first reaction will not be to open fire."
"They'll be caught in a dilemma." Horus followed the logic to its end. "Kill , and they have no certainty of success. Let go free, and they'll fear Abaddon turning , another corrupted Warmaster. The safest option is to take to Macragge and hand over to the soon-to-awaken Roboute Guilliman."
A reverse-hostage gambit. Clean and complete.
Force the Imperium's central figures to treat him, a ticking ti bomb capable of upending the galaxy, as a top-priority asset requiring close personal guard.
As for whether Horus could defeat Abaddon? Kaelen laughed inwardly. That was really asking too little of him.
Even a Chaos Warmaster blessed by all Four Gods was still, at his core, an Astartes. He had no chance against a Primarch. None.
And this wasn't just any Primarch. This was the Wolf of Luna, whose combat power ranked firmly in the top three during the Great Crusade. Abaddon's own gene-father.
Kaelen could already picture it: Horus drawing the Seven Wolves, and spinning pointy-headed Brother Abaddon like a top.
He snapped his fingers.
"Exactly right. Once we reach the living Guilliman, we hand everything over to him. The Lord of Ultramar will be shocked by your appearance, but he is a man who lives by rules and logic. Once he confirms you haven't been corrupted, he will give you a chance to prove yourself. And ultimately, he'll take you back to the Imperial Palace on Terra."
Ezekyle Abaddon.
Horus picked up the octagonal scrap piece representing the Blackstone Fortress.
First Captain of the Luna Wolves. His most fanatical, most loyal, most violent firstborn son.
The spirits on Ullanor. The laughter aboard the Vengeful Spirit. The glories forged side-by-side across the Great Crusade. All of it surged through his mind now, and crumbled into dust.
Erasing the Legion's na. Trampling the oaths of old. Leading a pack of Warp-twisted mongrels on a rampage of slaughter and plunder across the galaxy.
This was the legacy he, Horus, had left to humanity. To the universe.
This was what his once-proud sons had beco.
No.
It shouldn't be like this.
Horus raised his head slowly. His face was lost in the shadows of the cargo hold.
No hysterical fury. No hoarse roar.
Only a coldness, bone-deep, compressed beneath absolute reason, capable of freezing the stars themselves.
Countless xenos warlords had witnessed this coldness during the Great Crusade. They all knew what it ant.
The Wolf of Luna had decided to take the field himself. To end it.
"I will go see him."
His voice was low and deep, like a thunderstorm held just below the surface.
"I will ask him face to face: which Warp-tainted mongrel did he feed the pride of the Luna Wolves to?"
Two thick fingers clenched.
CRACK.
The shriek of tearing tal split the air. The two-inch slab of tempered steel snapped into two twisted chunks of scrap.
"Even if he gives a satisfactory answer, I will personally rip out his spine and crush this blight out of existence for the Imperium."
Absolute violence. A declaration with no room left in it for anything else. It detonated inside the cargo hold like a shell going off in a sealed room.
The hairs on the back of Kaelen's neck stood straight up. Even Cullen, beside him, subconsciously tensed his power armor's servo-systems, a flicker of instinctive awe crossing his eyes.
Then, at the exact mont the killing intent peaked, Kaelen threw a bucket of ice water over the whole thing.
"I strongly advise against killing Abaddon."
Horus dropped the scrap. His gaze snapped to Kaelen, carrying a weight that left no room for argunt. "Why?"
"In the Chaos Gods' ga, he is the most critical piece on the board." Kaelen lowered his voice and pushed the nut representing Abaddon to the very center of the map. "The Gods need him alive..."
He paused for half a beat.
The second half of the sentence made both n stop breathing.
"The one on the Golden Throne needs him alive too."
➤ Next: The Prophecy of the Chaos Warmaster
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