40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 818, Section 15: Walking with Fire (Part 7)

Adro Branuer jumped off the troop carrier and rushed up the rapid-lift device that led directly to the top of the eastern wall of Hesiod.

Before the intense feeling of weightlessness had subsided, several loud bangs came from above. He looked up and saw thick, dark clouds that had covered the sky—a spectacular sight formed by a large accumulation of radioactive dust.

He frowned, put on his helmet, and gave the area a cursory scan through the goggles. The results were quite grim. He immediately reported the matter, but the response he received was not an order, but a transfer of command.
In almost a dozen seconds, the three Salamander company commanders stationed on Nocturne Star established a new command system centered around him. Numerous intelligence reports and messages drifted up like smoke, filling the upper right corner of the eyepiece, scrolling rapidly without stopping.

The veteran from the former legion was silent for a moment, then immediately got into the zone—although he was indeed puzzled by the matter, now was probably not the time to dwell on it.

He issued a series of commands, starting with a single command, and soon, a second sound, distinct from thunder, echoed in the sky. It was the sound of the radioactive dust removal device, mounted on the Mechanicus aboard the orbital space station, operating.
Minutes later, a blinding flash streaked across the sky with a deafening roar, shattering the clouds and revealing the scorching sun behind them.

The sun of Nocturne has never been gentle.

Adro sighed, walked several hundred meters to the edge of the city wall, gazed into the distance, and ordered the Void Shield to be raised.

The tremors that had been emanating from various parts of the city had finally subsided to a great extent, with only some areas on the periphery still experiencing relatively strong tremors. However, compared to the situation outside the city walls, it was already much better.

Adro looked down and saw that the land just tens of meters outside the city of Hesiod had now completely cracked open, with large and small plots rising and falling as if floating in an invisible, raging river, undergoing its baptism.
This scene even made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

The power of nature is truly too merciless.

He turned and walked towards the temporary command post on the east side of the city wall. It was empty, but two pre-programmed information processing terminals were ringing incessantly. Adro used his command privileges to access the system and browsed the messages on the terminals.

What he saw was no different from what he had imagined; they were all asylum applications from the tribes closest to the city of Sanctuary—it seemed they too could see the unusual nature of this trial.

However, beneath the dragon-headed helmet, Adro's expression gradually turned grim.

He had no reason to refuse these asylum applications, which was precisely the purpose of establishing sanctuary cities—to provide a safe haven for those who wanted to survive.

Furthermore, helping them seek refuge is simply the duty of the Fireborn. During each trial, some tribes are escorted into various sanctuary cities by war machines originally intended for slaughter, to prevent them from perishing.

Some of them joined along the way, but the majority were still those tribes who had unfortunately settled in dangerous areas. If the Firefowl did not personally go to persuade them, most of them would probably die in the disaster and return to the earth and fire.

From an outsider's perspective, this is incredibly foolish. Why not just let them die in the wild? In the past, Adro might have been furious at such a suggestion, but now he no longer does. He is one of the few who understands just how important the traditions upheld by the tribespeople truly are.

Therefore, he accepted whatever confusion or slander others might offer. Ultimately, this was an internal affair of Nocturne, something that only those of Fireborn could truly understand.

But now
As he pondered, he heard Khalil Lohals's voice—frankly, he was already used to the man's elusive nature, so he merely clenched his fist and immediately turned around. The Empire's only Grand Inquisitor stood expressionlessly behind him, his pale face completely bathed in blue light.

“No need to worry,” the Grand Inquisitor said calmly. “Let them in, as many as they come, every city is the same.”

In an instant, Adro understood the meaning behind his words; the cruelty hidden behind them did not shake the veterans of the legion in the slightest.

“Understood,” he said softly. “But, sir, how shall we distinguish them?”

"That's not something you need to worry about."

As soon as he finished speaking, a flash of blue light appeared in the judge's eyes.

In recent years he has rarely used his former most capable assistants, but they have never left.

The terrifying amount of psionic energy emanated from his feet like mist, seeping into the city walls. Before Adro could ask anything, he heard a series of error messages coming from the terminal behind him.

The pre-programmed system couldn't understand what was happening and could only send errors repeatedly, hoping someone could solve it.

Adro raised his hand and pressed the interactive panel to turn off the error notification.

“Hesiod is safe now; they will reveal their true forms beneath the walls,” the judge said slowly. “Do not let any of them escape, Adro.”

The Fireborn bowed his head in salutation, but when he looked up again, the judge had vanished.
-
Suppressing his anger, Horus Lupecal looked up at the sky.

The midday sun blazed down its rays with unrestrained intensity, appearing incredibly real. He raised his hand to feel the temperature more closely, and a hint of surprise finally appeared in his eyes.

"Where is this?" he asked.

Standing opposite him, the man dressed in coarse cloth did not answer the question, but simply shook his head.

His face was remarkably similar to Horus's memory of himself, with only slight differences in details. Perhaps the most interesting difference was the weariness in his eyes—a complex emotion of wanting things to end sooner. It made him look less like a general or a king and more like someone filled with a heavy sense of weariness.

This caused his anger, which he had managed to suppress, to rise again, but he still managed to restrain himself and instead spoke slowly with miraculous patience.

"What have you been through?"

The man still didn't answer, so he turned to recounting his own experiences.

He recounted everything from his first summoning, through the brief moments of slumber, to his conversations with the possessed children—nothing was concealed—in a gentle and calm tone. However, when he finished and looked at the only listener, the man's reaction filled him with shame.

The man simply shook his head. "Aren't you going to say anything?" Horus asked in a deep voice, his brows furrowed.

“It's meaningless.” The man finally spoke again. “You haven't understood what you truly are, and you're still dreaming of atonement—”

"—It can't just be a dream!" Horus interrupted him loudly, finally showing a hint of anger. "Sooner or later, the world will know about Eugene Tamba's betrayal!"

This abrupt remark was like a boulder thrown into a once calm lake, instantly creating a thousand ripples. The man was taken aback at first, then a complex, indescribable smile appeared on his face. His eyes no longer held only weariness, but instead held a hint of pity.
“Eugene Tamba, the governor of Davin, was he personally promoted by you?” he asked slowly.

"Otherwise?" Horus sneered. "I thought he was a man of high character who entrusted him with this important task, even leaving him an army so he could wipe out the remnants of the Davin who refused to submit to the Empire. But how did he repay me?"

He pointed to his left shoulder: "He hurt me with that filthy, unclean blade—otherwise, how could I have been injured? How could Iribus have had an opportunity?!"

The man's smile faded, and he nodded: "Then, who started the rebellion?"

"Of course," Horus was stunned.

For some reason, he seemed to have never thought about this question before. But now that it had been brought up, his thoughts naturally and quickly progressed. In his lightning-fast thinking, as if the moment of surprise had never happened, he quickly continued the conversation.

"It's Eribas and Loga Aurelion, of course! They betrayed the Emperor long ago. The events at Davin were nothing but a setup, and I was deeply involved as well. I was wounded, my soul and body were forcibly separated, yet they shamelessly used my name to commit atrocities!"

As he spoke, tears welled up in his eyes. It wasn't feigned; it was genuine sorrow, the extreme bitterness of knowing that everything one values ​​has been taken away. But quickly, he raised his hand and wiped away the tears.

"Do you believe yourself to be the soul that fell into slumber due to the influence of the warp after Horus was injured?" the man asked softly about another matter.

"How could it be fake?!" Horus was furious, clenching his fists, but he remained calm and quickly refuted the claim, though his logic was somewhat strange.

“I am no longer who I once was. I know what a terrible enemy Chaos is, and what dangers lurk in the Warp—my father has always been fighting against them! And now, I have been resurrected. Even though I have lost my body, I can once again take to the battlefield and fight for humanity!”

A few seconds later, a hollow laugh began to echo in the air.

Horus desperately tried to suppress his urge to use violence, taking deep breaths, but even so, his patience had reached its limit. Unable to endure it any longer, he turned and began calling for Vulcan, expressing his intention to leave.
But under the blazing sun, he didn't get the answer he wanted; only that hollow laughter echoed endlessly. In the end, it almost sounded like mockery.

“Laugh all you want,” Horus said angrily, his back to him. “I can see what you are. You are the same as me, a soul. Perhaps you are the weak part of my former character, which is why you are willing to stay here as a coward. But how could the real Horus Lupecal be like this? I will never yield!”

Finally, the laughter ended. The man spoke very calmly, his tone like a judgment.

"You are free to imagine your origins or what you will do in the future. But let me make this clear: you are not Horus Lupecal, nor am I. The beloved god of wolves is dead. He died on his flagship with only one offspring by his side, the last one still loyal to him."

Horus turned around.

"Who?" He stared intently at the face that resembled his own, asking with a hint of sarcasm. "I'd like to know whose name you'll name."

"Eichmann".

Horus burst into laughter, though it was hard to tell whether the laughter was more mockery or anger.

“Yes, he is indeed loyal—but what about the others? Leaving aside the dead Cyranus and the other three in the Council of Four Kings, what about the rest? Has the entire Sixteenth Legion betrayed me?”

The man slowly nodded.

"After becoming traitors in Horus, Taric Torgarden and Gavial Loken chose to reclaim their former names, once again becoming the Shadowmoon Wolves, fighting for the Emperor. Azeroth's cowardice and blind obedience made him an accomplice, leading the vast majority of the Legion to become like him, he became a lackey of Chaos. He tried to regain his senses in his final moments, but by then, he had lost his right and his last chance."

"Only Eichmann, the son who most resembled Horus in appearance, remained loyal to him. Eichmann was neither a Shadowmoon Wolf nor a lackey or accomplice; he was a pure son of Horus. After the war, he returned to Terra according to his father's wishes, writing secrets, recording the past, and reorganizing the Chapter. He ensured that the bloodline of Horus was not severed, even though the new Chapter was unaware of the shameful nature of their origins."

These two sentences struck Horus like a heavy hammer, leaving him speechless for a long time. He wanted to refute them, but his intuition told him that these words were not lies, and in fact, they matched his impression of everyone in the Council of the Four Kings.

Abaddon sobbed in public after he fell, completely disregarding his image, and later even took his anger out on others; Eichmann did the same, but at least he knew the priorities; Torgarden and Locken, on the other hand, were the most opinionated.
Wait a minute. He suddenly froze. How did I know all this?

"You!" He looked up, staring intently at the man. "Did you do this? Implanted these illusions in me?!"

"No," the man said, but sighed inwardly.

He understood that at this moment, this warp entity that considered itself Horus would no longer listen to him.
Sure enough, before he could finish speaking, the entity, still glowing with golden light, pounced on him, its right fist raised high and striking him precisely in the chin.

The punch was fast and heavy, causing him to stagger back several steps. When he regained his footing, his mouth was full of blood.

He looked up and saw a furious face.

“I’m going to kill you,” the entity said.

"Yes," memory replied. "Come on."

He wasn't surprised.

(End of this chapter)