#also if context doesn't make it clear the alpha legion blew up the void shields and sent the message so the emperor would know its not trick

[transmechanicus]

Emperor’s Tears

A mini-fic about the Emperor’s final moments before confronting Horus.

Pain. Terrible pain. Of such magnitude any being even fractionally less mighty would be consumed by it. Every nerve burned. His head felt as if it contained the force of an exploding star. His very soul felt as if it were being stretched out of the hollow of his breast and cast into the storm that he was struggling to control. For all the eons he had lived, this was beyond even his own extensive experience, his own vast powers. Clutching the arms of the golden throne and casting his gaze to the ceiling, The Emperor wept.

Not only did he suffer in flesh but also in mind, in spirit. His dream was shattered, half of his sons, beloved for all their faults, had fallen into darkness and corruption. Mankind, which he had sought to place as masters of the galaxy, now stood threatened with oblivion, be it in a century or in 10 long millennia. Billions had died, just as many enslaved by the corruptions of the warp, and great wonders of science had been lost and destroyed beyond all hope of recovery. And for all his defiance, his determined resistance, it seemed that all of Terra would soon suffer the same.

Traitor battleships blotted out the stars, and perversions of his angels rampaged through the palace and against its walls. For all the might of his defenders, it was not enough. They could stall until the very last man, each taking ten times their number in Traitors before they fell, and the forces under Horus would still number beyond count.

Horus…his most promising son. His brightest star. What could have led him to do this? To turn on and destroy the very empire he had spent 2 centuries helping build. It was unfathomable, and it grieved the Emperor so deeply he did not doubt that he was shedding tears for Horus too. He had never even seen him, in the 7 years since the betrayal. 7 years of reports and responses, describing the most agonizing of truths, and one the Emperor had struggled to confront for the entire war. Could this have been prevented? Had he acted differently, might Horus and the galaxy been spared this suffering? Was it too late to recover the man Horus had been?

His flesh burned, bronze skin blackening even as his vast regenerative powers restored the damage. As the pillar of psychic fire shrieked and howled above him, casting the Astronomicon’s light against the influence of Chaos like a blazing flame, the Emperor kindled a small spark of hope. That somehow, against every piece of logic and data available, he would have the chance, however small, to confront his wayward son. To see Horus with his own eyes, and either heal him of his suffering, or destroy the monster that wore his form and dared to go by his name.

“There are no gods,” The Emperor whispered “But any power that is sympathetic to my people…give me this chance to set this right. By my own hands.”

The doors of the chamber opened, space marines and gleaming custodes pulling their forces through and sealing the gates once more, even as others of their number prepared to die outside. Dorn and Sanguinius stood with them, moving through their gene sons to stand at his side. The impact of a heavy staff on the floor told him that Malcador had come also. This was their final hours. All that remained was the wait before the doors were breached and the final battle began…

The message struck him like a lance to the skull, and despite the colossal pain already coursing through him, the emperor nearly screamed. It was direct, and of such potency that even the psychic wards of the palace, so recently rebuilt, could not prevent its passing. Perhaps that was not such a bad thing.

+I AM ALPHARIUS. AVE IMPERATOR+

Comms traffic spiked, and as much as he could say it was possible, Dorn looked shocked.

“The Vengeful Spirit’s shields have been disabled from within. It is exposed.”

In a fraction of a second the Emperor knew what he had to do. His psychic foresight cleared for but an instant after long years of blindness. For the first time since Horus had been made Warmaster, the Emperor could see what must be done.

“Prepare teleporters! All combat viable forces! We take the fight to Horus.”