#horus “if i cant have you no one can” lupercal

[ask-valerian-40k]

Horus Appears

spoilers

obviously

be warned:

'And the Warmaster? He is here, isn't he?' Aspertia's machine voice warbled.

Sota-Nul inclined her head and stood aside, leaving the access ramp free.

'The Warmaster,' she said.

A group of armoured figures appeared suddenly in the ruddy interior, as if they had walked out of thick mist. They were universally savage, their armour hung with awful trophies. First out was a grinning warrior with a high topknot who swept the delegation with a challenging gaze. Three others came with him in a close group, then a Space Marine with halting gait and a serious mien. Their bare faces were pale and angry.

When they were arrayed at the ramp's edge the Warmaster came out.

Horus wore a variant of Terminator armour crafted specifically for his primarch's frame. His hands were sheathed in giant gauntlets from whose backs sprouted claws as long as swords. But impressive though his armour was, it merely acted as a frame for his majesty. His visage was at once beautiful and terrible. He was handsome by standards applicable to gods, his features sculpted by a hand of rare genius. All eyes in Tria Station were fixed upon that face. It was impossible to look away from it. He wore a smile that promised generosity and violence in equal measure.

'Citizens of the Martian Empire,' he said. He did not speak loudly, but his voice carried further than that of the most skilled actor. 'I have come to you to free you from the lies of the False Emperor, my father.'

When he spoke, every thinking being in earshot willed their hearts to be still in case they missed the slightest nuance to his words. When he paused, they craved more.

'You have shown great wisdom in joining yourselves to my cause. At my side, you will help me usher in a new era for the Mechanicum. Together, as equals, not in the master and slave relationship the Emperor forced upon your noble nation, we shall reforge the galaxy and declare a new Terran Empire that shall rival the greatest realms of the ancient days. Only with me can mankind reach its true potential. By embracing the truth of the empyrean shall we conquer the galaxy and rule supremely for evermore.'

A cheer erupted from every mouth and mechanical augment. An outpouring of love for the Warmaster banished every trace of fear, so loud and fervent the ships in the docks shook.

By a great act of will Cawl cut all forms of broadcast and plugged any external data receivers he could find in his augments. He shielded his biological thoughts with a repeated loop of devotional binaric chants that drowned out the speech of the conqueror.

The whole of Trisolian was enthralled. This was the legendary charisma of Horus Lupercal gone bad from within, like a great tree whose limbs bear green leaves and fresh shoots, but whose heartwood is rotted out. The compulsion to listen went far beyond that engendered by a man of oratorical prowess. The effect the words had was out of all proportion to their meaning. He was an artwork of a master overwritten by a less kind hand, its nobility perverted into something vile An urge to abase himself before this man gripped Cawl, and he knew it was wrong through and through.

'A great age beckons our species,' Horus continued, and though Cawl was now intentionally deaf, he heard it still. 'To share in it I ask only that you pledge your service to me for the duration of this war. The forces of the Emperor are strong. The misguided stand before me. Every gun fired in my service no matter by which branch of humanity is a shot fired in the name of truth.' He lifted a massive claw and pointed at an adept upon Magos Visreen's grav-dais. 'Do you pledge allegiance to me?' the Warmaster said.

'Me?' The adept looked nervously to his fellows. They drew back from him.

'Answer the Warmaster!' shouted the warrior with the topknot. He plucked a mag-locked pistol from his thigh and aimed it at the hapless man.

The adept was too slow in kneeling. The bolt pistol boomed. The adept's body flowered redly, showering chunks of meat and shattered bionics over the side of the grav-dais. They fell into the null grav zone generated at the heart of the sphere, where they took up orbit, like an orrery made from a butcher's leavings. The echoes of the bolt's detonation rang from far-off surfaces.

'What about you?' said the warrior. He aimed his pistol at another adept.

'Ezekyle, put away your gun,' said Horus.

The warrior named Ezekyle made a dismissive noise, and locked his pistol back to his thigh.

The adept he had aimed at knelt. Then the rest followed suit, displaying their submission in a rustle of robes.

'I am with you,' one said. 'I pledge to serve the Warmaster, for the Greater Glory of the Martian Empire,' said another.

'For the Mechanician, I will follow you,' said a third.

So it went on. Wordlessly it was made perfectly clear that all were expected to voice their loyalty. Horus looked to each man and woman present as his lieutenants watched, the threat of death plain in their faces.

The litany of surrender proceeded. The ripples of abasement lapped out into the crowds below, and they proclaimed their loyalty. Cawl kept his head bowed the whole time, until the words stopped, and he looked up to find the would-be master of mankind staring directly at him.

An ancient Terran saying had it that the eyes were windows to the soul. In that moment, Cawl could believe it to be true. What he saw behind Horus' face was burned into his memory forever.

He could never serve what he saw behind those eyes.

'I am with you, my lord,' he said. 'I pledge my service to you and my life.' The oath was hollow. As he spoke, his interference cant shielding his mind, the thought of escape rose urgently in his thoughts.

When the giving of oaths was done, Horus looked over the leaders of the forge world, and into the crowds packing the skin of the sphere.

'Death is the price of disloyalty to me,' he said, and the screens showed his vastly magnified face. 'But know this - if I bring suffering to some it is because I would save you.'

He returned to his ship. His men followed. Sota-Nul was the last aboard. She turned at the top of the ramp, and looked down upon Aspertia's barge. The Stormbird's engines ignited, their jet burn focusing to searing daggers of fire. 'You are the Warmasters now,' she shouted over the rising whine of the ship. 'Do not forget your oaths. Shortly I shall send advisers to you. With the blessing of Kelbor-Hal, await your orders.' The ramp rose. Before it had closed fully, the Stormbird lifted off, turned and accelerated away.