Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - Even If It Was Russ — How Is It Horus?!
"Hand over that tin can! You think you can hide something the Iron Skull Gang has its eyes on?"
The two-meter semi-mechanical brute grinned as he closed in. Rusted gears embedded in his flesh creaked and groaned. His chainsword spewed acrid black smoke.
A dozen thugs with autoguns pressed forward, step by step.
Karen gripped an oil-stained wrench, his back already flat against the cold metal hatch.
Three months since he'd transmigrated into this man-eating Warhammer 40K world, and now he was seriously about to fucking die.
"System! Are you still not done salvaging?" Karen roared inside his own head. "Just pull anyone who can fight! I'll even take Leman Russ!"
"Die, you little runt!"
The brute bellowed. The chainsword whipped up a foul wind and cleaved straight for the center of Karen's brow.
Three centimeters away.
In that instant between life and death, blinding golden light tore through the seams of the hatch behind him.
[Beep! Salvage successful!]
[Due to operational slip, search parameters severely deviated. Davin altar soul node intercepted!]
[Deployment target: Warmaster Horus Lupercal (dying / uncorrupted state)!]
BOOM!
The multi-ton metal hatch shot out like a cannonball, blasted clean off its frame from the inside.
The brute leading the charge didn't even get a chance to scream. The flying iron door smashed him into a splattered mess on the spot.
The chainsword shattered. Fragments sprayed in all directions through a mist of blood.
The shockwave sent Karen tumbling. He scrambled upright, eyes locked on that mass of golden light.
Inside the ruined chamber, a man with the stature of a god was slowly rising to his feet.
He wore shattered masterwork Terminator Power Armour. The moon-white ceramite was riddled with cracks, and a massive bloody hole gaped through his chest, the mark of a vile blade.
Bald. But none of that nauseating Chaos corruption about him.
Even with a deathly pale face and breath that rasped like a rusted bellows, the moment he stood, he was the center around which the entire universe seemed to anchor itself.
"Is this... Davin?"
The man's voice was hoarse and low. He lowered his gaze toward Karen. "Mortal. Did you save me? Where is my Legion?"
Karen's entire being turned to stone.
He stared at the enormous Eye of Horus on the man's shoulder plate, his scalp prickling like he'd grabbed a live wire.
This wasn't fucking Leman Russ.
This was the arch-traitor who had torn the Imperium in half, put the Emperor on the Golden Throne, and ushered in ten thousand years of darkness. The Warmaster himself. Horus.
Sure, the System had stamped this as the uncorrupted, critically-wounded version, not yet tainted by the Chaos Gods. But this was still Horus. The scale of this situation had just blown completely wide open.
"System, you absolute bastard! If you want me dead, just say so!" Karen mentally coughed blood. "I asked for a bodyguard and you roll me the leader of the rebellion?!"
[Beep! Host has successfully witnessed "Return of the Warmaster," altering the original work's fated tragedy!]
[Initial points rewarded: 100,000 points!]
[Shop unlocked: Soul and Flesh Dual Restoration Serum.]
The notification chime for a 100,000-point windfall had barely finished ringing.
"You look rather..." Horus frowned. He tried to take a step forward and violently coughed up a mouthful of dark blood.
Seeing that towering frame sway, Karen sprang up on instinct and lunged forward to brace him.
"Shit — big guy, don't move! Sit down and rest first!"
Only now did the dozen Iron Skull Gang thugs snap out of their daze. Their comrade was plastered across the wall behind them. They'd barely processed it.
Just facing that tower of a body made their souls tremble.
"M-mutant! Kill it!" one thug screamed, squeezing the trigger like a madman.
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!
A dense rain of autogun rounds hammered against Horus's power armour.
Sparks flew. It didn't break the surface. It barely counted as a scratch.
The look in Horus's eyes went bone-cold.
Without hesitation, he took one step forward and used that massive Terminator-armoured body to shield Karen completely behind him. This Warmaster who could barely stand, drenched in his own blood, fury burned in his eyes so hot it was almost scorching.
"Mortals... dare to open fire upon a Primarch?"
His voice wasn't loud. But every word hit like a hammer against the floor.
"Has the law of the Imperium crumbled to such a degree?"
A wounded tiger. Its majesty undiminished.
Even drenched in blood. Even with his soul and flesh being gnawed by the lingering venom of the Anathame.
A demigod was still a demigod.
Horus forced himself upright and took one step.
Fast.
So fast mortal eyes couldn't track it.
He didn't even draw a weapon. He simply raised his right hand, sheathed in a Power Fist, and swung it casually toward the crowd.
BOOM!
No screams.
No resistance.
Not even the process of falling.
In the narrow corridor, a scarlet curtain of blood erupted in a fan-shaped spray.
The gunfire stopped dead.
By the time the warm mist slowly dispersed, Karen stood dazed in the middle of the debris. The ground beneath his feet was warm and sticky. He didn't dare look down.
Well.
This wave, he'd won.
Won a little too thoroughly.
After dealing with the threat, Horus braced one hand against the wall. His shoulders heaved as he dragged in ragged, heavy breaths. That single explosive punch had wrung out every last drop of strength he had left.
"So... Horus? Are you still holding up?"
Karen edged closer carefully, the worry on his face impossible to hide.
The Wolf of Luna saw the concern in this mortal's eyes.
Genuine worry. Not born of fear, not born of awe. Just one person worrying about another.
He tugged at the corner of his mouth and waved a hand.
"It's nothing. Just a bit tired."
"Sit down," Karen said, completely serious. "If you keel over right here, I don't have the strength to lift you back up. That armour plus your build has got to weigh three tons."
Horus was silent for a second.
The mortal made a valid point.
And so the Warmaster of the Imperium, one of the greatest commanders in human history, obediently sat down with his back against the wall.
He leaned against the cold metal surface. The bloody hole in his chest still slowly oozed. Every breath sounded like dragging a cord through a rusted bellows.
Karen crouched in front of him, a million questions swirling in his head.
But the most critical thing right now wasn't talking.
It was that wound.
Around the edges of the Anathame wound, dark purple lines were still spreading, inch by inch. Every inch they advanced, Horus's brow furrowed tighter.
That thing wasn't just wounding his flesh. It was gnawing at his soul.
"Wait —"
A spark flashed through Karen's mind.
"Didn't the System just give me a restoration serum? The kind that repairs both soul and flesh?"
He fumbled frantically through his pockets and pulled out the vial.
Karen walked over and crouched down in front of Horus.
The Wolf of Luna's lips had gone completely white. His gaze was starting to drift, his whole being like a flame about to gutter out.
"Do you trust me, Horus?"
Karen held the vial up in front of him. His voice was quiet, but steady.
The Wolf of Luna's gaze fell on the liquid.
Something he didn't recognize. Of unknown origin.
But —
He looked down at the wound still bleeding in his chest. At the dark purple lines still spreading.
"Just inject it."
No other choice, was there?
Karen wasted no more words. He found the small patch of exposed skin between the seams of Horus's neck armour and drove the needle in.
The instant the serum hit, Horus's body tensed.
Then,
Those pupils that had been going blank began, slowly, to refocus.
The dark purple lines slowed their advance.
At the edges of the chest wound, new flesh could faintly be seen, writhing and knitting shut at a crawl.
By the time the vial was empty, Horus's breathing had finally steadied.
His face was still pale. But no longer the kind of pale that meant he was seconds from death.
"Thank you, mortal."
Horus lifted his head. His gaze was clear again.
"What should I call you?"
"Karen. A scavenger from the underhive of Rys."
"I am Horus Lupercal."
Even wounded to this degree, this Warmaster hadn't dropped an ounce of basic courtesy.
Karen thought: damn. The Imperium's number-one traitor actually has pretty good manners.
"I know who you are," he said, nodding. "Warmaster of the Imperium. The Emperor's first-found son. Master of the Luna Wolves."
The Wolf of Luna gave a slight nod. Unsurprised.
His name, after all, should be known to every household across the Imperium.
But his gaze shifted to the corridor. To the remains of the gang members scattered across the floor.
His brow furrowed.
"Why did they attack me?"
A pause. Then: "And you."
"They didn't recognize you," Karen shrugged. "They saw a giant wrapped in a metal shell and figured you were a mutant."
"...A mutant?"
Horus went still for a moment.
Then he laughed. Not loud, a real laugh, from deep in his chest.
How could anyone mistake a Primarch for a mutant? What an absurd joke.
But the words that followed from Karen,
Every single one stabbed into his ears like an icicle.
"Horus. You need to brace yourself."
Karen held his gaze, unflinching.
"This is the 41st millennium of the human Imperium. Ten thousand years have passed since the era you remember."
"Ten thousand years is more than enough time for mortals to forget many things."
"And what's more —"
He paused. His words came more carefully now.
"After the Great Crusade, you were the prime traitor who launched the rebellion. The Imperium spent ten thousand years thoroughly erasing your existence from the memory of the vast majority of its people."
The corridor fell silent as a tomb.
Horus sat there. The light in his eyes slowly froze over.
Like an entire glacier collapsing in silence.