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I'm taking a break from writing Downfall (due to severe Writer's Block), but I felt like writing something so I decided to write this. In the book "False Gods" it was referenced that Horus spoke to Abaddon individually and corrupted him, so I decided to write that scene. So yeah.

"You wished to speak with me, Warmaster?" half asked, half stated Ezekyle Abaddon, stepping inside the Warmaster's quarters. They were surprisingly sparse considering his status as a Primarch and the Emperor's favored son, containing little more than a few battle trophies, a drawer and a desk.

"Yes," replied Horus, his voice oddly compelling. "Please, sit down." As Ezekyle sat the Primarch asked, "Have you ever had your doubts in the Emperor?"

The First Captain avoided eye contact, no doubt shamed by the question. "Yes," he said. "While you were injured... I blamed the Emperor for what occurred and also for leaving the Great Crusade. It was foolishness and, of course, you recovered."

"No. It was not foolishness. To believe a man, even the Emperor, is infallible, would be worship and would no doubt violate the Imperial Truth," Horus said, staring directly into Ezekyle's eyes. Ezekyle forced himself to keep his composure, unnerved by the statement. "The Emperor has made errors. He is turning over control of the Imperium away from us Astartes, who spearheaded the Great Crusade and kept it safe from greenskins and Eldar and other monstrous Xenos, to bureaucrats who have never held a weapon in their lives. Remembrancers, dependent on us for their survival, call for our deaths and claim we are murderers! The High Lords of Terra place more and more restrictions on us while at the same time handing us more responsibility! Do you not agree?"

Ezekyle paused and reluctantly said, "Yes. I have long harbored doubts about the Imperium's current path. They are turning against us."

"And who would be 'they?'" asked Horus, leaning in closely.

"As you stated, the bureaucrats."

"Who employed the bureaucrats? Who hands them more and more power?" demanded the Warmaster. "Who abandoned and betrayed us Astartes, his own sons, in favor of men who have never truly worked a day in their life?" Horus was shouting now, his voice ablaze with fury.

"Horus!" yelled the First Captain, standing up and staring down his Primarch. "What you speak of is Heresy! Yes, the Emperor has erred before, but he did not abandon us and he certainly did not betray us!"

"Ezekyle, Ezekyle," smoothly replied the Warmaster, already having calmed down from his previous outburst. "It is known that I am his favored son, chosen to be the Warmaster above all other Primarchs. Yet when I lay on the verge of death he sat upon his golden throne in Terra, consorting with scribes and remembrancers. You were forced to use methods he had banned to keep me alive. If he does not care about the survival of his favored son, does any Astartes truly matter to him?"

"You have a point," Ezekyle admitted.

"What will the Emperor do to us if we truly succeed in the Great Crusade? It has been proven that he does not care for us and after the Crusade we will have no purpose; a simple waste of resources in his eyes."

"We are his Chosen Sons," the First Captain stammered.

Horus smiled and said, "I have already proven otherwise."

Ezekyle took a heavy breathe and sat back down. He held his face in his hands; the doubts and insecurities he had pushed to the back of his mind long again were now brought directly before him by the Warmaster and there was nothing he could do to hide. Finally he asked, "Why did you bring me here?"

"Because we can not let the Emperor do this," answered Horus.

It has a nice Chaos theme to it. Are you going to continue this?

Thanks for the comment. I probably won't continue this, since the HH books cover the rest of Abaddon's history so there isn't much else I could add.

That's a a shame cos you're writing is always good

Agree, it's good.

A always worshipped H in the books, for him to say no would like a child rejecting a parent.

Like your style LL, you write well, will watch for more of your stuff.