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Terra, the Imperial Palace, shortly after the traitor retreat

The capital city of the Imperium was in ashes. The traitors had been bled white during their frenzied retreat, and Dorn had commanded every traitor corpse, wreck, or anything they left behind be burned to ashes. Across the ruins, Astartes and Custodes stalked, armed with meltas and flamers, ready to burn anything that had survived the initial razing. But beyond the ruins, the Imperial Palace still stood. The walls and fortifications were cracked and pitted, a massive breach marking where a traitor Titan had smashed its way through the wall. But the Eternity Gate still stood intact, and above the walls, Custodes and Astartes stood and watched as Mechanicum personnel assessed the damage and prepared to repair it.

Deep within the Palace, tech adepts worked furiously, equipping the Golden Throne with an array of life-support systems designed by the near-incapacitated Emperor Himself. Malcador still sat on the Throne, but he had ceased to speak long ago, his body reduced to a skeletal husk - while his powers had kept the ruined Webway Gate shut, his Human body simply could not handle the strain for long. Perhaps had Russ brought Magnus back things might have been different, but nothing could be done about that now. As the adepts finished their work, the massive doors of the Throne Room opened. A double line of Custodes, White Scar, Blood Angel, and Imperial Fist Terminators strode in, flanking the Khan and the Praetorian who supported between them the ruined form of the Emperor Himself. While His arm had been reattached, His ruined eye and jugular replaced with cybernetics, the psychic strain of completely obliterating a person's existence meant that soon He would succumb to His body's weakness, and weakness was not something the Imperium could tolerate now. Or ever again. As they stumbled towards the Throne, the Emperor was focused on Horus' thoughts just before he was obliterated. Horus had regained his sanity for a brief moment, and in addition to an apology for his betrayal and gratitude for his returned sanity, the Warmaster had tried to warn Him about something. Despite the strain, the Emperor opened Himself to the Warp; with Horus gone, many veils were lifted and shadows torn. And there, He perceived them with horror, existences that should not have been, threats that would take millennia to bear their nightmarish fruit. As they approached the Throne, He motioned Dorn and Khan to stop, and signaled them closer to warn them: 'Horus...his sons...they must not...destroy them...'. As the Emperor began to falter from His injuries, the tech adepts disconnected Malcador from the Throne, and as his body crumbled unto dust, the Emperor was enthroned. As He lost consciousness, the Emperor gave His final commands, and spoke no more.

For millennia hence, the Emperor's warnings about the "sons of Horus" were believed to refer to Abaddon and his accursed Black Legion, and their treacherous brethren, but there were those among the Inquisition and the Adeptus Astartes who believed that the Emperor had meant differently when He mentioned the "sons of Horus", and for millennia had kept watch for a threat that might or might not surface...

This is certainly intriguing ... where's it headed next?

Nice writing, btw!

Necroagogo wrote:This is certainly intriguing ... where's it headed next?

Nice writing, btw!

Thanks!
Sorry, no spoilers. But, rest assured, I'll try and live up to the implications of the title and the Emperor's warning.

Encaladus Fortress, the 42nd Millennium

Six hooded and cloaked figures walked into a darkened room. The doors were sealed, and in the shadows, the hum of anti-listening devices softly droned. They were all of them respected and highly-regarded figures within the Ordo Malleus, and perhaps, just a little feared. At least one of them had a reputation for shooting radicals on sight if she could get away with it.
'Why have we met like this?', began a man with a stern voice. 'We should have not met for another standard year at least, according to the threat predictions we discussed barely a standard month ago.'
'Granted,' added an older woman's voice, 'but new things have come to light recently. If this new information is correct, then they are much more formidable than we initially suspected. Any of us, save for His Divine Majesty.'
'Impossible!', protested an elderly male. 'We here are among the Inquisition's finest! Each of us has faced daemons and nightmares tha-'
'Calm yourself, my friend!', cut in the first Inquisitor. 'Let us not give way to pride. We are Inquisitors. And as such we must set aside such petty things. If this new information really is true, then our enemies are set to become the greatest threat the Imperium has faced since the Emperor confronted Horus himself. Even Abaddon himself pales in comparison.' This last statement caused somewhat of a stir among the others.
'If things have really reached this point,' interjected a young woman, 'then we must move quickly. If we fail to stop them, then we're done for. Only a Primarch could hope to confront them directly without getting killed in an instant.'
'If things were that bad, child, then we should not have met in the first place. I suggest yo-' began the elder male, but another man, this one with a voice carrying a tone of one used to speaking to multitudes of people, cut him off.
'She is right about the risk. We risk underestimating our enemies, and with the Imperium reeling from the recent crises, we cannot afford any expensive lessons.'
'Agreed.', said the sixth, a young man, though all of them knew better. 'In that case I propose a compromise. We still have a little time left, and that would be best used investigating this new threat. Rest assured, should things take a turn for the worst, I will take appropriate action.'
'Very well,' agreed the older woman. 'But to take the appropriate action, you will need authorization from the Grand Conclave itself.'
'Leave that to me.', said the orator. 'I can have it done within a day.'
'Will this satisfy everyone?' asked the young woman. She was responded with several nods, except for the elderly male. Finally, he nodded, and said 'I suppose it must. But be discreet. It would not do for the radicals to hear of this.'
'Rest assured,' replied the sixth. 'I'm used to being discreet.'
'Well then, this issue is concluded. Now, let us be on our way for we have much to do.', concluded the stern-voiced male. With a gesture, the doors were opened, and the six went their separate ways, never once showing their faces until they were out of sight of each other.

Vdry nice so far. Subscribed and exalted!

An interesting story, but I can already hint what is it about...
Waiting to see more from you brother...

Craftworld Biel-Tan

The Farseer sat cross-legged in her meditation chamber, her eyes closed and her breathing soft and steady. Slowly, she opened her eyes as she raised her hand and tossed her runes into the air over a polished and slight raised circular tablet of wraithbone. They never fell. Instead, they simply floated a few inches above the surface, and after a moment of calm, the bright green stones began to glow as they smoothly flew through the air above the tablet in elegant and well-defined patterns. At first all seemed well - the Farseer saw no changes in the threads of fate she had woven for centuries. Then suddenly, the stones stopped, and all but one fell to the tablet to the alarm and surprise of the Farseer. The lone rune flashed brightly as it rotated slowly in place: mon'keigh. As the Farseer watched, other runes rose into the air, and resumed their dance. With mounting horror, she watched as the runes smashed into one another, knocking each other out of the dance, until only the runes of the Humans and the Forces of Chaos were left. Then, they abruptly smashed into each other, breaking into pieces. Shocked by this turn of events, the Farseer composed herself, relaxing her senses, and slowly closed her eyes.

Darkness. Then light. The Farseer watched a battle in space over a Human city-world, which burned beneath the fleets clashing in the stars. With some surprise, she saw Eldar warships from several Craftworlds fighting alongside Imperial vessels against the Forces of Chaos. Then she sensed the psychic presence from the planet below, and she knew the world: Terra - home of the Humans, and resting place of the Emperor, the one being who could have defeated the darkness in His people's hearts. She found herself descending to the planet, past burning Imperial city-towers and ruined forges, noting with increased surprise Eldar fighting alongside Humans - not just the mighty Space Marines, but even the ordinary Guardsmen - and realized that they were not winning this fight. Then before she could see any more, she found herself pulled beneath a mountainous fortress. How she knew she could not understand, but found herself before a mighty Throne of gold, steel, and brass. A figure was seated on the Throne, and though the body was broken, she could feel the strength and power of the being within, with no malevolence for her or her kind, but with a calm determination to protect His people and fight the Great Enemy to the end. Despite herself, she bowed her head in respect over His presence and determination, and felt Him respond in kind. Then, she was shown a new vision: four figures, gazing at some sight she could not perceive. She realized that she was no longer in the nightmare future where she knew not how that the Craftworlds and even the mighty Imperium had fallen, and the last of both races fought in a futile last stand against the Great Enemy before the Emperor's Gates. As she watched with mounting terror, one of the figures turned towards her and smiled.
"I see you, Farseer. How strange that our grandfather would assist one such as you. No matter. He hid many things, from us and our father, but now all is almost ready. At long last we will have our revenge, and the Lupercal will rise once more, and there is absolutely nothing you or He can do. Now, begone!"

Macha was blasted across her meditation chamber by the sheer force of the sorcery unleashed. Her runes were incinerated in an instant, the Wraithbone tablet half-melted across the floor. As she crumpled to the floor in pain, bright red blood staining her dark-red hair, warlocks rushed into her chamber, drawn by the psychic trauma reverberating through the air. As she struggled to her feet, she held up her hand, and commanded a warlock. "Summon the Court of the Young King. I must have an audience immediately."

The Vengeful Spirit

Abaddon stormed down the corridor in a black mood, Daemons and Chaos Space Marines alike stepping out of his path, fearing to provoke his wrath. Others less prudent had fallen as a result in the past. As he approached the sacrificial chamber, the black, metal doors slid open, and toxic, warp-tainted gases wafted out, redolent of burnt flesh and blood. A pair of Chaos Sorcerers stood in front of an altar of bloodstained stone, with a Space Wolf bound in warp-forged chains on his kness before it. The Space Wolf was broken - his body was bruised and battered, many of his bones broken, his face so badly beaten that he could not speak. But his eyes retained their defiant pride, a pride that Abaddon had once admired. No longer. Irritated at the Space Wolf's defiance, Abaddon lifted a boot and smashed the Space Wolf back against the altar, leaving his face a bloody mess. Abaddon then turned to his Sorcerers. 'Proceed.' he commanded in a tone that brooked no delay. With a short bow, the twin Sorcerers began casting a spell in a language known only to the initiates of the Great Sorcerer himself - Tzeentch. Tendrils of warp energy began to snake around the room, flowing from the Sorcerers' hands, resonating with their chanting, devouring the flakes of blood on the floor and the altar, and coiling around the form of the struggling Space Wolf. Slowly, he was lifted into the air, and light began to glow in silvery-blue beams from his eyes. Then he exploded, the warp-forged chains reduced to dust in an instant. But the blood and bits of flesh and bone never reached the floor. Instead, they coalesced into a blob of pinkish flesh, with multiple limbs and a leering mouth - a Horror of Tzeentch.
'Ha! Ssso what doesssss the almighty Warmassssster wissssh of me?' asked the daemon.
'Silence, wretch! You know what I seek. By the Dark Gods, tell me what I seek, or I shall send you back to your master in tatters!' responded the Warmaster in black fury, his mood aggravated by the daemon's amusement. Unwilling to antagonize the raging Warmaster, being well-aware of his being pre-eminent among the Champions of Chaos, the Daemon merely nodded. 'What doessss the Warmasssster wisssssh to know? I will ansssswer.'
Abaddon looked at the daemon with contempt, pulling himself together with a massive effort.
'Lord Magnus was clear. That fool Bile has been working on something that should have ended long ago. But neither he nor that Ahriman has been able to perceive what. Now, tell me, what is it?' Abaddon grated.
The Horror laughed in amusement, risking the Warmaster's ire. 'Once, long ago, before the Falssssse-Emperor sssslew your father, you were known assss the Sssssonssss of Horusss, were you not? The Dark Prince'sss sssservant has replicated the Falssse-Emperor'sss flesssshcraft, and usssed your father'ssss blood to create true Ssssonsss.'
For a moment Abaddon's fury peaked at the implied insult, then realized something. With shock and mounting horror, he looked down and gazed at his gauntlet, the Talon of Horus, and the circumstances by which he had obtained it. They quickly faded, replaced by cold determination. He was the Warmaster of the Black Legion, and no other. With a nod, the Sorcerers banished the gibbering Daemon back into the Warp, and as Abaddon strode away from the altar, he sent a message to the bridge: 'Contact Lord Magnus. Inform him that his fears were correct. Bile has succeeded in creating clone-sons of the Lupercal. Our support is assured.'

Inquisition vessel Light of Judgement, en transit to Ultima Segmentum

The mighty vessel plowed through the Warp, the insane geometries parting around the ship's Geller Field. On the bridge, crewmen and servitors worked at their stations under the watchful gaze of the captain and his officers. Down below in Engineering, tech-priests, servitors, and crewmen tended to the massive plasma reactors, keeping sure enough power was being fed into the screaming maw of the warp engines, but also careful to maintain the ship's Geller Field - without it, the ship would be torn apart by the monsters that dwelt within the realm of the Warp. But the Light of Judgement was a unique vessel. At first glace, the ship gave the appearance of highly-customized space yacht, mostly in the form of heavy armor plating, reinforced shield generators, and multiple weapon batteries, and most importantly, its Inquisition IFF signal.

Inquisitor Okazaki strode down a hallway towards a meeting room, with Bloody Rose silently walking behind him. The Inquisitor was a potent psyker; born to a noble family on the Hive World of Elanus III, he had been identified as one of those rare, one-in-a-million Human psykers with the mental strength to resist chaotic influence/daemonic possession under normal circumstances. After undergoing basic psychic training, he was assigned to Lord Inquisitor Grande of the Ordo Malleus (another psyker) as an acolyte. Serving with distinction, Okazaki was re-assigned decades later to Inquisitor Quimera of the Ordo Hereticus. A radical, Okazaki was unable to work with the Inquisitor, and leaked information to other members of the Ordo Hereticus, leading to Quimera's execution. Okazaki was commended for his dedication to the Emperor's purity, and was returned to Grande's staff. Years later, as the Lord Inquisitor lay dying after banishing a Greater Daemon of Slaanesh, he gave Okazaki the title and rank of Inquisitor. The newly-minted Inquisitor would earn himself a reputation not just as a daemon hunter, but as an Amalathian, eventually earning him the attention, and membership, of the Council of Six.

Bloody Rose walked behind her master, her red hair tied in a long ponytail down her back, her mask and clothes making her appear like a ninja from half-forgotten tales of Ancient Terra. This was in contrast to he master, who, despite in all black, looked more like a moderately prosperous mid-Hive merchant rather than an Inquisitor. Both of them looked as though they were in their early-30's, but this was thanks to periodic rejuvenat treatments - the two were well over a hundred. A former Callidus, she was set to be liquidated after her first mission when she went 'rogue' and slaughtered an entire Tau secessionist cabal after they detected and slaughtered her entire team. However, the Inquisitor had seen her potential, and after commuting her sentence, transferred her to his staff. There used to be rumors of a romantic relationship between the two, but this has since died out - the Inquisitor had (to her amusement) the man responsible for the rumors fired from a torpedo tube. The truth was their relationship was purely platonic, something everyone made sure to remember especially after that incident.

The Inquisitor and Assassin finally reached their destination, entering a meeting room paneled in wood with digital copies of famous Imperial paintings adorning the walls. The marbled floor was set with the Inquisition symbol in the middle, though this was largely obscured by the large table in the middle of the room. Three people were seated at the table: Irene, a former Administratum Curator who had been recruited after her superiors found she was 'too clever', Valerius, a Magos recruited for his expertise regarding warp technology and genetic mutations, and Johann, a Sanctioned Psyker who served as the Inquisitor's advisor. As the Inquisitor entered the room, the Assassin closed the doors and activated the anti-spying devices before taking her place beside the Inquisitor at the far end of the table. 'Well, then,' began the Inquisitor. 'Let us begin.'

The Inquisitor reached forward and tapped the activation glyph of the built-in hololith, which projected a star map into the air, while room's lights dimmed automatically. 'As you all know, we are headed for Sub Sector Thespa, in the Segmentum Pacificus. This mission is of the ultimate secrecy and utmost importance. Are we clear on that?' asked the Inquisitor. The others responded with nods, and the Inquisitor continued. 'Might as well start from the very beginning. Over ten thousand years ago, the Emperor gave a warning at the end of the Horus Heresy that Horus had apparently children of his own. Most of those who heard it disregarded the warning, believing it symbolic but the Inquisition was not so disdainful. An investigation was launched, and later on discovered that Fabius Bile had created clone-sons of the Warmaster.' Magos Valerius interrupted 'But as far as we know that the clones were destroyed by Abaddon, didnt he?' The Inqusitor nodded. 'He did, but Bile was tricky. He created four additional clones, and sent them into the Warp, which re-emerged millennia later. The first encounter with them was a near disaster, and ironically enough, that time we were saved only when Magnus the Red himself intervened and destroyed the sorcerous construct they had built to disrupt the Astronomican to strike indirectly at the Emperor. It was at that point that the Council of Six were formed, to prevent a recurrence. Unfortunately, neither we nor the Thousand Sons were able to prevent them from escaping, though the Sons pursued them into the Warp.' 'And now they've resurfaced.' rejoined Curator Irene. The Inquisitor nodded unhappily, his expression turning grim. 'And this time we must finish them off for sure. The Grand Conclave has authorized me to perform exterminatus if necessary without the approval of the Sector Conclaves. This time, we finish this, once and for all.'
tbc...

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8136694/3/Horus_Children

new chapter...