The Fifty-First Fleet emerged from the Warp, its black silhouettes blotting out the sky over S-Se Four.
Stormbirds of the Iron Warriors' Fourteenth Company plunged toward the planet. The cold gleam of Mark III and Mark IV Power Armour pierced the gloom of the orbital port.
The new Warsmith, Idris Kland, led the way. Behind him came Gratus, a Machine Cult magos with three bionic eyes.
Farther back walked Hasdrubal Sarapis, a captain of the Sons of Horus.
Earl Octavius and Colonel Cole stood with the allied forces to receive them.
"Greetings, Warsmith." The Earl gave a regulation Aquila Salute.
Kland swept his gaze over the ranks.
"Gather all your forces. A campaign is about to begin."
"And I mean everyone. Men, women, the young and the old."
Colonel Cole frowned. "My lord, we have no orders from the Departmento Munitorum—"
"Orders?" Kland turned to look down at him. "This is a command from Warmaster Horus. Do you dare defy it?"
Cole was about to object when the next words made him think he had misheard.
Sarapis of the Sons of Horus spoke without the slightest hesitation. "On Terra, The Emperor has been immersed in his research for far too long."
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"The Empire no longer needs the council he established in seclusion, or the bureaucrats' politics and procedures. We need a leader."
"The Emperor can no longer lead humanity forward. His son, Horus Lupercal, has proved himself worthy of that task."
"You have been chosen for the honor of following the Warmaster into a great new age."
The spaceport fell so silent that a pin could have been heard dropping.
The Warmaster meant to betray The Emperor?
The allied officers could hardly believe their ears.
On one side stood The Emperor's favorite son. On the other stood The Emperor