The grand parade was over, and the three big guys' hearts were utterly shattered.
After the Hydra Legion left, the Emperor immediately announced his choice for Warmaster. As for who got the position, Hogg and Jonson stared at Horus before them, their faces gloomy.
"Horus, oh, Horus. Any of the three of us could've been Warmaster, so why make that old bastard Warmaster? And what's the deal with Abaddon? Why'd he go over there?"
"Hogg's right. If this pot of meat has to rot, it should rot in the pot. We're all Primarchs. I've wanted to be Warmaster for ten thousand years! You can't keep your subordinates in line—you bastard, you deserve to die!"
Horus, having been sprayed in the face by the two of them, was left speechless. If anyone there was the most bewildered, it was him. He'd thought his father was going to bestow the title of Warmaster on him.
But Horus wasn't some pushover who'd let anyone walk all over him. He immediately fired back:
"Jonson, you've got a lot of nerve talking to me. When it comes to underhanded tactics, you're the real expert. For the past three months, everyone's known that your First Legion has been forming cliques all over Holy Terra and spreading rumors about us. Is my mother not your mother too?
"And as for Abaddon, how was I supposed to know he'd get mixed up with Ollanius Persson? Anyway, I've been Warmaster before. When Abaddon was Warmaster, I was still the Warmaster's father. That's better than you, a little man who plots behind people's backs. Tell me, was it you who spread the rumor that I was jerking off to a pillow with the Emperor's face on it?"
Horus's accusation made Jonson feel insulted. He roared, raised his fist, and charged: