52 Courage (4k)

Garviel Loken stopped in his tracks, unwilling to do so; he was supposed to proceed to another cell belonging to the Emperor's Children to deliver a message.

It was ridiculous that they were aboard a Gloriana-class Battleship's warship, yet had to communicate with each other in such an ancient way. The more Garviel Loken thought about it, the more he understood the bitterness behind it.

But he had to stop.

Because Ezekyle Abaddon was standing right in front of him. He emerged from the darkness, not existing a moment ago, but appearing suddenly like a shark surfacing, its jaws wide open. Garviel Loken stared at him, and the latter returned the same stare.

Are they still brothers? Why do they look so much like enemies now? Garviel Loken felt a pang of sorrow, and at the same time, he realized something from Abaddon's appearance and attitude.

But is that possible? Does Horus already know that?

"Where are you going, Garviel Loken?" Abaddon asked softly.

"That's none of your business," Garviel Loken said. "I don't need to report to you what I'm going to do."

"Yes," Abaddon nodded. "But you haven't shown up at the dueling arena for three days, and neither have Torgaddon. What are you doing?"

"I will never go to that place again, not even once."

"Do as you please, but what are you doing?"

"This is none of your business."

"I understand," Abaddon said. "But shouldn't I have the right to question you, Garviel Loken? Have you forgotten our oath?"

We are still brothers.

"No." Abaddon approached him, and the word he uttered made Garviel Loken grit his teeth. Fortunately, Abaddon didn't stop there; it wasn't just a simple denial.

"There's another oath between us, a bond closer than brotherhood, Garviel Loken. The power of that oath still applies to Aximand and me. And you, Torgaddon?"

His eyes, seemingly embedded in their sockets, seemed to radiate a certain doubt, but in reality, it was probably far more than just doubt.

He discovered it. A voice inside Garviel Loken said, "He sent Abaddon here. He knows everything."

Fear and shame began to creep in, but Garviel Loken did not let them take over. He remained standing, breathing steadily—he was not a very good liar; in fact, in his past life, he had been immune to lying.

But now he seemed to have mastered it without any instruction, as if he had done it hundreds or thousands of times before. He looked into Abaddon's eyes, maintaining a calm expression and even breathing, and spoke in a voice that remained unchanged.

But he only had time to utter one word.

"I--"

"Are you lying, Garviel Loken?" Abaddon asked.

He slowly approached him. Garviel Loken didn't speak, only clenched his fists. He didn't understand why he was doing this; it was an aggressive gesture that shouldn't be between them.

For a moment, he was in a state of utter confusion, and Abaddon had already walked up to him.

"You've never lied before, Garviel Loken. You've always been an honest man, even Rogal Dorn admires you. But what have you just done?"

Garviel Loken didn't speak. He remained silent for a few seconds, then took a step, brushing past Abaddon and disappearing into the darkness.

He chose to leave Abaddon under the dim light.

The latter, with his back to him, laughed and then uttered a word, only two syllables, that sounded like a pronouncement. Abaddon's tone when he said it wasn't particularly solemn, but it made Garviel Loken stop in his tracks immediately.

"Traitor," Ezekyle Abaddon said.

Garviel Loken turned around.

He had expected to feel uneasy and nervous at this moment, but in the end, he felt nothing but calm. He turned back with his head held high, and Abaddon turned to look at him, seemingly surprised by his return.

"Do you think Horus did the right thing, Ezekyle?" Garviel Loken asked. "Do you think it was right for him to wound a Primarch like that, defect to his fleet, and enslave his legions to kill each other for his amusement?"

"Don't tell me you didn't hear his laughter from the dueling arena. The Emperor's Children were fighting, bleeding, and suffering the cruel punishment and torment of fratricide, yet he treated it as a form of leisurely enjoyment. Ask yourself, brother, is this really the Horus we remember doing?"

"So you admit it." Abaddon forced a smile, a smile he didn't want to give; its purpose was to keep him standing before Garviel Loken.

He was bluffing, Garviel Loken saw through it instantly.

Ezekyle Abaddon was feeling guilty.

"You're changing the subject, Ezekyle."

"I am loyal to Horus," Abaddon said slowly.

"Do you still remember the duties of the Mournival?" Garviel Loken asked, looking into his eyes.

"We advise Horus. The Primarch are a hundred times more intelligent and sensible than we are, but they are also human, and they have their limitations. That's where we come in to remind him. Tell me, Ezekyle, do you think what he's doing now is right?"

"And what about you? Are your actions correct?"

Garviel Loken shook his head in disappointment. "You still haven't answered my question directly."

"I don't think I need to say much to a traitor," Abaddon said with a forced smile. "You betrayed us, Garviel Loken."

"I understand," Garviel Loken said. "But I'm not the traitor, you are, Ezekyle."

"How ridiculous, who did I betray?"

Garviel Loken didn't answer, he simply turned and left. He had said all he needed to say; if Abaddon was sent by Horus, if it meant his Judgment was imminent, then so be it.

However, a question occurred to him.

What price must one pay for eternal integrity, Rogal Dorn?

--

You feel disappointed.

Garviel Loken and Tarik Torgaddon Torgaddon remained unmoved, and you began to wonder if sending someone to persuade them was unnecessary. But you quickly dismissed the thought, deciding to put it aside.

You sit on your Throne, surrounded by cheers. Mortal servants kneel before you in their proper places, reciting your epic. This epic is not yet complete; it should contain millions of words, detailing every single one of your stories.

It'll be quick, you think. Just a few more steps and it'll be done.

Listening to their voices, you feel a tranquil peace unique to moments of leisure. But you know this is merely the calm before the storm. You love the rainy season; you always feel the thunder is roaring just for you.

"It will really be like that soon," you said with a smile.

Once again, you sink into darkness. Your nose begins to bleed, sticky blood with a cloying sweetness like rotting fruit. You taste your own blood, which is quite unusual.

You laughed again, your laughter echoing around the Throne, while your thoughts began to wander deeper into the darkness. You felt a power rising from somewhere, surging into your body, making you stronger, and you almost felt you could face anything.

In that instant, an unparalleled courage rose within you.

You once hesitated about what you were going to do; after all, burning the entire galaxy to expose a lie was too high a price for anyone. But now you're determined, and you understand that destruction precedes construction.

There is only one person in the world who possesses this courage, and that person is you.

Only you can do this; only you can face the Emperor directly, face everything directly.

With this courage, you venture ever deeper. Darkness envelops you, embraces you, its touch reminding you of Sanguinius' feather. You hesitate for a moment, but it doesn't matter; you continue deeper, deeper, deeper.

Until we reach the deepest part of darkness.

Now you stand here. Where stars gather, Gods' Gaze. The magnificence of the scene surpasses even the sum of all the splendor in dreams; beneath your feet alone, a million stars are constantly being born and dying.

You observed them for a while, then looked away, bored. You were tired of the sight; you'd seen it too many times. So, you started observing other things—like your brother.

Every day is the same; darkness will always reveal some truth to you.

Today, the first person you see is Konrad Curze Curze, which is quite interesting. You see a pale-faced, ragged killer moving through the towering, gloomy city, surviving by eating rats.

Then, his innate paranoia and perception of the future drove him to the brink of madness; he went insane, but not completely. He became a cruel ruler who maintained power through bloodshed and enforced justice with violence.

You couldn't help but burst out laughing; you never imagined Konrad Curze Curze could be like this—

Where am I?

That's not important, keep reading.

"No"

Keep watching.

So you continue reading.

You see Konrad Curze Curze return to the Legion, and you see him and his Legion being led across the galaxy by the Emperor's orders. You see his Legion gradually filled with scum, and you see him himself driven to utter madness by the overwhelming pain.

You stopped laughing; you started to think. His tragedy was still playing out, but that was no longer your biggest concern.

You suddenly realize that if the Emperor were truly as good and warm as he claimed, why would he have scattered you all across the galaxy? And why wouldn't he have given Konrad Curze even a moment to deal with his planet?

You understand, Konrad Curze Curze was driven mad by his sense of justice and his obsession, but given enough time, he could have reconciled with himself.

But the Emperor did not give him that time.

"Liar!" you growled angrily on your Throne. "He ruined you, Konrad Curze, he turned you into a monster!"

The illusion vanished, and you began to ponder. The darkness sensed your desire to see more. As always, it immediately responded to your command.

It is so considerate, so obedient, without a trace of disloyalty, thinking of you wholeheartedly—this time, you see Magnus through the veil that shrouds the stars.

Ah, your erudite, naive brother, a scholar through and through, who values knowledge more than war. You once disapproved of some of his actions on the battlefield, but now you understand them somewhat.

There are always things more important than war, like those thirty years—why are you bringing them up again?

You laughed, shook your head, and felt a sense of absurdity. You continued watching, and this time, you watched Magnus's entire life story.

You fell silent, and you inevitably realized once again that if the Emperor had told Magnus these things beforehand, he wouldn't have had to suffer so much.

"Why are you so silent, you liar?" you muttered to yourself. "You made us call you father, and this is how you treat us."

But that doesn't matter. You gave Magnus one last sympathetic look and waved away the illusion.

You sat on your Throne, deep in thought—another you, the one who had failed, had achieved his goal through some clever schemes, having Leman Russ Russ and Fenris's pack tear Magnus's wizarding gathering place apart.

It was a terrible act of violence, but if you were in that situation, you would have done the same.

At this moment, you think of Magnus, the Magnus you know. The last time you heard news of him, he was still under house arrest in Terra. That's good, you smile.

A plan has taken shape in your mind, and with just a little provocation, it can achieve a very good result.

"No," Horus Lupercal said in horror.

He was shrouded in darkness, his flesh was dissolving, and all the essence and beauty within him were being replaced by something more distorted.

"I won't do that!" he roared. "I'm determined—"

--You've decided to send someone to Prospero tomorrow.

Ah, wait, what time is it today? You emerge from the darkness, and countless mortals sing for you in your Shadow. You sigh contentedly and return to your room.

Only then do you realize that you've already anchored in the orbit of the Istvaan III. Does wandering in darkness make time pass so quickly? A question arises, then quickly vanishes.

You pondered for a moment, and then another warship appeared at the other end of the track. It was the Gloriana-class Battleship warship named Firm Resolve, your brother Angron's flagship, so they had arrived.

You nodded thoughtfully, the taste of blood slowly spreading across your tongue. It came from an unknown source, but you felt utterly satisfied. Then, you thought once again of the traitors on your ship.

They should be making their move soon, right?

You smiled.

It's alright, let's first hold onto hope. Without hope, how can we even begin to despair?

You gently turned and began to issue commands to the mortals in your Shadow. They were so useless, trembling at your mere gaze, yet still better than Servitor, at least able to convey your orders. At your command, a meeting began to take place.

You can't wait.

You want to see Angron.

You want him to see the truth.

Besides.