Horus, Horus.

You look at your brother with satisfaction, carefully observing his face.

Finally, finally. You sighed inwardly—he had finally stopped harboring that rational anger; this madness was exactly what you needed.

He willingly sacrificed an arm as a weapon; his resistance in dire straits was incredibly brave. The Khorne blessed him for this, but that wasn't enough, because another deity had already left help upon him beforehand.

A shield, made of the dead, made of your brother's family. Respectable, but they must be completely dead.

Angron deserves to be angry, and eternally angry. You cannot allow him to continue like this. You must help him so that he can see the truth.

At that time, he will be on your side.

You smiled, Angron charged at you.

It was unwise, but that's exactly what you needed. His attacks finally lost their structure. That's good. That kind of rational anger is utterly hypocritical. Anger should just be anger, without any other desires.

He wielded the axe haphazardly, purely on instinct, intent on killing you. You patiently guided him, fueling his even greater rage.

Nothing could be better. You can't even be bothered to pay attention to Fulgrim and Corax anymore. There's no need; they can't leave until you and Angron are done, then it'll be their turn.

But you can keep hearing one voice.

"Father!"

Someone is calling you outside the royal court. Strange, who would disturb you at this time? You start to think.

You've already deployed everyone to their designated positions. Essentially, this battle is yours alone; they can't offer any assistance. Therefore, you don't need them here at all. Just go out and tell your brother's legions to stay put and not bother you.

As you continue to ponder, guiding Angron while listening to the man's voice, he pleads with you to open the door; he has something to say to you.

It's so strange, why does his voice sound so familiar?

Is this important?

"No, that doesn't matter," said the voice that spoke often, as soft as a feather.

Really?

It's true, you just need to--

--"Father!"

It's here again, his voice is here again, why does it sound so familiar? Who is he? No, who are you?

Who am I?

Fight! Keep fighting!

Another voice roared from afar, like thunder, like the clash of swords. It sounded full of longing, as if it desperately wanted to obtain something.

But a voice as soft as a feather interrupted it; for some reason, it sounded as if it were smiling.

"How interesting. Even a puppet with only memories left can be affected by a fragment of a soul. I underestimated you, Lupercal. In that case, go and see for yourself, and try to discern who that voice truly is. I look forward to how you perish."

Accompanied by laughter, it gradually faded away, and you...

No, for the first time, the world before my eyes became clear, as if a veil had been torn away, as if a blind person could finally see the world with their own eyes. Everything was so unfamiliar. Where am I? Is this my royal court? Why does it look so strange, my brothers?

Oh, the Emperor.

What have I done?

Horus Lupercal abruptly stopped, standing frozen in place as if the strings of a puppet had been ripped off. The Worldbreaker should have faced the trajectory of the Blood Axe head-on to defend himself, now sat stiffly in his hand, not even being lifted up.

The brutal, twisted axe cleaved deep into his armor, sending out fragments that resembled the blood of a living creature rather than metal.

Horus stared blankly at everything, a sharp pain shooting through his head, blood gushing from his nose. He stumbled back a few steps, then began to frantically dodge Angron's attacks.

That posture was less of a dodge and more of an escape. But the Nuceria was clearly not going to let him go so easily. A blood-stained roar, like muffled thunder, rose from his chest, and his left hand, holding the axe, was being slowly covered by the blood from the giant axe.

Horus witnessed this scene, and the chaotic and fragmented memories were activated by the ominous force surrounding them, flashing through his mind like lightning—in an instant, he trembled all over, and he finally understood what he had done.

So when Angron swung his axe at him again, he did not dodge.

He chose to block the axe with his right hand, not with that damned Lightning Claw. Horus gritted his teeth; a cold, dark power stirred crept deep within his bones, trying to offer him help, but he immediately rejected it.

He single-handedly snatched the axe from Angron's hands and threw it far away, where it embedded itself in the wall.

"Don't touch it! It will turn you into one like me, don't touch it, brother!" Horus shouted hoarsely at Angron.

He wanted to cry, but his tear ducts only produced a putrid pus-like fluid, which terrified him even more—Father, what have I become?

The gladiator, however, paid no heed. He was oblivious to everything around him; all sound was blocked out, and the crimson hue obscured everything, forcing him to continue his charge toward Horus.

The Wolf God didn't want to continue fighting, but the weakness surging through his body told him that some things had to be dealt with immediately, or it would be too late.

Otherwise, it would be absolutely too late.

The sinister darkness was punishing him for his refusal. Horus, panting, slapped Angron to the ground and lunged at him, grabbing his neck—he couldn't hold Angron any longer; he was almost dead.

Horus turned his head and vomited a mouthful of blood, red, human-scented, and filled with the stench of blood, not the foul odor of the Warp.

It's too late, it's really too late.

"Don't forgive me, brother, but don't hate me either. This isn't me, this isn't who I am." Horus clenched his hands in sorrow, causing Angron to faint.

He stood up and began to stumble toward the door. The person outside was still calling and knocking. He recognized the voice.

Fulgrim and Kolaus Corax looked at him with contrasting expressions: the former was furious and frantic, while the latter was silent and wary, his face showing a complex mix of worry.

Horus walked on, vomiting blood again. An idea arose in his mind, and he turned to look at Angron, as if to confirm that he could do it, and suddenly clenched his right hand.

A black mist swept in, obscuring Angron. When it disappeared, the gladiators were nowhere to be seen.

"Traitor, traitor!" Fulgrim cursed him, trying to lunge at him, but was unable to move because of Corax's restraints, yet he continued to roar.

"I will kill you, Horus! You do not deserve to live!"

The Warmaster stared at him, his throat tightening. He wanted to say something, but the flood of memories prevented him from uttering a word. He lowered his head, avoiding Fulgrim's gaze, and then looked at Corax a few seconds later.

"I'll take you to the hangar. Don't look back, Corax," Horus said. "You can't fight him now. Run, go back to Terra, and warn your father."

The Raven Guard sighed deeply.

Can you still be saved?

"No, brother," Horus said. "I am already dead, but it's not too late, I can still—"

He shut his mouth and swallowed the blood. He was unwilling to show weakness in front of his little brother, so he simply put on a tough stance and let the darkness engulf them and leave.

But as soon as he finished, he collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. He struggled to get up, trying to shake off the effects, but black dust covered his armor and face, and the veil-like feeling of being blinded returned.

The chill deep within his bones grew stronger, even beginning to ravage his once-strong body. Horus felt as if he were a frail old man, his body broken and even breathing was accompanied by intense pain.

No, there's still one thing. There's still one thing I haven't finished.

Horus gritted his teeth, struggling to control the power and resist its influence, causing the original gates of the royal court to reappear. A man quickly burst through the gates and stumbled in.

He was covered in blood, with a huge gash in the abdomen of his armor. He spotted Horus lying on the ground at first glance and ran towards him.

"Father, Terra, Father," Aximand cried, kneeling beside him and helplessly helping him up.

Horus looked at him weakly, slowly exhaling a breath of air, cold and with the temperature of a dead man.

"Don't cry," Horus said softly. "This is not the behavior of a warrior, Aximand."

"It's all my fault, Father. I was too weak. If only I had been earlier—"

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Horus laughed. "This isn't your fault, and you're not weak at all. I've told you many times, remember my words, Aximand, this will be the last time."

He vomited a mouthful of blood, and his face began to turn deathly pale.

It was an almost transparent white. A jet-black power surged beneath his skin, veins bulging, pulsating to some indescribable rhythm. Storms and lightning raged in his eyes, so terrifying, yet Aximand showed no sign of backing down.

"I am destroyed, my son," Horus spoke slowly. "So I am, so are my honors and deeds, and so are you. I am destroyed, and after this, a monster will rise from my corpse."

"It will do evil all day long, and in my skin, in my name, commit cruelty. Garviel Loken and Torgaddon have done well; they have distanced themselves from me. But that stubborn, foolish Abaddon wants to drag everyone down with me into the abyss. I cannot interfere with his choice; I have no time left. But you are different."

He managed to raise his right hand and grasp Aximand's hand.

"You are different, my son," he repeated, the storm in his eyes growing ever brighter, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, almost drained dry.

"Father!" Aximand cried out in panic. "I'll go get the Apothecary, you'll be alright."

"Let me finish." Horus pressed him down, a bitter smile on his face. "I'm beyond saving, so at least let me finish what I have to say, okay? I—"

He coughed a few times, splattering blood, and then gasped for breath for a moment before continuing to speak.

"I will send you away; I still have the strength to do it. You must live on, as a witness, a storyteller. I know it's selfish, but I have no other choice."

"You must tell everyone the whole truth. This is my last selfish wish, Aximand. Complete it. And never come back. You are the last Sons of Horus."

He released his grip, and the black mist swept in, enveloping the unwilling Aximand, as well as the Emperor's Children, Raven Guard, War Hounds, and Luna Wolves still fighting on the Vengeful Spirit.

He did this very carefully and gently, sending them to unattended hangars or directly to some plane. The Vengeful Spirit was no longer the ship he knew; it was an altar, a domain, completely subservient to him.

In his final moments, Horus Lupercal lay alone in his royal court, thinking of a ring, thinking of the past.

Father.

I'm sorry.

Update complete.

I didn't have a knife, unexpected, right? It's actually quite heartwarming.