By the time the two Horuses dragged the twitchy Neos into the palace, everything inside had already twisted beyond recognition.
They staggered through the endless artillery fire and charged into the palace. The four siege Titans at the front, surrounded by smaller Titans, violently slammed into the side entrance that the Ultramarines had long since sealed shut. Boom! Thick concrete slabs and broken steel reinforcement crashed to the ground, instantly crushing several Ultramarines behind their barricades.
The vanguard had already rushed in. Horus, waving his warhammer and shouting slogans, charged into the palace as well. The Shepherd of the Luna Wolves hurriedly pulled Neos forward into the wreckage-strewn halls.
The moment he glimpsed the inside of the palace, the Shepherd of the Luna Wolves sucked in a sharp breath.
This was nothing like the palace he had imagined. It was not magnificent, not brilliant; there was neither pure golden splendor nor strange azure beauty.
Every pillar, wall, ceiling, and chandelier hanging from above looked like half-melted butter smoked black with tar, displaying indescribably filthy colors.
Everything had warped. The once-straight pillars bent crookedly, while the reliefs on the walls had melted features and dull, loathsome faces. Some kind of flowing burnt-brown tears streamed down the walls, thick and thin, nearly covering the walls and floor—
For a moment, the Shepherd of the Luna Wolves thought those twisted trails of tears were still alive, still writhing. They bore the signs of something long dead, like maggots crowding the floor, twisting joyfully across a giant's corpse.
From time to time, blue liquid like pus squeezed out from those yellow streaks, equally filthy and mixed with unknown black specks.
It was like a palace painted by a mad Van Gogh using excrement and vomit.
God was dead.
The Shepherd of the Luna Wolves