Vengeful Spirit
The flagship, once renowned for its glory and majesty, had now been thoroughly branded by Chaos. Heavy iron chains hung from the bulkheads, and enormous bronze spikes sprouted savagely from the pillars and ceiling.
The air was thick with the mingled scents of incense and blood, seeming viscous and oppressive beneath the dim lights.
The once mirror-smooth floor was densely carved with runes, each incision like a twisted splenic blood vessel, pulsing faintly in the light.
Deep within the heart of the Vengeful Spirit, the doors to Lupercal's Court stood tightly shut.
From the moment he declared his rebellion, Warmaster Horus had been laying out a grand scheme.
He had placed every piece in a carefully calculated position, assigning each Legion a place within an enormous noose aimed at Terra.
Those allies, those brothers, those forces that might turn against him—he had accounted for them all.
He trusted his control over this war as a chess player trusted the board before him.
No one could see his entire strategy. No one could guess what designs lay buried behind each move he made.
But for all his calculations, Horus had never anticipated that Lorgar would banish Vulkan and Corax, severely mauling the Salamanders Legion and Raven Guard Legion in the process.
When that news reached the Court, he thought he had misheard.
Vulkan and Corax were no ordinary Primarchs, no opponents who could be easily defeated.
They possessed power enough to tip the balance on the battlefield.
Yet despite their enormous advantage, Lorgar had banished them with ease, like prey that had stumbled into a trap.
Lorgar, his brother, the brother he loved most and most longed to have at his side.
Lorgar's power was too great, so great that it fell entirely outside his contingency plans.
For the