(The author got food poisoning and has been cosplaying the Emperor for two days. That damned barbecue wasn't cooked through, and I discovered what it literally means to have it coming out both ends. Here's this 12,000-character update for now. I'll make up the rest once I'm better.)
Boom!
The final thick partition, piled together from rusted metal plates and rough stone, shattered beneath the Primarch's furious assault like rotten timber struck head-on by a battering ram.
Rubble and metal shards mingled with the mangled limbs of several unlucky Orks behind it, exploding inward and raising a cloud of dust that filled the entire space.
Horus Lupercal, a Pearl White figure, burst through the breach without even a moment's hesitation. Close behind him came the elite Luna Wolves and Emperor's Children, a torrent of white steel.
Before the dust settled, the space before them suddenly opened up.
This seemed to be a natural cavern deep within the fortress, crudely expanded into a hall. Its lofty ceiling rested on thick, barely worked metal pillars and beams. Torches burning grease jutted from the walls, their dancing flames bathing everything in dim yellow light and wavering shadows.
The air was thick with the overpowering stench of blood, sweat, cheap fuel, and the distinctive Ork reek of swamp mingled with rust.
Rough stone slabs covered the floor, their seams soaked with dark stains.
Yet none of these crude surroundings could distract Horus in the slightest.
The instant he broke through the wall, his gaze pierced the swirling dust and shifting green figures like a hawk locking onto prey. It fixed unwaveringly on the immense shadow in the deepest part of the hall, perched high upon a barbaric throne piled together from skulls, scrap iron, and rough stone.
Found him.
That's him. The Ork Warboss,