The Word Bearers, Emperor's Children, and World Eaters had joined forces and stabbed the Sons of Horus in the back upon Ullanor, the Star of Glory.
The betrayal came without warning. By the time they realized what was happening, it was already too late.
Countless elite veterans who had survived a hundred battles fell upon the Victory Way where the Emperor had once reviewed them. They had betrayed the Emperor, but today, they too received the merciless betrayal of their allies.
More often than not, betrayal followed like a line of dominoes. Those who betrayed others would inevitably be betrayed in turn, the cycle repeating without end.
Even more Legions chose neutrality and observation. They might once have held immense loyalty toward Horus, but through the long and bitter war, that trust and worship had long since decayed into obedience and hatred.
If not for the Warmaster's prestige accumulated over long years, the strength of his Legion, and the vision of reaching Terra and overthrowing the Emperor, these gathered rebels would likely have scattered long ago. They might even have slaughtered one another over supplies.
The rebels' lives had not been as easy as imagined. Wherever they went, they were like a swarm of locusts, plundering every resource and person they could carry away before burning everything else to ash.
This strategy of exhausting the waters to catch the fish could indeed unleash terrifying military potential in a short time. But once their offensive momentum was checked and suppressed, the contradictions and conflicts that had accumulated would instantly ignite the powder keg.
If Vashtorr had not meddled, the rebels would soon have been unable to produce weapons or ammunition, nor would they have possessed sufficient strength to repair their battle-damaged vehicles and machinery.
The Dark Mechanicum was utterly useless. They