"...According to the battle reports, the Khan's army used some kind of...unknown technology. It suppressed the...'blessings,'" Typhus tried to explain.
"Enough."
Horus cut him off. He slowly rose from his command throne, his enormous shadow instantly engulfing the entire bridge. With his hands clasped behind his back, he walked to the vast viewport and looked down at the golden planet consumed by the fires of war.
Terra.
The place he had once sworn to protect.
"Perturabo spent a quarter of his forces just to crack that hard nut. Mortarion, that useless fool, couldn't even hold it for a day." Horus's voice brimmed with undisguised disappointment and contempt.
"Angron, what can he do besides act like a rabid dog?"
"Fulgrim...hah. He's probably hiding in some corner, admiring this 'magnificent' destruction, drunk on his own pathetic 'perfection.'"
"Useless fools! A pack of hopeless...useless fools!"
He slammed his fist into the adamantium wall beside him!
Boom!
The entire flagship shuddered. A deep fist-shaped dent remained in the wall, surrounded by a web of cracks.
"Warmaster..." Abaddon stepped out of the shadows and dropped to one knee. "Please calm yourself. The enemy's resistance exceeded our expectations. But we still hold the advantage."
Horus closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. When he opened them again, all his frustration and fury had vanished. In their place was a pure will to destroy.
"Relay my command."
"Every legion, every Titan, every mortal...every last...thing."
"An all-out assault."
"I've had enough of these tiresome 'tactics,' enough of this idiotic 'siege.'"
"Today, before sunset, I will twist my father's head off with my own hands."
"I will reduce that golden cage to scorched earth."
"I will...crush them."
In the Imperial Palace's supreme command center, Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists, issued the hardest order of his life