Those were the blue eyes of Horus Lupercal.
"Father..."
A faint cry, filled with release and... remorse.
Then it was all over.
Horus, the Imperium's Warmaster, the Chosen One, the fallen Primarch who had unleashed the most brutal rebellion in the history of the Milky Way Galaxy, was utterly dead.
"..."
The Emperor stood silently on the devastated bridge. The supernovas blazing in his golden eyes slowly dimmed.
Clang.
The Emperor's Sword, which had ended it all, slipped from his hand and plunged into the cold deck.
The Emperor's massive golden body could no longer hold itself upright. He slowly fell backward.
He had won.
But he had paid the most terrible price.
Horus had gravely wounded him. His body had been torn apart. His psychic power was almost exhausted.
He was dying.
"Father!"
Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists, finally reached the deathly silent bridge.
His eyes widened in anguish as he stared at his father, lying in a pool of blood, barely breathing.
"No... no!"
He rushed forward like a madman and cradled the Emperor's broken, cold body in his arms.
"Father! Father! You... wake up! You... you can't die!"
Dorn wept. This iron giant, as resolute and cold as stone, cried like a child who had lost his entire world.
"Dorn..."
A faint voice sounded, heavy with exhaustion.
The Emperor slowly opened his eyes, their light about to fade.
"Don't... cry..."
"I'm... not... dead... yet..."
"Father!" Dorn laughed and cried like a fool.
"Listen... to me..." The Emperor's voice grew weaker and weaker. "There... isn't much time..."
"Now..."
"Take me... back..."
"Take me... to... the throne..."
"Yes! Father! I... I'll take you back!"
With a gentleness he had never shown before in his life, Dorn lifted his father's broken body.
He would take him home.
When