Armageddon, destined for greatness.

When the engine flares of the First Expeditionary Fleet dimmed in orbit around the planet, more ship silhouettes appeared at the Mandeville Point. Over thirty-one Astartes Chapters had answered the ancient compact, converging from every corner of the galaxy.

Not full-strength Chapters. Most had sent only company-level representatives.

When these loyal warriors arrived, the first thing they noticed was not the scorched planet itself, but three behemoths moored in orbit: the rebuilt legion flagships of the Luna Wolves, the Emperor's Children, and the Night Lords, along with one legendary vessel — the Bucephelus.

Three Primarchs had already arrived.

What gave the latecomers a measure of relief was that the Space Wolves and Iron Hands showed no obvious displeasure at cooperating with the Primarchs.

That meant they wouldn't have to choose sides between two First Founding Chapters and three Primarchs the moment they landed.

After arriving at Armageddon, the representatives quickly received a gilded banquet invitation.

Signed by Garviel Loken, First Captain of the Luna Wolves Legion, inviting all Chapter supreme commanders to feast on behalf of his gene-sire Horus Lupercal, to discuss matters of great importance.

The news spread between Chapter encampments.

Reactions varied.

Though they harbored intense curiosity about the Primarchs, nearly all Second Founding representatives adopted a wait-and-see attitude.

The First Founding Chapters were different.

Chapter Master Calgar of the Ultramarines said only one thing to the deputy who came for instructions: "Horus himself obeys our gene-father's command. I see no reason not to go."

The Blood Angels were far more conflicted. Lord Sanguinius had forgiven Horus, and as his sons they would not question their father's decision. But that didn't mean they wanted to sit at the same table drinking with the Wolf God.

Of course, they came in the end. The Primarch's feelings toward the damned Horus were what they were, and not coming would be slapping the Great Angel in the face.

The White Scars representatives had the most carefree attitude.

Their Chapter Master simply raised an eyebrow upon receiving the invitation. "The records say the Khan and Horus got along well. Go."

The Salamanders representative nodded.

Marshal Amalrich of the Black Templars pondered for a moment before deciding. After all, they had fought alongside Horus at Cadia and during the Great Escape from Klaisus.

The Imperial Fists representative replied with a single word: "Yes."

On the day of the banquet, the hall was hung full of banners from legions and Chapters alike.

Long tables were arranged in a circle, leaving an open space in the center.

Representatives filed in, conversing in twos and threes.

Most eyes occasionally drifted toward the closed glass doors on one side of the hall. The Primarchs had not yet arrived. A middle-aged man in mortal garb entered through a side door and found a seat in the corner to drink.

Just as Calgar was explaining the current working relationship between Guilliman and Horus to a White Scars captain for the third time, the glass doors slid open.

Laughter came first.

Horus's laughter, deep and infectious.

Then another voice, clearer. Fulgrim said something in reply, triggering a third laugh.

The third laugh was light, brief, like it had been forcibly squeezed out. But it was laughter, and it belonged to Konrad Curze.

The three Primarchs emerged.

Horus walked in the center. Fulgrim on his left, his customary gentle smile on his lips. Curze on his right, his gaunt frame wrapped in a pitch-black robe, walking with a posture like he was ready to melt into shadows at any moment. But right now he remained in the light.

Two Astartes accompanied them. One with a scarred mouth and brooding demeanor followed at Curze's side. Another wearing a knight's longsword walked silently at the rear.

Loken dropped to one knee.

All the Luna Wolves captains knelt simultaneously.

Representatives throughout the hall bowed, power armor colliding in a cascade of sound.

Horus strode to the center of the banquet hall.

He swept his gaze around, his eyes moving from one banner to another, from one color to the next.

"I never imagined so many loyal warriors would come here."

His voice was not loud, but every corner of the hall heard it clearly.

"Your gesture is enough. No need for excessive formality. We are, like you, professional commanders sworn to the Imperium and the Emperor. Please rise, noble warriors."

Everyone straightened, looking up at him, at Fulgrim and Curze beside him.

Horus and Fulgrim exchanged a glance, then stepped forward together into the crowd.

They began moving among the representatives, mingling, nodding to each person, stopping to exchange a few words.

Their smiles were like some silent solvent, dissolving layer by layer the faint vigilance and distance that had filled the hall.

The tense lines on the representatives' faces began to relax. Some even forgot they were speaking with a Primarch.

In the corner, Curze did not follow his brothers into the crowd.

Instead, he sat down beside the drinking Kaelen, watching from afar the two figures being surrounded.

"They're still so magnificent. The center of attention." The Lord of the Night's voice was light, as if talking to himself.

"If Lion had come instead, I imagine he'd stage a grand parade to intimidate these representatives."

Kaelen was amused by the image.

Cullen standing nearby kept a tense expression, saying nothing. Sevatar did laugh, very quietly.

"They're not Guilliman. They won't sourly complain that Lion spent too much time rehearsing. They'd only think the Lion was making a show of strength, and that's exactly the pomp the Lord of the First Legion deserves."

"All just showoffs." Curze snorted. He paused for roughly three seconds, then added in an almost inaudible volume, "Except Fulgrim."

Kaelen shook his head with a smile.

"Your favoritism is a bit too obvious, Lord of the Night."

Horus and Fulgrim quickly drew the representatives closer with words and grace.

When the pleasantries concluded, Horus returned to the center of the hall and raised his hand, signaling everyone to be seated.

The real business had arrived.

Armageddon's defense plan.

The assault of the Ork Warlord Ghazghkull Thraka was imminent. This banquet was not just about drinking and reminiscing. It was fundamentally a war council.

But before Horus could speak, Calgar stood.

"This is not the wisest choice, honored Lord Lupercal." The Ultramarines Chapter Master's voice was steady and respectful. He bowed slightly toward Horus. "I propose that all Chapters present unify command authority in your hands, with the three Primarchs exercising full command, so this war may conclude in the most optimal manner."

Surrender command authority.

For any Astartes Chapter, this was a somewhat uncomfortable request.

But if the recipient was a Primarch, especially one already recorded in Imperial military history ten millennia ago as a master of the art of war, the nature changed.

Moreover, Horus currently served under the direct authority of the Regent of the Imperium, Guilliman. Surrendering command was entirely sound in law.

The White Scars representative was first to echo the proposal. Then came Dorn's sons: the Black Templars and Imperial Fists representatives nodded simultaneously.

The Salamanders representative pondered briefly, then also expressed agreement.

The Blood Angels did not immediately respond, but neither did they object.

The atmosphere in the hall began to tilt. Several Second Founding representatives clearly wanted to object, but their lips moved and closed again.

At that moment, Horus raised his hand, signaling for quiet.

He looked at Calgar with a smile, then slowly shook his head.

"Your proposal is excellent, Chapter Master Calgar. But among those present, there are surely some who harbor resistance to this. The Astartes no longer belong to a single command system as in the old Legion days. Every Chapter has its own traditions and pride that have endured for 10,000 years. My Legion, my brothers, and I came here to support the Imperium.

"And you stand here with exactly the same purpose. In this matter, we are equals. I will not, like some warlord of an ancient age or those tyrants and dictators on conquered worlds during the Great Crusade, compel you to surrender command authority. Even that once-glorious but now-maligned title of Warmaster never granted me such power."

He paused.

"If I may, I will ask you all to assist me, to coordinate with me. Together we will claim the fruits of victory in war, then dedicate them to our supreme Lord of Mankind, Lord of Terra, our Emperor. Armageddon has suffered devastation for far too long. We have a duty to free it from this torment, to let the Emperor's light shine upon this world once more.

"This world is destined to achieve peace and harmony, and everything I have described depends on all of you working hand in hand with me."

With that, Horus bowed deeply to all the representatives present.

Fulgrim at his side bowed with the same depth.

Silence.

Then applause.

No one knew who clapped first. Perhaps the jovial White Scars captain, perhaps some Second Founding representative in a corner.

The applause surged like a tide from one corner to another, growing denser and louder.

"Let us cheer for the Primarch! For the Emperor! For Armageddon!"

Roars erupted.

Thunderous applause shook the hall until even the hanging battle banners trembled.

➤ Next: Return to Armageddon (2)