Following the discussions among the representatives of the various Chapters and the three Primarchs, the defense of Armageddon was formally designated "Operation Emperor."

The combined forces of the human Imperium would crush the Ork warlord's offensive here, utterly and completely.

To that end, Horus had specifically brought in an expert.

The one the Orks called the "Humie Boss" — Commissar Yarrick.

"Goffs, Evil Sunz, Deathskulls, Bad Moons, Snakebites, Blood Axes — none of these Ork clans should be underestimated. Especially Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka. Rising star since the War of the Beast, and he hasn't taken a serious fall yet."

Yarrick pointed toward the swath of equatorial jungle in the tactical projection, submerged under a tide of green markers.

"Beyond the sizable fleet in orbit, there's a contingent of Orks from the last war that never fully withdrew. They've been lurking in that jungle ever since, a constant threat to our Hive Cities."

He straightened and looked toward Horus.

"My lord, I've reviewed your defensive deployment. By the Emperor, there is not a single flaw to be found. I, Yarrick, am convinced you will lead us to victory."

The old Commissar had barely finished when the Primarch's massive hand came to rest on his shoulder, accompanied by a low, rumbling laugh.

"Not lead, Commissar. Cooperate." Horus smiled and withdrew his hand, his gaze returning to the tactical projection. "This Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka is a match for the Ork Emperor I faced alongside my father all those years ago. But we won once. We can win a second time and take its head off again."

He turned his head to look at the Commissar.

"I hear you two are old acquaintances?"

"...Ahem." Yarrick cleared his throat awkwardly. "It's a strange creature. Belligerent, and possessed of emotions not unlike a human's. That won't stop me from taking its head off the next time I see it."

"Orks are a naturally warlike race. They were ten thousand years ago, and that hasn't changed. I won't pin the label of heretic on you for whatever history you have with it."

"Besides, Commissar, standing before you is the same Warmaster who nearly tore the entire Imperium apart."

Horus chuckled at his own words.

Yarrick's face twitched, but he held it together. Being captured by Ghazghkull Thraka and sent back to the Imperium was child's play compared to the great rebellion this man had once ignited.

Horus leaned down, studying the projection on the tactical table for a moment. Then he reached out, plucked away the green banner representing the equatorial jungle Orks, and tossed it aside.

Yarrick froze.

"My lord, you...?"

"A target that's been eliminated doesn't need to stay on the board, does it?"

Horus replied with a smile.

Before the Commissar could press further, the door to the briefing room swung open.

Konrad Curze stood in the doorway.

He was covered head to toe in dark crimson blood, some of it already dried to black.

Kaelen followed behind him, the mortal's face a picture of weary resignation.

"The equatorial jungle Orks are dealt with," Curze said.

The words were simple. Taking them in required a moment.

Yarrick stood with his mouth slightly open, staring in disbelief at the filth-covered Lord of the Night.

The equatorial jungle. The Ork remnants that had dug in there for years. Just like that, dealt with?

Kaelen stepped forward and offered an explanation.

"This is Konrad Curze, lord of the Night Lords Legion. Specializes in terror tactics, guerrilla warfare, and night combat. Every company of the Night Lords committed to the clearance operation in the equatorial jungle over the past two weeks. That's already considered fast — they only wrapped up today. Mainly because those Orks had dug their tunnels like an ant colony."

"Also cleared out a large stretch of the lower hive's rat problem while we were at it."

Curze added that last part, his voice carrying unmistakable satisfaction.

Kaelen shot him a look.

"How do you know those were rats?"

Curze tilted his head and thought about it seriously for a moment.

"I asked it. It shouted 'YES' and did a little dance."

"...What kind of Hive City has rats like that?"

The two kept trading barbs, but Commissar Yarrick had not yet fully processed the news.

Two weeks. Curze had taken the Night Lords' Astartes through those jungles and wiped out Orks that had been hiding there for years.

He looked toward Horus. The Wolf God's expression hadn't changed throughout. He stood quietly to one side, a faint indulgence in his eyes for his brother's particular style of getting things done.

"In that case," a smile broke across Yarrick's stern features, "our pressure will be reduced even further."

"Obviously."

Horus pulled up the files on the Ork warlord Thraka and his other commanders.

"Once the battle is underway and the enemy commanders drop in to fight, I'll lead my Justaerin elite companies to decapitate them."

"As for Thraka... Commissar, I believe that glory belongs to you to claim with your own hand. What do you say?"

Commissar Yarrick was a figure of considerable renown in the Imperium today. With a man like that, Horus couldn't afford not to cultivate goodwill.

Faced with the Wolf God's gracious gesture, Yarrick did not refuse.

"If you'd allow me to personally cut down that damned Ghazghkull Thraka, my lord, I won't forget your kindness."

Fulgrim stood on a rise of high ground, gazing out over this world that had once been Ullanor.

The sky was choked now with the flames of war and the industrial smog of Hive Cities. He couldn't help but think, how beautiful had Ullanor been back then?

No. Beautiful wasn't quite right.

Beauty had always attached itself to specific people and moments.

After they'd conquered this planet, sculptors and artists dispatched from countless ships had raised magnificent structures in a matter of days. Built for the millions of Imperial warriors who would march in review, witnessing the investiture of Horus as Warmaster.

He still remembered how magnificent the parade had been that day.

He still remembered standing on a balcony with Horus, Sanguinius, Jaghatai Khan, Magnus, and the others, watching the Imperium's armies at the height of their glory pass before them.

A pity. There was no going back.

The Phoenician sighed with a touch of melancholy, turned, and left, returning to his Legion's encampment.

Then an unexpected visitor arrived, and he nearly forgot to breathe.

"You... how dare you show your face before me?"

"Easy, brother."

The visitor gave a light laugh.

"It's been a long time since I used that word. To keep it short, I'm here to bring you information."

"Information? Hmph. More likely another round of assassinations. Your warriors failed to kill Horus once, so now you want to try again?"

The Phoenician drew his Fireblade, its edge leveled directly at the visitor.

"I'm sorry, but that team was not under my command. They were mercenaries, in fact. Hired by the Dark Apostle Erebus."

"Erebus has successfully freed Lorgar. A new conspiracy is taking shape, and Armageddon is destined to become the site of a great and chaotic battle."

News like this demanded attention. But Fulgrim didn't trust a word from the figure standing before him.

"You betrayed the Imperium. Why would I believe anything you say? Just like your ever-shifting identities."

"There are too many truths here that are difficult to speak plainly. I'm only responsible for telling you, brother. Whether or not you trust it is entirely your judgment."

"After all, the return of Lupercal has already rewritten the course of humanity's fate. I, too, must make my response."

➤ Next: Return to Armageddon (3)