Editing End Times (Warhammer 40,000) (section)

==Part 2==
Across the Galaxy, on the planet known as Cadia, gateway to the Eye of Terror, Abaddon the Despoiler strode toward the appointed meeting place, a broken yet living body in his fist. He paused, tensing – a bloody moan of pain escaping from the body in his hand – and then stepped forward. Even he, Leader of the Black Legion, Terror of the Imperium, would admit the sheer power collected in this space was frightening.

In what remained of a city center, the largest gathering of Primarchs since the Heresy ten millennia ago began. Six Daemon Princes, once post-human, now so much more: Perturabo and Lorgar, Lords of Chaos Undivided; Fulgrim, Lord of Slaanesh; Angron, Lord of Khorne; Magnus the Red, Lord of Tzeentch; and Mortarion, Lord of Nurgle. They barely resembled humans any longer, these Daemon Princes. They could level whole worlds in their fury.

And yet Abaddon entered their company as an equal, or so he felt, and he would be damned again if he cared what the others here thought. Throwing down the bloody bundle in the center of their gathering, he noticed at last the representative of the Alpha Legion, whose presence was as much an afterthought as anything else. Compared to the powers here, what was the Alpha Legion but a pitiful collection of spies and saboteurs?

“So this is the mortal who gave you such trouble? Doesn't look like much,” said Fulgrim.

“Mortals never do, until Father Nurgle shapes them,” said Mortarion. Abaddon tried to ignore the green spittle flying from the Primarch's lips.

“Creed,” seethed Angron. The World Eaters had suffered quite badly from the tactician's plans and traps.

The body stirred at its name, though it could not hope to rise. “The Emperor... protects,” he whispered, blood pooling out of his mouth. Abaddon stepped forward and stomped on Ursarkar E. Creed's torso, crushing it into paste, and then did the same to the Lord Castellan's head as his eyes bulged for the last time. A faint bloody pop, and the deed was done.

“Not anymore. Your soul is my Master's now,” said Abaddon. A cruel smile spread across his scarred face.

“And just who is your Master, Abaddon? Have you finally chosen a patron God after all these years?” said Magnus, his red skin shimmering in the oily light of his immense sorcerous skill.

“Surely not you, Abaddon? You're too stubborn to bow to anyone else but yourself,” said Perturabo.

“Rather he recognizes that all true Gods are worth worshipping,” said the ever-pious Lorgar, glaring at Perturabo. Their reasons for not aligning with one of the four major Chaos Gods could not be more different. Lorgar bowed to all while Perturabo held all at bay.

“I have chosen, my Lords. Here comes my God now.” Abaddon was staring upwards as a blackness, like a shadow-light, descended. The Primarchs were for once silent, recognizing a power far greater than their own.

“My Lord Horus, I bow to you,” said Abaddon, The shadows tightened to form a being half as tall again as the largest of the other traitor Primarchs. A giant of a man, if it could even be called a man, without armor or artifice to mar the perfection of this form. It – he – reached out and touched Abaddon's shoulder, bidding him to rise.

Angron broke the silence. “Horus died! You look like him, you feel like him, but he died! I felt his soul disintegrate!” he roared.

Fulgrim glared at Magnus. “Is this your trickery, Sorceror-King? Have you fooled Abaddon into following your commands?”

Magnus blanched at the accusation. “I assure you, brother, to create THIS is far beyond even me... only Tzeentch could possibly...”

“The Lord of Change is not responsible for my re-existance, my brothers. Nor is the Blood God, the Prince of Pleasure, or Master of Pestilence,” said the being resembling Horus. At his voice the planet beneath them trembled. “I was far beyond their reach after Father struck me down, and I am even further beyond them now.” Horus smiled. “And I am pleased to see all of you alive and well.” He turned towards the Alpha Legionnaire, who was obviously debating running for his life. “Fear not, little nephew, I look forward to seeing Alpharius again too.”

A row broke out among the other Primarchs, although it soon escalated into accusations and oaths of vengeance at this perceived trick.

“Silence,” said Horus softly, although his voice drowned out even the roars of Angron. “You need proof. Know me now, brothers, and know what I have become!” He spread his arms and the head off everyone present snapped back, eyes glowing, as they received a vision – a vision into the birth of a new Chaos God.

They saw the Emperor strike down Horus and perish, and the fragments of Horus' soul scattered like dust on the winds of the Warp. They saw the Chaos Gods themselves reel away from the fury of the blow. They saw the tiny shards of his soul swirl in the Warp, bringing rebellion and ambition wherever they interacted with the materium. After thousands of years of flying through the Galaxy's dark reflection, they saw a mere fraction of the pieces begin to pool and merge in a spot of relative calm in the warp, only to be swept apart as a storm raged through. Yet this time the pieces did not scatter, but stayed close, ignored by the denizens of the warp due to the lingering taint of the Emperor's blow. Ironically, that which destroyed Horus preserved him, kept him from being truly unmade, although he was yet little more than a shadow compared to even the meanest human soul in the Warp. As they flowed along Warp currents, the pieces which held together now like a raft of debris in a hurricane grew as they encountered other pieces, scattered throughout the Immaterium. Now enough to swim rather than be swept, a sense of unthinking instinct made the remnants of Horus gather in ever greater numbers. A shade without thought, without purpose other than the impulse to collect. Time passed. In early M36 the shade grew large enough to think, although without a directing consciousness it was quite mad, and drove everything it touched mad as well, including an unfortunate Prefectus of the Administratum named Vandire.

They saw the ripples from this chance meeting shake the Imperium, and still they saw nothing that could truly be called Horus, only an echo of his ambition or his defiance. By now the pieces had gathered in large enough numbers to take the form of a chaos spawn, deadly and dangerous to an unprepared Psyker perhaps, but still unthinking and nothing compared to what Horus had been at his height. By M40 nearly all the fragments were gathered again in the form of this Warp creature, which Lesser Daemons avoided and Greater ones ignored, yet still the spark of self that was Horus was not there. They saw the Horus-shade drift mindlessly for nearly two millenia, until by chance it drifted into a warp current threading to the past, all the way back to the Heresy.

At last here was something more than mere fragment-gathering. The Horus of the thirty-first millennium left a wake in the warp as he traveled, and the warp creature hurried along it, swelling as it passed the events of Davin even as the Horus of the past planned the first assault on the Sol system. By the time the creature reached the aftershocks from Isstvan V it resembled a humanoid, and hurried onward faster even as the Siege of Terra began to stall. It reached the fringes of the battle of Terra even as Horus lowered the void shields of the Vengeful Spirit in order to draw out the Emperor. It reached the battle between Horus and the Emperor, just as the Emperor prepared his fateful blow.

They saw the shade, looking like a statue of Horus hewed from smoke, reach out to Horus at the height of his power just before the blow landed and steal something precious, something it protected as it vanished from M31 and returned to the first hints of the current which had swept it back in time. But it was no longer an it. They beheld Horus, newly born Chaos God, God of Defiance, of Ambition, of Pride, of all the things that made humans strive ever onwards in the face of impossible odds. The Chaos God of Humanity was born not in a violent eruption like that which had accompanied Slaanesh and created the Eye of Terror but in the way of Khorne; for war had existed before Khorne, just as humanity was older than Horus, and so Khorne took up an empty throne waiting for a King just as Horus did.

They saw the first act of this God, before even the other Gods of Chaos could notice him, as Horus struck at the distant presence of the God-Emperor and caused irreparable damage to the Golden Throne. To strike past the shade of the God-Emperor took nearly all his early strength, so Horus curled in on himself and hid in a way only possible in the warp. If Khorne noticed his presence, he did not care, for what was another rival? If Nurgle noticed his presence, he did not object, because he was too absorbed in his own dominion to act. If Slaanesh noticed, he did not strike out, for the Prince of Pleasure was growing bored of the endless struggle with the other three. Only Tzeentch, master of plots and sorcery, could have possibly objected as Horus' domain overlapped somewhat with his own, but who could say this isn't what the change master had planned?

As for the God-Emperor, he was too busy being nearly dead to do anything about Horus' return, and if the Chaos Gods changed their mind about his existence then Horus was prepared to demonstrate just why they never truly controlled him in the past once again. And Horus smiled, for the God-Emperor would soon be truly dead, and the Chaos God of Humanity would be the only God it had left.

They saw all this and reeled back as if struck, staring at Horus like the dreadful wonder he was, the dark miracle of his presence at once staggering and invigorating. One buy one, the champions of Chaos bowed to Horus in the ruins of Cadia, and pledged loyalty to him once again. Some, Horus knew, were lying and hoped to over-throw him, but it did not matter. He was so far beyond them now. Horus smiled, because he had returned. Soon, the Galaxy would burn and the Age of Horus would begin.