The beings in the chamber still had countless glorious deeds unfinished, for Horus knew they no longer had the chance to realize them.
Horus, after seeing the No. 11 incubation pod
Apple.
Morgana suddenly thought of this word.
An apple, one apple.
A delicacy belonging to the Magnoliophyta phylum, Rosaceae family, and Malus genus. On Holy Terra and most worlds in this empty galaxy, they had long since become extinct, or, like most things and common sense in this current universe, had become something utterly unrelated to their original definition from millions of years ago.
After all, how many beings could withstand the baptism of time, standing proudly at the end of the long river of ages?
…
Apple.
She had forgotten what it looked like, its sheen and color, as if she had never seen it.
But Morgana remembered its taste. She remembered how that slightly sweet liquid would moisturize her tongue, resonating between her teeth, as her teeth broke through its thin, crisp skin, delicately cutting and sucking its flesh and juice, then commanding her throat to move every muscle, swallowing it little by little.
What a delicacy.
What sweetness.
Not to mention the countless wails and cries that accompanied it.
Such a delicious delicacy was rare in the world.
So rare, so scarce, she had only managed to taste a few, shallowly, amidst the fall of kin and on apocalyptic battlefields, she picked apples and put them into her mouth.
That felt like a long time ago.
Or perhaps… it was what was to come.
Morgana opened her eyes.
She was in darkness.
She heard a summons: a weak delusion, a cold invitation.
Right there in the darkness.
The golden-haired beast, or rather, a part of that beast, was waiting for her.
She opened her eyes.
She smiled.
She advanced.
She was drooling.
——————
"This is a spacious place, how did we not discover it before?"
On a wall crafted from pure steel, Abaddon saw a detailed map, clearly marking all passages and rooms within dozens of kilometers.
This was a vast kingdom, almost entirely submerged underground. On this detailed map, a corner of it was casually revealed: intricate passages, spacious circular halls and underground plazas,
and densely packed storage rooms and dormitories like beehive cells, so tightly packed as to be appalling. At the very end of the map, there was a large, deliberately blurred area.
Abaddon nodded, knowing what this blurring meant: it seemed their luck was good; they were not far from the core of this massive underground kingdom.
Thinking thus, his gaze swept over the symbol in the lower-left corner of the map: this symbol was also the only decoration and light source on these empty walls. They emitted a dimness more terrifying than the cold air here.
It was an eagle, an overly sharp and solemn eagle.
It was the symbol of the Eleventh Legion.
This was their place. If he wasn't mistaken, this should have been one of the Eleventh Legion's main command centers during the previous Randan War, a relic left behind by the legion that mysteriously disappeared in that war.
Perhaps they could find some clues here, or even survivors, to know what happened. Thinking of this, Abaddon looked at the figure vaguely visible in the darkness, who commanded the Second Legion.
Presumably, Lady Morgana had the same purpose, but…
This place was truly eerie.
The Warmaster Horus's most reckless progeny awkwardly touched his dry cheek. Abaddon didn't like this place; it was dark, cold, and lacked the scent of war, sweat, or blood.
But he still came: after all, his gene-father had repeatedly instructed him to protect the Primarch well, and she was the first to step into this underground labyrinth.
By this time, it was the fourth hour since the landing operation began. The war on the surface had basically ended. Under the fierce assault of the two Primarchs and twenty thousand Luna Wolves,
all the fortresses and strongholds belonging to the Xenos army couldn't even hold out for three Terra Standard Hours. The war had shifted from an assault to a pure cleanup operation.
After losing their Emperor, these once terrifying opponents seemed to have lost some core power. They still shrieked and fought fiercely, refusing to retreat, but they were no longer the formidable warriors worthy of an Astartes'
serious attention. They had transformed from throne-challengers capable of contending with the Human Imperium into a mundane alien threat, and the Luna Wolves had leveled no less than a hundred such threats over the past seventy years.
Abaddon even felt a deep-seated disdain: if this was Randan, if this was the so-called strongest enemy that had caused the Dark Angels to bleed profusely, then it only showed that the famed Six Wings Army was nothing special.
Perhaps those long-renowned Inner Circle were merely a bunch of self-satisfied individuals resting on past laurels. If he could mobilize a unit of Castellans, he could surely defeat several times their number of so-called Inner Circle veterans.
Horus's progeny thought thus, immensely arrogant. He certainly had ample reason for such arrogance.
After all, with the end of this so-called Randan War, Lion El'Jonson's knights would no longer be able to challenge the Luna Wolves' prestige.
From the moment the war ended, the Warmaster Horus and his grey-white wolf pack would be the brightest force of the Imperium, and would remain so until the Great Crusade and the end of all things.
Abaddon thought this and felt such pride, but his gaze did not linger long in such glory. Although compared to his comrades, Abaddon might not have been a brilliant individual, he was still an excellent commander in certain aspects.
The First Captain's gaze moved from the detailed map. He surveyed the cold and empty passages, estimating whether they could support the activities of Castellans. In his mind, he repeatedly recalled every detail of the map. The more he recalled, the more he marveled at what a colossal entity lay hidden beneath the earth.
This seemingly ordinary, undecorated passage alone was wide enough for six Castellan Terminators to advance abreast, with room to spare.
No wonder those Xenos had specifically built a fortress to seal the entrance. If not for the power of the Lord of the Second Legion, the Luna Wolves would never have discovered this place in a short time.
But then again, why did those Xenos completely seal the entrance? If it weren't for Lady Morgana's great power, they wouldn't have been able to enter for a long time.
Abaddon blinked, commanding himself to observe the surroundings and objects once more. This underground kingdom had clearly been abandoned for some time. All its lighting facilities were broken, leaving only darkness that even the harshest sunlight couldn't penetrate.
In this extremely dim environment, even Astartes warriors could only rely on their helmet's automatic sensing and optical imaging systems, cautiously moving forward through the shadows.
The heavy armor, skillfully controlled by the Sons of Horus, made footsteps on the steel floor no louder than a gently dropped pebble, yet in this profound silence, they were still clearly audible.
Thus, this fifty-man team a Primarch, six Sons of Morgana, fifteen Castellan Warriors, and twenty-seven battle-hardened Luna Wolves, plus First Captain Abaddon himself advanced through this empty underground world, walking along an overly long corridor.
Abaddon blinked, precisely calculating the time, while constantly checking the communicator in his palm. Before entering, he had sent a message to his gene-father, ensuring that Horus would be the first to know if anything happened.
But for now, everything seemed normal.
Until the group reached the end of this wide passage, arriving in a profoundly deep darkness. Without their helmet's visual instruments, even Astartes warriors couldn't see far with their naked eyes.
Yet, even so, Abaddon could barely make out the environment: it was a hall, a hall large enough to accommodate a human regiment. Its magnificent arched dome was at least a hundred meters from the ground they stood on, like a palace inverted beneath the earth.
In front of Abaddon, the Lord of the Second Legion saw even more clearly. With just one glance, she knew what was before her.
This was an auditorium, an unimaginably vast auditorium, capable of holding tens of thousands or more people, standing and listening to the voice of the underground kingdom's master.
It was composed of five tiers of seating, a wide central plaza, and a fifty-meter-high curved recessed screen wall. The arched dome, iron-stone floor, and countless seats and standing markers existed in the most precise and perfectly unshakeable arrangement.
Standing anywhere in this palace, the view would be identical: empty space, cold walls, with the Imperial Aquila banners hung in the highest or most prominent places as the sole decoration.
On either side of this grand auditorium were a hundred identical Doric marble columns, stretching from the entrance of the great hall, neatly arranged,
encircling over ten thousand square meters of underground territory, extending all the way to the farthest and most noble part of this magnificent structure: the podium.
The podium was the highest point in this great hall. It stood on a base with two hundred steps, leaning against a colossal and almost exaggerated statue of the Emperor.
From there, one could easily overlook every corner, and when those below looked up at the figure on the podium, a distinct disparity in status would evoke a clear sense of worship and emptiness in anyone.
Authority, collective, obedience, greatness.
Upon seeing this auditorium, such words seemed to echo in everyone's chest.
Morgana observed the statue of the Emperor, imagining her brother standing there, giving a speech to his legion.
Everything here was so cold and realistic: from the almost undecorated walls and auditorium to the iron floor that seemed deliberately crafted from pure steel, even the simple carvings on the Emperor's statue, all underscored this point.
But on the other hand: a vast auditorium, a hundred meters high and covering tens of thousands of square meters, represented an immense waste of resources and space. And the wide, almost meaningless passage they had just walked through seemed to speak of the owner's profound obsession with formalism and grand narratives.
Rationality and fanaticism, precision and waste.
They were not contradictory at all.
Moreover, the rigorous crafting of everything indicated that the owner undoubtedly received widespread support. Many forces genuinely supported his ideas, which is why this grand yet wasteful underground kingdom was built.
The Spider Queen almost wanted to laugh. Once, she had thought these Astartes warriors were the most steadfast of beings, but now, it seemed her kin's methods of controlling their legions were not so novel after all.
The Lord of the Second Legion even took about a second to ponder what she could learn from this never-before-met kin.
In fact, she had recently been thinking about how to face her own legion. She didn't intend to be a terrible mother.
At the very least, she didn't want anyone to see that terrible side.
This meant that those warriors loyal to the Emperor, no matter how much she disliked them, could not be removed through bloody or overtly obvious means. She had to appear before everyone as a benevolent gene-mother, a figure more approachable than her other kin.
As for those stubborn, intractable Terrans who would inevitably be difficult to control, they could retire, move to the second line, and be given a respectful and dignified position before her growing possessiveness consumed the entire legion. They would become the most beautiful testament to her gentle rule.
As for those unwilling to accept such a fate, her kin seemed to have shown her how to reasonably expend them on the battlefield through worship, community, glory, and hardship.
Let those stubborn factions throw themselves into the fires of war and smoke, let them perish honorably beneath the veil of the Great Crusade, earning useless posthumous reputations, their names echoing only in the mouths of successors and on the so-called Walls of Valor, never fading.
She would deploy them in the most intense and glorious battles, making these Terrans the linchpins in every critical moment, enjoying the closest kiss of death, and all they would receive would be a cold death, oblivious to the truth.
She had the patience to let them die one by one on the battlefield.
Then, the legion would be hers.
Morgana thought, smiled, and advanced.
But then, she frowned.
She felt something.
Without much thought, Morgana urged her will and stepped through an invisible door in the darkness. Someone was inviting her.
Food was speaking.
——————
Hektor only felt a moment of disorientation.
He patted his head to clear his mind, an action that took him but an instant.
Then, when he opened his eyes again.
His gene-mother was gone.
…
…
?!!
——————
Chaos struck the team and lasted for a few seconds.
While Abaddon and the others were momentarily stunned, Hektor had already raised his head, sensing his connection to his gene-mother, and sprinted out. Five swift shadows flickered beside him.
"...Follow!"
Abaddon didn't hesitate. All the Luna Wolves immediately entered combat stance. Their heavy breathing and chaotic footsteps erupted in the silent auditorium, sending out countless invisible air currents, like packs of wolves howling in a moonlit valley.
Horus's First Captain charged at the front of all the Luna Wolves, the fully armored Castellans vigilant behind him, while the lighter Sons of Horus spread out in a gradual arc as they ran.
The auditorium was wide, perhaps tens of thousands of square meters, but it was quickly traversed at the full running speed of an Astartes.
At the edge of Abaddon's vision, the towering podium flashed by. His perspective caught some issues: at the base of this exquisite structure, crafted from marble and precious wood,
there appeared to be some particularly aesthetic-breaking and overall coordination-disrupting bloodstains. They looked as if they had been there for some time, presenting a scattered, exploded shape, as if something had been torn apart alive there.
They crossed the podium, taking a few strides over the steps, only to see more and more blood along the way, and even some shattered armor fragments and bones. Clearly, something very bad had happened here.
Ahead of them, Hektor continued to advance rapidly. The moment he lost sight of his gene-mother, he felt a burning object in his brain and will, guiding his steps.
He didn't hesitate, until he saw something behind the podium's screen wall.
Those were doors, ten of them, and they were very strange.
Abaddon's team followed closely. Horus's beloved son merely adjusted his breathing and immediately felt something.
He stomped his foot, feeling his iron boot seem to be stuck to something sticky. With some effort, he trudged to Hektor's side.
He was facing a large door, hesitating there.
Abaddon walked over and glanced at the door. The door was steel, taller than two Astartes warriors stacked on top of each other, but there was something on it.
That thing: it occupied most of the doorway, with dense textures and a visibly viscous feel. It seemed to be…
Moving.
The Luna Wolf paused.
He reached out and touched it.
The next moment, he knew what it was.
"Gulp."
Abaddon swallowed, a sign that cold sweat was about to break.
——————
It was flesh.
It was breathing.
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