2Warhammer 40k:
LUPERCAL!
Based on the books: Wolf of Ash and Fire, Misbegotten, Saturnine, and False Gods by Graham McNeill, and Dan Abnett
Fade IN:
SCENE I - Ext. SPACE AROUND PLANET GORRO - DAY
The planet, GORRO, isn't dying easy. Any expectation that this would be a swift strike to the heart was dashed the moment the 63rd Expedition surged towards the system boundary and saw the scale of a SCRAPFLEET protecting it.
FADE UP: Hundreds of vessels, pull back from the fighting at the core of the Reach to defend its warlord's planetoid citadel.
Vast CORPSE-SHIPS brought to hellish life with flaring plasma reactors at their heart. WARHULKS welded together from rusted wreckage scavenged from celestial graveyards and returned to life by hideous mechanical necromancy. Anchoring the fleet is a colossal, hollowed-out asteroid fortress, a mountainous rock encrusted with pig-iron and ice. Kilometer-wide engine cowlings are bolted deep into its bedrock and its craggy surface is thick with immense batteries of orbital-howitzers and mine-lobbers. It lumbers towards the LUNA WOLVES as rabid SCRAPSHIP PACKS race ahead like feral, club-wielding BARBARIANS, called ORKS.
FADE DOWN: The engagement volume becomes a swirling free-fire zone, an impossibly tangled mass of entwined warships, collimated laser fire, parabolic torpedo contrails and explosive debris fields. ORK MARAUDERS with crude rocket-packs launch boarding actions. Atomic detonations foul the space between the fleets with electromagnetic distortion and phantom echoes, making it almost impossible to separate what was real and what was a sensor ghost.
ANGLE ON: Close in on The VENGEFUL SPIRIT, in the heart of the fiercest fighting, its flanks ablaze with BROADSIDES. A HULK tumbles away, bludgeoned into molten submission by multiple decks of concentrated explosive ordnance. It trails scads of burning fuels and arcing jets of plasma. Thousands of bodies spill from its ruptured innards like spores from a fungal mass. This isn't a battle of maneuver and counter-maneuver, it's an all-out brawl. It would be won by the fleet that punched hardest and most often. And right now, it is the ORKS.
INT. THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT - DAY
The VENGEFUL SPIRIT's superstructure GROANS like a living thing as it maneuvers far faster than anything as massive should ever be asked. Its ancient hull SHUDDERS under thunderous impacts, and the deck VIBRATES with the recoil of multiple broadside decks firing in unison.
Space between the brawling fleets is thick with DEBRIS STORMS, ATOMIC VORTICES, DUELING ATTACK SQUADRONS and FLASH-BURNING VAPOR CLOUDS, but within the Lupercal's flagship, discipline holds firm.
INT. ONBOARD THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT BRIDGE - DAY
CLOSE IN on CASCADING data-slates and shimmering wire-frame holos bathing the vaulted STRATEGIUM in a RIPPLING, UNDERSEA light. Hundreds of voices convey the SHIPMASTER'S orders, while chattering machine tickers recited damage reports, void strengths and ordnance firing schedules over the binary cant of MECHANICUM PRIESTS. Viewing the well-drilled bridge crew as an outsider is a thing of beauty.
ANGLE ON: Close in on EZEKYLE ABADDON pacing like a caged-wolf, as the First Captain slams a fist on the brass rim of a hololithic table displaying the engagement sphere.
The scratchy, flickering threat vectors burped with angry static, but the grim picture of battle surrounding the VENGEFUL SPIRIT doesn't alter.
ORK warships still vastly outnumbered those of the LUNA WOLVES, outgunning them and appearing – in defiance of all reason and sense – to be outmaneuvering HORUS LUPERCAL.
Nearby CREW, their faces limned by data-light, turn at the sudden sound, but look away as the First Captain glares at them.
SEJANUS
Really, Ezekyle? That's your solution?
Ezekyle shrugs, and looms over Sejanus, trying to INTIMIDATE Sejanus, making the plates of his ARMOR grate together and the gleaming black of his TOPKNOT shake like a SHAMAN'S FETISH SWITCH. It fails because only his TOPKNOT makes him taller than Sejanus.
Annoyed but keeping his voice low.
ABADDON
I suppose you have a better idea of how to turn this disaster around, Hastur?
The pale ivory of Ezekyle's armor gleams in the light of the STRATEGIUM.
Faded GANG MARKINGS survive on the PLATES that hadn't been replaced by the armorers, faded gold and tarnished silver.
Sejanus sighs. Giving his best grin.
SEJANUS
I do, as it turns out.
That the attention of Horus Aximand, so like HORUS LUPERCAL with his high, aquiline features and sardonic curl of the lip that they called him the truest of the true sons which is why he is nicknamed Little Horus.
Tarik Torgaddon, the idiot joker whose dark, saturnine features had avoided the transhuman flattening common among the Emperor's legionaries.
Tarik gives a mock bow, as though to the EMPEROR himself.
TORGADDON
Then please enlighten us poor, foolish mortals who are grateful merely to bask in the radiance of your genius.
SEJANUS
(Grinning)
At least Tarik knows his place.
Cutting to the heart of the issue.
AXIMAND
So what is your better idea?
Turning to the COMMAND STATION behind the RAISED DAIS.
SEJANUS
Simple. We trust in Horus.
INT. ONBOARD THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT STRATEGIUM COMMAND CHAMBER - DAY
HORUS sees Sejanus, Abaddon, Torgaddon, and Aximand coming and raises a gauntlet in welcome.
His perfect face is all finely chiseled lines, piercing ocean-green eyes flecked with amber and freighted with aquiline intelligence. He towers over them all, the broad sweep of his shoulder guards swathed in the pelt of a giant beast slain on Davin's plains many decades ago. His armour, white-gold even in the battle light of the STRATEGIUM, is a thing wrought from WONDER and BEAUTY, with a single staring eye fashioned across the breastplate.
Graven across its vambraces and pauldrons are ARMORER's MARKS, and the EAGLE and LIGHTNING BOLT of Lupercal's father.
HORUS
So how do you think it's going so far?
TORGADDON
I have to be honest, sir, I feel the hand of the ship on me.
Smiling.
HORUS
You don't have faith in me? I'd be hurt if I didn't know you were joking.
TORGADDON
I am?
Horus turns his gaze away as the STRATEGIUM shakes with a pounding series of percussive impacts on the hull. SHELLS from the many guns a nearby ASTEROID FORTRESS.
HORUS
And you, Ezekyle? I know I can rely on you to give me a straight answer and not fall back on superstition.
ABADDON
I have to agree with Torgaddon.
Sejanus suppresses a grin.
ABADDON
We're going to lose this fight.
Giving an imperceptible tilt at the corner of Lupercal's lips.
HORUS
Have you ever known me to ever lose?
Horus Aximand shakes his head.
AXIMAND
Never, and you never will.
HORUS
A flattering answer, but a wrong one. I am as capable of losing a fight as any other.
Puts up a hand to forestall their inevitable denials.
HORUS
But I'm not going to lose this one. Come along.
Horus ushers them to his COMMAND STATION, where what looks like a skeletal armature of gold and steel with embedded portions of pale meat stand plugged into the main battle hololith.
HORUS
Adept Regulus, illuminate my sons.
The EMISSARY of the MECHANICUM nods and the hololith blooms to life.
The COMMANDER'S STATION gives a clearer rendition of the battle, but, if anything, makes his current orders more confounding.
The hololith's low light shadows Horus' eye sockets while sheening the rest of his face in deep red, giving the impression of an ancient chieftain squatting at a low-burning hearthfire in his war tent, gathering his generals on the eve of battle.
HORUS
Hastur, you always had the best grip on void tactics, take a look and tell me what you see.
SWELLING with PRIDE.
Leaning over the HOLOLITHIC PLOTTER.
Taking a deep breath, he stares into the grainy, slowly-updating schemata of battle.
We see the ORKS make war without subtlety, no matter the arena the battle is fought. In space their rad-spewing reaverhulks storm into the fray with every gun-deck throwing out shells and atomic warheads with abandon.
Swaying as sequentially enacted orders from the COMMANDER's STATION throw the VENGEFUL SPIRIT into a savage turn. Echoes of crashing detonations travel through the flagship's structure. Whether they are impacts or outgoing fire it is impossible to tell.
SEJANUS
Standard Greenskin tactics, though I baulk at dignifying this mess with the term. Their sheer force and numbers is bending our line back on itself, The center's retreating from that asteroid fortress, we just don't have the guns to hurt it.
REGULUS shifts the focus of the hololith to highlight the fiercest fighting.
HORUS
What else?
POINTING to the slowly rotating image.
SEJANUS
Our right and upper quadrants are being pushed out too far. The left and lower quadrants are the only ones holding firm.
Nodding at an empty region of space in the UPPER QUADRANT of volume.
TORGADDON
What I wouldn't give for another fleet.
SEJANUS
Then we'd have them on two flanks.
AXIMAND
No use wishing for what we don't have.
Something isn't right, and it takes a moment for the suspicion to crystallize fully in Sejanus's mind.
SEJANUS
Adept, bring up the tally of enemy launch-to-impact ratios.
Instantly, a glowing pane of data light appears in the air before Sejanus.
He runs his eyes down the statistics and sees his suspicion confirmed.
SEJANUS
Their damage capability assessment is far above average. They're on-target with over seventy-five per cent of their launches.
ABADDON
That's got to be a mistake.
Rebuking.
His VOICE sounds like STEEL WOOL on RUST and PRONOUNCING mistakes like that of the VILEST of CURSES.
REGULUS
The Mechanicum do not make mistakes, First Captain, the data is accurate within tolerances of local parameters.
SEJANUS
Orks are as likely to hit their own ships as any other, how are they doing this?
Horus points towards the crackling outline of GORRO.
HORUS
Because these Orks are atypical in that I suspect they are ruled, not by warriors, but by some form of tech caste. It's why I petitioned Adept Regulus to join the Sixteenth Legion in this prosecution.
Sejanus looks back at the display.
SEJANUS
If you suspected that, then it makes all this doubly confusing. If I may be candid, sir, our fleet tactics make no sense.
HORUS
What would make them more tactically sound?
Sejanus considers.
SEJANUS
Tarik's right. If we had another fleet element here, our current strategy would be sound. We'd have them between hammer and anvil.
HORUS
Another fleet? And I am supposed to simply conjure one from thin air?
TORGADDON
Could you? Because that would be really useful right now.
Horus grins and Sejanus sees HORUS is savoring this moment.
Horus looks up to one of the tiered galleries rising up behind the COMMAND DECK.
As if on cue, a solitary FIGURE steps to the ironwork rail, bathed in the lambent glow of a spotlight whose arc of illumination was too providential to be accidental.
Slender and spectral in her white gown, the VENGEFUL SPIRIT's MISTRESS OF ASTROPATHY, ING MAE SING, pulls back her hood.
GAUNT-CHEEKED and with SUNKEN, HOLLOWED-OUT EYE SOCKETS, Mistress Sing is blind to one world.
Calling.
HORUS
Mistress Sing? How long now?
FAINTLY scolding, thin, yet with an authority that carries effortlessly to the main deck.
SING
Imminent, Primarch Horus, as well you know.
Horus laughs and raises his voice for the entire STRATEGIUM to hear.
HORUS
You're quite right, Mistress Sing, and I hope you will all forgive me this little moment of theatre. You see, something magnificent is about to happen.
Turning to ADEPT REGULUS.
HORUS
Send the maneuver order.
REGULUS bends to the task.
SEJANUS
Sir?
HORUS
You wanted another fleet, I give you one.
EXT. SPACE AROUND GORRO
Space parts as though cut open by the sharpest edge. AMBER LIGHT spills out, brighter than a thousand suns and simultaneously existing in many realms of perception. The blade that cuts the void open slides through the passage it had made. But this is no blade, this is a void-born COLOSSUS of gold and marble, a warship of inhuman proportions.
Its prow is eagle-winged and MAGNIFICENT, its length studded with vast cities of STATUARY and PALACE of WAR. It is a starship, but a starship unlike any other.
Built for the most peerless individual the galaxy has ever known. This is the flagship of the EMPEROR himself. The IMPERATOR SOMNIUM.
EXT. GORRO SPACE - DAY
Flocks of battleships attend the MASTER OF MANKIND. Each is a titanic engine of void-war, but the immensity of their master's vessel renders them ordinary.
Still crackling with shield ignition, the Imperial warships surge into battle. Molten spears of lance fire stab into the exposed rear and flanks of the ORK HULKS.
A thousand torpedoes slashes through space, followed by a thousand more. A glittering flurry of booster contrails paint the void in a web of glittering vapor-wakes.
ORK ships begin exploding, gutted by timed warheads or cut in half by precision-aimed lances. Secondary explosions ripple through the hamstrung alien fleet as raucous plasma reactors achieve critical mass and engines running insanely hot spiral into explosive death throes.
The ORK attack pauses, turning to face this new threat.
This is what Horus Lupercal had been waiting for.
The 16th Legion fleet – which has been on the verge of being overwhelmed – halts its dispersal, its vessels turning about with astonishing speed and banding together in mutually-supporting wolf packs.
And what was once a fleet in apparent disarray transforms in minutes to a fleet on the attack. Individual ORK vessels are overwhelmed and bombarded out of existence. Larger groups banded together, but they are no match for two coordinated war fleets led by the galaxy's greatest warriors.
The ORKs draw close together around their monstrous asteroid fortress as the VENGEFUL SPIRIT and the IMPERATOR SOMNIUM bear down upon it.
Escorting warships blast a path through the stricken REAVERHULKS, clearing the way for HORUS and the EMPEROR to deliver the killing blow.
Coming in at oblique angles, both ships rake the asteroid with unending broadsides. Void flare and electromagnetic bursts from the cataclysmic volume of ordnance wreath the hulking fortress in flaring detonations. It is planet-killing levels of fire, the power to crack open worlds and hollow them out.
At some unseen signal, the Imperial vessels pull away as hellish firestorms engulf the asteroid. The nightmare machinery at its heart, which empowers the guns and engines, explodes and splits the rock apart. Geysers of green-white plasma energy, thousands of kilometers long, arced around its corpse in crackling whips of sun-hot lightning. Like attracts like, and the lightning seeks out the plasma cores of the Ork vessels and rips them apart in coruscating storms, burning everything it touches to ash.
Barely a handful escape the tempest of destructive energies, and those that do are savaged by the prowling wolf pack squadrons.
Within the Emperor's arrival, the ORK fleet is reduced to a vast cloud of cooling debris.
INT. STRATEGIUM
An incoming vox-hail echoes through the VENGEFUL SPIRIT's STRATEGIUM.
The storms of plasma boil in the Ork's graveyard making intership vox choppy and unreliable, but this transmission is so clear the speaker could have been standing next to Lupercal.
EMPEROR (V.O.)
Permission to come aboard, my son.
SCENE II - Int. THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT
The Emperor doesn't wear a helmet, his noble face bears a wreath of golden laurels about his brow. Even from a distance it is the face of a being worthy of eternal fealty, conceivable only as an impression of wonder and light. No god ever demanded respect and honour more. No earthly ruler has ever been so beloved by all.
Sejanus begins to weep tears of unbridled joy.
The Emperor and Horus meet on the main embarkation deck of the VENGEFUL SPIRIT, and every legionary aboard is mustered to honour the Master of Mankind. There are ten thousand warriors.
So many that every STORMBIRD and THUNDERHAWK in the deck has been flown out into the void to make room.
As one, the LUNA WOLVES throw back their heads and loose a howling cheer of welcome, a pounding, deafening roar of martial pride.
Others follow – waifs and strays the Luna Wolves have swept up in the course of the Great Crusade. ITINERANT POETS, would-be CHRONICLERS and PROMULGATORS of Imperial Truth. To see the MASTER OF MANKIND in the flesh is an opportunity that would never come again.
The Emperor comes aboard with THREE HUNDRED members of the LEGIO CUSTODES, god-like warriors cast in the mould of the EMPEROR himself.
They are armored in gold plate with crimson horsehair plumes streaming from their peaked helms, they carry shields and long polearms topped with armed photonic blades.
The MOURNIVAL follow Horus at the head of the entire FIRST COMPANY, marching in a long column alongside the warriors of the LEGIO CUSTODES.
The Emperor and Horus warmly embrace each other, with signs of deep affection.
EMPEROR
Where do you learn a strategy like that my son?
Modestly, on the right side of arrogance.
HORUS
Jaghatai taught it to me, he called it "the zao". I can't pull it off anything like as fast as the Warhawk, but I make a passable fist of it.
Marching with Horus between the proud lines of the LUNA WOLVES.
EMPEROR
You and the Great Khan were always close, of all of us, even me, I think you know him best.
Regrettably.
HORUS
And I hardly know him at all, it is how he was made.
They march between the thousands of cheering legionaries, leaving the embarkation deck and moving up through the grandest processionals of the VENGEFUL SPIRIT.
Companies of LUNA WOLVES peel off as they go higher, until only EZEKYLE's JUSTAERIN elite and the MOURNIVAL remain.
INT. AVENUE OF GLORY AND LAMENT - DAY
They march down the AVENUE OF GLORY AND LAMENT, a soaring antechamber with embossed columns of dark wood bearing the weight of a shimmering crystalline roof, through which the roiling, plasmic death throes of the ORK fleet could be relished.
Coffered panels running fully half the length of the AVENUE contain hand-painted lists of names and numbers.
The Emperor pauses to kneel by the newest panel.
The MARCH stops.
As if there is weight of uncounted years in a simple question.
EMPEROR
The dead?
HORUS
All those where the Spirit was present.
EMPEROR
So many, and so many more yet to come, we must make it all worthwhile, you and I. We must build a galaxy fit for heroes.
HORUS
We could fill this hall a hundred times over and it would still be a price worth paying to see the Crusade triumphant.
Pausing briefly.
EMPEROR
I hope it will not come to that.
HORUS
The stars are our birthright, wasn't that what you said? Make no mistakes and they will be ours.
EMPEROR
I said that?
HORUS
You did Father, on Cthonia, when I was but a foundling.
The Emperor stands up and places a mailed gauntlet upon Horus' shoulder, the gesture of a proud father.
EMPEROR
Then I must prove worthy of your trust.
Ext. THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT – OBSERVATION DECK
In a seldom-visited observation deck in the rear quarters of the ship for their meeting. A vivid screed of plasma storm blazes beyond the crystalflex dome, and forking traceries of lightning dance on the polished terrazzo floor.
The walls are bare of ornamentation, though scratched with Cthonian murder-hexes, bad poetry and gruesome images of murdered aliens. A deep pool of fresh water fills the heart of the chamber, glittering with starlight and made bloody with light from the system's bloated red star.
Declaring.
ABADDON
I don't have time for your pointless little ritual, Hastur, I've a company to ready for war.
SEJANUS
We all do.
Sighing, he nods in acquiescence.
ABADDON
But you're doing this. Fine, then let's get on with it.
Irritated, he stares at the pallid reflection of GORRO in the mirror flat waters.
ABADDON
It's not even a proper moon.
SEJANUS
No, but it will have to do.
ABADDON
The Justaerin are going to be fighting alongside the Emperor, and I'll not have us shown up by those golden martinets.
He kneels and sets the gleaming silver of his gibbous moon token next to Aximand's half-moon medal at the edge of the pool.
TORGADDON
We've been doing this since Ordoni. It's what keeps us honest. Remembering Terentius.
ABADDON
I don't need keeping honest!
Kneeling regardless to place his lodge medal.
ABADDON
Terentius was a traitor. We're nothing like him.
Settling the matter, Sejanus sets his crescent-moon token next to those of his brothers.
SEJANUS
And only by constant vigilance will that remain so. The Legion looks to us. Where we lead, they follow. We're doing this.
Sejanus draws his sword and his MOURNIVAL brothers draw theirs.
The XIII Legion favors the short, stabbing GLADIUS, but the Mournival have long-handled war blades, capable of being wielded one-handed or as brutal double-handers.
SEJANUS
Who are we?
MOURNIVAL
We are the Luna Wolves.
Almost growling.
SEJANUS
Beyond that, we are Mournival.
(roars)
Bound together by the light of a moon, sworn to a bond that only death will break.
Shouting.
ABADDON
We kill for the living!
Shouting in unison.
MOURNIVAL
We kill for the dead!
Their swords lower, each warrior resting the tip of his blade on the gorget of the man to his left.
Lastly, Tarik places his sword on Ezekyle, grinning at the faintly treasonous action of baring a blade to the First Captain.
TORGADDON
You have your Censures?
Each warrior holds out a OATH OF CENSURE, a folded square of oath paper that would normally be used to record an objective to be achieved in battle. Such oaths would be affixed to a warrior's armour, a visible declaration of martial intent. Each MOURNIVAL BROTHER has written upon their paper, but instead of a deed of honour, they've chosen a punishment for failure.
SEJANUS
We hold to the essential, unchanging goodness of the Legions, in their rational appraisal and rejection of evil. We invest our primarchs with divine qualities, with moral and rational faculties that make them both just and wise. We simplify the complexity of the galaxy by believing there is an unbreakable wall between good and evil. The lesson of Terentius is that the line between good and evil is all too permeable. Anyone can cross it in exceptional circumstances, even us. Believing that we cannot fall to evil makes us more vulnerable to the very things that might make it so.
Sejanus holds out his helmet, its TRANSVERSE CREST pointing to the deck. His CENSURE PAPER already in the helmet, and the other three drop their punishment in with it.
Then, each warrior reaches inside and selects a paper at random.
AXIMAND and ABADDON tuck theirs into their belts.
TORGADDON places his into a leather loop on his scabbard.
FADE TO BLACK.
Int. VENGEFUL SPIRIT – DAY
The Oaths of Moment are sworn, the straining STORMBIRDS let fly. The LUNA WOLVES are en route to GORRO.
DROP PODS and GUNSHIPS in the tens of thousands race to the surface, ready to hollow the scrapworld from the inside out.
SCENE III - Ext. GORRO - DAY
Unknown field technology binds the layered depths of GORRO together, and those same technologies make it virtually invulnerable to bombardment.
MACRO CANNONS capable of levelling entire cities barely scratch its rust-crusted surface. MAGMA BOMBS and MASS DRIVERS with the power to crack continents detonate in its atmosphere.
The lethal radiation of DESTROYER WARHEADS dissipate into the void, half-lives of tens of thousands of years degrade in hours.
Horus his warriors race to battle from the golden bridge of his father's vessel.
EMPEROR
You wish you were with them, don't you?
Nodding, but not turning away from the viewing bay. He feels the weight of his father's presence behind him.
HORUS
I don't understand.
EMPEROR
What don't you understand?
HORUS
Why you wouldn't let me go with my sons.
EMPEROR
You always want to be first, don't you?
HORUS
Is that wrong?
EMPEROR
Of course not, but I need you elsewhere.
Unable to mask his disappointment
HORUS
Here? What good will I do from here?
Laughing.
EMPEROR
You think we're going to watch this abomination die from here?
Horus turns to face the EMPEROR, now seeing his father is girted for battle, towering and majestic in his gold-chased warplate of eagle wings and a bronze mantle of woven mail. An unsheathed bluesteel sword is seen rippling with potent psychic energies.
CUSTODIANS attend to the Emperor, weapons are at the ready upon an enormously large teleporter array.
EMPEROR
I believe you call it a speartip, yes?
INT. THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT
A blaze of light, a vertiginous sense of dislocation and a world out of joint with itself. No sense of movement, but a powerful sense of time.
The bridge of the Emperor's flagship disappears.
FADE TO BLACK.
EXT. – GORRO PLANETSIDE – DAY
INT. CHAMBER ON GORRO
HORUS' POV: Phosphor bright light fade from HORUS' eyes, replaced by a furnace coal glow of seething workshops and volcanic fissures.
GORRO is a hellish world, a warren of nightmarish rookeries filled with unimaginable horrors at every turn, its claustrophobic tunnels lit with pulsating light from magma fissures. Thick with ash, a toxic miasma clogs the lungs, fouls the eyes and stains the soul.
Bowing ceilings laced with knotworks of rusted reinforcement, caged bulbs sputter with fitful light and a fug of sulphurous fumes. The scrapworld stinks of hot iron and flames, of oil and sweat and waste matter left to rot.
The chamber is rank with the stench of ORKs, as though herds of livestock are kept here and never mucked out, it smells of ammonia and strangely redolent of spoiled vegetable matter.
A thousand or more ORKs roar upon seeing several hundred armoured warriors appear without warning in the midst of them in the wide chamber.
Every ORK is encased in rusted plates of hissing iron, strapped and bolted to their swollen bodies covered in wheezing pneumatics, cracking power generators and hissing, lightning-edged weapons.
Bellowing.
EMPEROR
At them!
The CUSTODIANS move first, bracing their spears and letting fly with an explosive volley of EXPLOSIVE SHELLS from their guardian spears.
The JUSTAERIN open fire next, a heartbeat later, ORK line blooms with FIERY detonations.
Then the EMPEROR rushes them.
His sword is a bluesteel SHIMMER, too fast to follow with the naked eye. He moves through the ORKS without seeming to move at all, simply existing at one point to kill before appearing elsewhere to reap ORK lives by the score. Each blow strikes with the force of an artillery IMPACT, and SHATTERED bodies fly from his sword as though hurled aside by a bomb blast.
His outstretched gauntlet blazes with white-gold FIRE, and whatever the flames touches disappears in EXPLOSIONS of red cinders and ash.
He batters ORKS to boneless husks with bludgeoning blows, crushes them with invisible coils of TELEKENETIC force and he REPELS their gunfire with THOUGHTS that turns their rounds to smoke.
ORKS swarm at him in their hundreds, like iron filings to the most powerful magnet.
The EMPEROR kills them all, unstoppable in his purity of purpose. He is AWE inspiring in his methods, it is war perfected.
Horus fires his STORM BOLTER, decapitating an ORK with twin rotating hooks for hands. He spins around and guts another ORK that stares stupidly at its unspooling entrails for a moment before collapsing.
Horus follows his father into the mass of alien flesh and steel. His sword slashing low, taking the leg from a TOWERING ORK of absurdly oversized machine-musculature. He crushes its skull beneath his boot as he pushes over its thrashing BODY.
The JUSTAERIN fight to his left and right, a solid wedge of black-armoured TERMINATORS battering their way through an ocean of iron-hard green flesh.
Abaddon leads them with characteristic bullishness: shoulders squared against the foe, fist sawing back and forth like a relentless piston as his TWIN-BOLTER spits explosive death.
All relish in the fight, but none more so than Horus.
Hundreds of greasy bestial bodies surround HORUS, howling, yelling, screaming and braying. FANGS snap on his vambrace. Roaring CLEAVERS shatter on his shoulder guards. He shrugs off every impact, rolls with every blow, kills his attackers with pure economy of force. Stinking ALIEN VISCERA coats him, hissing from the blade of his SWORD and the barrels of his STORM BOLTER.
Next to him, Abaddon kills with furious urgency, pushing himself to the limit to stay by his commander's side.
The CUSTODIANS hack the ORKS with precisely aimed blows of their GUARDIAN SPEARS. They wield them in lethally inventive ways, but this not the place for elaborate fighting styles.
Here it is kill or be killed.
The ORKS fight back with all the PRIMAL, ANIMALISTIC FURY that makes them so dangerous. Even TERMINATOR ARMOR is breached, their legionaries killed. The ORKS do both.
At least a dozen CUSTODIANS lie dead with equal numbers of JUSTAERIN.
Horus looks at Abaddon and sees Abaddon go down, a colossal spiked MACE, twice the height of a human man, buried in his shoulder.
An ORK war-captain, the size of an OGRYN, wrenches the mace clear and swings the weapon around its immense body to deliver the death blow. A shimmering the SWORD OF THE EMPEROR, bluesteel, two handed and wreathed in fire slices in to block the descending MACE.
The EMPEROR rolls his wrist and the monstrous weight of the spiked MACE HEAD falls from its wire-wound haft. He spins on his heel and the fire-edged sword licked out in a SHIMEMRING figure-eight.
The towering ORK collapses in four keenly-sliced SEGMENTS. Its iron-helmed head still bellows defiance as the Emperor bends to retrieve it from the deck. Wading into the ORKS, the roaring war-captain's truncated torso in one fist, sword in the other.
Horus drags Abaddon to his feet.
HORUS
Can you fight?
ABADDON
Aye. It's only light, I'll manage.
HORUS
Your shoulder is broken and the bone shield on your left side is fractured. As is your pelvis.
ABADDON
They'd need to break every bone in my body keep me from your side. As it is for you and the Emperor, beloved by all.
Horus nods.
ABADDON
No force in the galaxy will keep me from his side.
SUDDENLY, the planet GORRO convulses in the grip of a violent quake that rips up from far below.
ABADDON
What was that?
HORUS
The gravitational fields keeping Gorro coherent are spinning out of control. The scrapworld's tearing itself apart.
Deck plates buckle throughout the chamber. Meter-thick SHEETS of steel ripped like paper as geysers of oily steam belched from the depths.
Bulging WALLS collapse INWARDS and debris rains from the splintering ceiling. Cracking FISSURES spread across the bloody ground, tearing wider with every second as CUSTODIANS, JUSTAERIN and ORKS fall into the scrapworld's fiery depths.
HORUS fights for balance, pushing to where he saw the golden light of the EMPEROR surrounded by ORK MARAUDERS..
HORUS
(yelling)
Father!
Turning, the Emperor reaches for Horus
Another quake strikes.
The scrapworld swallows the Emperor whole!
SCENE IV - Ext. GORRO PLANETARY CORE
Everything is smoke, ash and blood. Red LIGHT paints the interior of the smoke-filled DROP POD.
Two SPACE MARINES lie dead, their bodies have been explosively gutted by spikes of penetrating DEBRIS.
A HEAD rolls to Sejanus' feet, leaving spirals of BLOOD upon the FLOOR.
Sejanus is sitting in a restraint harness.
Booming, clanking, and screeching sounds, the hallmark of ORK technology and the guttural metallic grating quality of the bark-language of the ORKS is audible.
SEJANUS
Up! Up now! Get out!
He tries unlocking the HARNESS, but it's stuck.
WRENCHING it away, he PUSHES himself upright, and RIPS his BOLT PISTOL and SWORD from the stowage rack above as well as taking a BANDOLIER OF GRENADES.
The rest the SQUAD follows suit, freeing and arming themselves with complete CALM.
The base of the POD cants at a forty-five degree angle, the HATCH angles towards the GROUND.
Sejanus KICKS the emergency release, three times.
It gives, only a little.
Two more kicks finally frees it.
The panel falls out with a heavy clang.
Sejanus drops through the hatch and spins out from underneath its groaning remains.
One by one, the SQUAD joins him on the SCORCHED ruin of the deck.
They follow him out from under the DROP POD, BOLTERS ready.
The ground RUMBLES, the after-effects of a quake or something more serious.
Powerful forces travel through the ironwork lattice of GORRO. Metal and crushed rock lay in dust-wreathed heaps.
Sejanus looks up to see a rain of DEBRIS tumbling from the high ceiling, a wire-tangled hole marking their DROP POD's entry to the crackling, lightning-filled vault. Smashed MACHINERY surrounds the crashed pod. SPARS of metal and PULVERIZED bodies litter the floor.
SEJANUS
Throne, what are they?
The ORK CORPSES are heavily armored in what appears to be all-enclosing suits of crudely-beaten IRON, at first glance they seem to be ORK CHIEFTANS, brutish war-leaders able to demand the heaviest armour, the biggest, loudest weapons. But that isn't what they are at all.
Their SKULLS and BODIES are metal. No part of them is organic, they are entirely formed of rusted iron, perforated vent chimneys hulking buzz saws and enormous cannons with flanged barrels. Hundreds of tiny, shrieking, GREEN SKINNED MENIAL things surrounded them.
Cackling, mean-looking SERVILES by the look of them, though even they are augmented with primitive bionics. Some carry smoking ad-hoc pistols, others hold what looked like miniature blowtorches or tools more surgical than mechanical. They are tiny, virtually inconsequential.
The CLANKING, HISSING metal ORKS stomp towards them and a HAIL of WILD FIRE blasts from their GUNS.
Sejanus skids into cover.
The gunfire is hopelessly inaccurate, but there was a lot of it.
Grating speech that sounds like a machine badly in need of oiling rips from the ironclad ORKS.
Shells EXPLODE overhead, tearing through the heavy machine sheltering him.
Almost immediately after, the SNAPPING, CACKLING SERVILE creatures swarm over the TOP.
ONE starts blowtorching the side of SEJANUS'S helmet.
Sejamus PULVERIZES the SERVILE with a sharp headbutt.
It explodes like a GREEN BLISTER over his helmet.
Sejanus rolls and wipes the stinking mess of its demise from his visor.
The SERVILES are all over him, cutting, stabbing and shooting their tiny pistols.
Sejanus scrapes them off, and stamps on them like insects. Because while he's killing them by the score, the ORK IRONCLADS still keep coming.
The swarm keeps attacking, fouling the joints of his armour with their ridiculous little tools, screeching with glee as they sawed serrated blades into seams between plates.
The rest of the SQUAD fare a little better, fouled like prey beasts in a net.
SEJANUS
(snarls)
I don't have time for this.
Snapping off a string of frag grenades from his belt, he snaps the arming pins and lobs them into the air.
SEJANUS
Brace for impact!
He drops to a crouch with his arms over his head.
The GRENADES blow out with a rippling THUNDERCLAP of sequential DETONATIONS. Red-hot SHRAPNEL scythes out in all directions.
Fire engulfs Sejanus and the overpressure throws him forward against the hulking MACHINE. His armour registers a few penetrations where the ORKS have managed to weaken the flexible joints at his knees and hip, but it's superficial.
The SERVILES are gone, shredded to bloody scraps on nearby machinery, like leavings from an explosion in a doll manufactory. Only a few remain alive, but even those are no threat.
Sejanus rises to his feet, SLATHERED in ALIEN blood, and aims his PISTOL at the oncoming IRONCLADS.
SEJANUS
Take them.
MALSANDAR kills an ORK with twin blasts from his PLASMA CARBINE, the ironwork effigy going up like a volcano as the searing beam set off a secondary detonation within it.
GORTHOI puts another down with a slamming right hook from his POWER FIST, going on to tear it limb from limb.
DYMOS and ULSAAR keep another at bay with concentrated bursts of BOLTER fire while ENKANUS circles behind it with a MELTA charge.
FASKANDAR is on his knees, his armor aflame and ceramite plates running like melting wax. His pain can be HEARD over the VOX.
Sejanus picks his target, an IRONCLAD with enormous bronze tusks welded into a serrated metal jaw. Its eyes are mismatched discs of red and green, its body a barrel-like construction with grinding pneumatics and beaten-metal weapon limbs.
Sejanus puts his bolt-round through the centre of its throat. The mass-reactive DETETONATES and BLOWS its head onto its shoulder in a SHOWER of flame and squirting bio-organic oils.
The ORK keeps coming, raising a heavy, blunderbuss-like weapon with a flared muzzle.
Sejanus doesn't give it time to shoot and vaults from cover.
His boots thunder into its chest.
The IRONCLAD doesn't fall. A claw with monstrously oversized piston-driven motors snap at Sejanus' head.
Sejanus ducks and thumbs the activation stud on his CHAINSWORD'S hilt. The saw-toothed blade ROARS to life and he hacks through the last remnants of spurting oils and whirring chains holding the ironclad's HEAD in place.
The ironclad's HORNED SKULL falls to the deck.
Sejanus stomps DOWN on it.
Metal SPLINTERS, and viscous FLUID, spill out alongside a twitching root-like SPINAL CORD.
SEJANUS POV: WITHIN the skull, a spongy, grey green mass of tissue, like FUNGAL CYST of knotted roots fill the skull. Two piggish, red EYEBALLS HANG limp on stalks from the broken metal, both staring madly up at Sejanus from the ruin of the metallic skull. It's a NAUSEATING sight.
The headless ironclad's snapping CLAW fastens on Sejanus' chest and LIFTS him from the deck. Black smoke jets from the exhausts on its back as its PINCER CLAWS draw together.
The plates of Sejanus' armor buckle under the crushing pressure. He fights to free himself, but its grip was unbreakable.
Mars-forged armor plate CRACKS.
Warning icons blinked to life on his SENSORS.
Sejanus cries out as his bones grind together and blood begins filling the interior of his armour. He braces his feet against the ironclad's chest and twists to brings his pistol to bear.
The red eyes within the ironclad's slowly draining helm are looking up at him, relishing his agony.
Sejanus points his pistol at the brain, and pulls the trigger. The bolt-round explodes and the brain matter of the ironclad and its body convulse with its destruction. The claw SPASMS, dropping Sejanus to the deck.
Landing badly, his spine is partially crushed.
SEJANUS POV: White light SMEARS his vision as palliatives flood his body to shut the pain gate at the nape of his neck.
There is a loud RINGING in his ears. A DULL sound of fluid rushing through his veins.
END POV.
The other ironclads are all dead.
FASKANDAR is also dead, his body reduced to a gelatinous mass by the fire of the unknown ORK weapon.
DYMOS kneels beside their fallen brother.
DYMOS
He's gone. Not enough even for an Apothecary.
SEJANUS
He will be avenged.
GORTHOI
How?!
SEJANUS
In blood. In death. Our mission is unchanged. We move out and kill anything we find. Does anyone have a problem with that plan?
None of them do.
DYMOS looks up at the RAGGED hole their drop pod has torn.
DYMOS
The rest of the company's got to be hundreds of kilometers above us.
GORTHOI
We're on our own down here.
SEJANUS
No, we're not.
His armor's systems are picking up an Imperial presence.
MALSANDAR
Who else is this deep?
Sejanus looks into the distance.
SEJANUS
The Emperor is with us.
Ext. GORRO INNERWORKS - day
Horus drops down through the scrapworld's interior, a pearl-white ANGEL trailing wings of fire as he falls.
The QUAKE RIPS the structure of GORRO apart. Its sedimentary levels of agglomerated junk coming undone. Layers separate and compacted debris crumbles as its structural integrity collapses at an exponential rate.
Horus SMASHES down through warrens of dwelling caves, stinking feeding pits and labyrinthine workshops that blaze with emerald fire. The planet's death throes toss him around like a leaf in a hurricane.
He looks up, seeing tiny figures in black and gold falling after him. JUSTAERIN and LEGIO CUSTODES.
They'd follow him down, heroic and selfless. But, ultimately, doomed. They aren't primarchs. They can't endure what he could.
He sees Justaerin incinerated by gouts of PLASMIC FIRE billowing from an ruptured conduit.
CUSTODIANS who drop in arcing dive SMASH against falling DEBRIS or DEFORMING structural elements. Their limp, lifeless bodies follow Horus down into the depths.
ERUPTIONS flare up from the depths in kilometer-long FORKS of lightning.
ORK war-machines explode and swirl contrails of wildly corkscrewing ammunition ricocheting from every surface. Some of it strikes him, scorching his armour and blisters his flesh.
Horus drops through cavernous spaces filled with towering engines that no adept of Mars would ever dare build, let alone get to function.
The WORLD SPINS around him as GORRO's structure TWISTS and SCREAMS with imminent destruction. Cliff-like walls slam together, giant girders wrought from the keels of wrecked STARSHIPS bend like wire, and gouts of molten metal pour from collapsing foundries.
Horus slams into another wall that might once have been a deck plate. Angled enough to only just slow his descent. The ground below is a nightmarish mass of cascading debris and fire.
Horus punches his fist through the metal, and rips a jagged furrow in his wake to slow his descent.
Even with his speed reduced, Horus continues to SLAM into the ground too hard.
He bends his knees and rolls through the flames, feeling the heat of them scorch his armor and reach through to his flesh.
The DECK PLATE shudders and tears free of its moorings.
It tips him over a yawning abyss limned in BLUE-WHITE radiance from below.
For a second, he is held aloft in an incandescently bright void of competing gravitational forces, wrenched in a thousand directions at once. Then one force, stronger than all the others combined, TAKES hold of him and PULLS him down.
He continues to fall. Only at the last instant managing to right himself.
SLAMMING down, bending his knee and PUNCHING a CRATER into the ground with the force of his impact.
SCENE V - INT. SPHERICAL INNER CHAMBER – GORRO - DAY
The space in which Horus lands is a vast, spherical chamber where endlessly reconfiguring GRAVIMETRIC FORCES are at play.
There is no up or down, no cardinal direction in which gravity would act.
Lightning LEAPS from enormous brass orbs spaced at random intervals around its inner surfaces, and a dizzyingly complex series of impossibly inverted walkways and gantries surrounded a colossal VORTEX of energy.
At least a kilometer wide, SEETHING like a caged beast of plasma fire. Lashing silver fire forked from its expanding mass, tearing at GORRO's structure and breaking it apart.
As BLINDING and MESMERIZING as the runaway plasma reaction is at the scrapworld's heart, there is an even brighter light which catches Horus' eyes.
The Emperor is fighting his way through a howling mob of the largest ORKS ever seen.
Most are the equal the size of Horus in stature. One even dwarfs the Emperor himself.
The Emperor fights to reach a fragmenting ring of iron surrounding the blinding plasma core, but the ORKS have him surrounded.
INT. GORRO PLANETARY INNERWORKS - DAY
Sejanus and his SQUAD fight through the disintegrating ruins of the scrapworld in the old way. No subtlety, no finesse.
They stab, bludgeon and shoot everything.
A mechanized slug creature latches onto Sejanus' bolt pistol and tries to detonate the ammunition. He is forced to discard it.
An IRONCLAD attacks him. SEJANUS cuts it down with all his strength, spilling its disembodied, fungal brain onto the deck, but his sword blade snaps in half.
ENKANUS and ULSAAR are killed, murdered with motorized cleavers and energized hooks.
Sejanus' armor is no longer pearl-white, but slathered in viscera. He has no weapons other than his fists, but they are enough.
Dymos fights on his left, Gorthoi on his right.
They push ever onwards, wading knee deep in ORK blood and flesh. The stench of the abattoir and offal pit is overpowering, but it's blocked out.
They arrive in the same chamber where Horus and the Emperor are fighting and skid to a halt in a ragged archway which spills blazing white light.
The raging tide of ORKS below is a mass of dark green flesh clad in beaten armour. They see more of the IRONCLADS, and many other technological abominations that makes them seem almost comprehensible.
INT. GORRO PLANETARY INNERWORKS - DAY
SEJANUS
(gasping)
We're here.
He seeing Horus.
SEJANUS
Lupercal…
ext– GORRO PLANETARY INNERWORKS - DAY
Horus grapples, in a gouging duel with an iron-tusked GIANT ORK with motorized CRUSHER CLAWS for arms and a fire-belching maw. He'd broken the beast over his knee and hurled its corpse from the bridge. He loses his HELMET during the melee and rogue GRAVITY VORTICES hurl it up and away.
Horus' SWORD is broken, and discarded, SNAPPED halfway along its length.
His TWIN BOLTERS empty of shells.
He fights his way onto a STEPPED BRIDGE, killing scores of monstrously swollen ORKS to reach a crumbling ledge just below the EMPEROR.
He is DRENCHED in blood, his own and that of the ORKS.
More of the ORKS follow him onto the bridge, grunting and laughing as they stalk him.
The EMPEROR fights an armoured GIANT ORK twice his height and breadth. Its SKULL is a vast, iron-helmed boulder with elephantine tusks and chisel-like teeth that gleams dully. Its EYES are coal-red slits of such vicious intelligence that it steals your breath. IT has no equal.
SIX clanking, mechanized limbs bolt through its flesh and bear GRINDING, CRACKLING, SAWING, SNAPPING, FLAME-BELCHING weapons of murder.
The Emperor's armor is BURNING, the GOLDEN WREATH now ASHES around his neck.
Chugging rotor cannons batter the Emperor's armor even as claws of lightning tear PORTIONS of it away.
It takes every SCREED of the Emperor's warrior skill and psychic might to keep the mech-warlord's weaponry from killing him.
HORUS
Father!
The ORK turns and sees HORUS.
It sees the DESPERATION in Horus' face and laughs.
A fist like a REDUCTOR SIEGE HAMMER smashes the EMPEROR'S SWORD aside and a FIST of green flesh lifts him into the air.
It crushes the life from the Emperor with its inhuman power.
HORUS
No!
Horus batters his way through the last of the ORKS to reach the Emperor.
The Mech-Warlord turns his SPINAL WEAPONS on HORUS, and a BLISTERING series of lightning strikes hammer the walkway.
HORUS DODGES them all, like a wolf on the hunt amid the ash and fire of the world's ending.
He has no weapon.
HORUS reaches the GIANT ORK and GRIPS one of the warlord's mechanized arms, one bearing SPINNING BRASS SPHERES and CACKLING TINES of its lightning weapon.
The arm's strength is prodigious, but centimeter by centime Horus forces it around.
Lightning blasts from the weapon, burning Horus' hands black.
Bone gleams through the ruin of his flesh.
With one last herculean effort, Horus wrenches the arm up as a sawing blast of white-edged lightning ERUPTS from the weapon.
A searing burst of fire impacts on the GIANT ORK's forearm and the limb EXPLODES from the elbow down in a welter of blackened bone and boiling blood.
The GIANT ORK merely GRUNTS in surprise, and drops the Emperor and stares in dumb FASCINATION at the ruin of its arm.
Seizing the chance he had been given, the Emperor bends low and surges upwards with his bluesteel sword extended.
The tip rips into the GIANT ORK's belly and bursts from its back in a shower of sparks.
EMPEROR
Now you die.
Then he RIPS the blade upwards.
It is an awful, agonizing, mortal wound.
Electrical fire vents from hideous metal organs within the wreckage of the ORK'S body. It is a murderous wound that not even a beast of such unimaginable proportions can take and live.
Then there is a buildup of COLOSSAL PSYCHIC energies.
A furious light BUILDS within the Emperor
POWER like nothing ever seen or even suspected he possesses. All consuming, all powerful, it is the power to EXTINGUISH LIFE in every sphere of its existence. Physical flesh turns to ash before it and what appears to be a ghostly image of a SOUL is BURNED out of existence, never to cohere again.
The GIANT ORK'S body passes from the finite energy of the universe, to fade into memory and have all that they were wiped from the canvas of existence. It is as complete a death as possible to suffer. Such POWER blazes from the Emperor's SWORD and fills the GIANT ORK with KILLING LIGHT, ERUPTING in a bellowing golden explosion and lightning blaze from the coruscating afterimage of its death, arcing from ork to ork as it seeks out all those who were kin to the master of Gorro.
Unimaginable energies pour from the Emperor, reaching throughout the entirety of the chamber and burning every last shred of alien flesh to a mist of drifting golden ash in a DAZZLING, DEVASTATING form of CHAIN LIGHTNING.
Nothing remains.
FADE TO BLACK.
SCENE VI - EXT. GORRO PLANETARY INNERWORKS - DAY
The POWER of LIFE and Death, COURSES through the Emperor.
He swells in stature until he is like unto a GOD. Wreathed in PELLUCID amber flames, TOWERING and MAJESTIC.
Horus drops to his knees, overcome with the wonder of what he is witnessing.
SEJANUS
LUPERCAL!
Horus turns at the sound of his name.
SPRINTING along the bridge is Sejanus, howling his name over and over while PUMPING a fist in the air.
A wondrous light behind Sejanus is eclipsed by blue-white plasma.
Horus turns to see the Emperor silhouetted in the cold fire of GORRO'S seething core.
The Emperor's back is to Horus, SWORD sheathed at his hip and arms raised high.
The same golden FIRE that so comprehensively destroyed the GIANT ORK drips from his spread FINGERTIPS like immaterial fire.
The powerful TREMORS shake GORRO apart as evidence enough that the POWER CORE is spiraling to destruction.
HORUS
This can't be how it ends.
EMPEROR
No, my son.
Gathering the golden light within him once again.
EMPEROR
It is not.
The Emperor clenches his fists and the air around the seething plasma ball folds. It turns sickeningly inwards, as though reality is merely a backdrop against which the dramas of the galaxy are played out. And where it folds, the spaces behind are horribly revealed, great abysses of crawling chaos and unlimited potential. Howling voids where the combined lives of this galaxy were but motes reflected in the cosmic dust storm. An EMPYREAN realm of the never-born, where nightmares are birthed in the foetid womb of mortal lust. Things of void-cold form writhed in the darkness, like a million snakes of ebon glass coiled in endless, slithering knots.
Horus STARES deep into the abyss, repulsed and fascinated by the secret workings of the universe at the same time. As he watches, the Emperor draws the fabric of the world together, sealing them around the ORK plasma core. The effort costs him dearly, the golden light at his heart waning with every passing second.
...And then it is done.
A THUNDEROUS bang of air rushes to fill the void left by the plasma fire, and the backwash blows back into the chamber in a gale of sulphurous wind.
The Emperor falls to one knee, his head bows.
Horus is at his side a heartbeat later. Helping his father to his feet.
HORUS
What did you do?
The EMPEROR looks up, color already returning to his wondrous features.
EMPEROR
Sent the plasma core into the aether, but it will not last long. We must withdraw before the warp fold implodes and takes everything with it. The entire mass of this scrapworld will be soon crushed as surely as if it had fallen into the grip of a black hole.
HORUS
Then let's get off this damn thing.
Int. THE VENGEFUL SPIRIT
Below the FINAL DEATH agonies of GORRO are visible from the BRIDGE of the VENGEFUL SPIRIT.
The Emperor and Horus watch from a viewport.
The MOURNIVAL are before them.
The Emperor and Horus stand at the OUSLITE DISC from which he had planned the void war against the SCAPHULK fleet.
HORUS
The ORKS will never recover from this.
EMPEROR
Their power is broken. It will be thousands of years before the beast arises again.
The Emperor shakes his head, DRAWING a shimmering orrery of light from the disc.
Gently glowing points of light rotate around the edge of the disc, scores of systems, hundreds of worlds.
EMPEROR
Would that you were right, my son, but the orks are a cancer upon this galaxy. For every one of their ramshackle empires we burn to the ground, another arises, even greater and ever more deeply entrenched. Such is the nature of the ork – and this is why their race is so hard to destroy. They must be eradicated wholesale or they will return all the stronger, time and time again, until they come at us in numbers too great to defeat.
HORUS
Then we are to be cursed by them for all time?
EMPEROR
Not if we act swiftly and without mercy.
HORUS
I am your sword. Show me where to strike.
The Emperor smiles warmly.
EMPEROR
The Telon Reach was but a satrapy of the largest empire we have ever encountered, one that must fall before the Great Crusade reunite humanity can continue. It will be magnificent, the war we will wage to destroy this empire. You will earn much honour in its prosecution, and men will speak of it until the stars themselves go out.
Leaning over the glowing hololith.
First one, then dozens, and finally hundreds of worlds are outlined in green.
HORUS
And this is it?
EMPEROR
Yes. This is Ullanor.
SCENE VII - Int. THE IMPERATOR SOMNIUM – DAY
Aboard the IMPERATOR SOMNIUM's STRAETGIUM we see a COUNCIL OF WAR gathered.
Members of the LEGIONES CUSTODES, LEGIO TITANICA, IMPERIAL ARMY, MECHANICUS and other key figures and their staff are present.
Also present, are JAGHATAI KHAN of the WHITE SCARS legion, FULGRIM of the EMPEROR'S CHILDREN legion, ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN of the ULTRAMARINES legion, ANGRON of the WORLD EATERS legion, SANGUINIUS of the BLOOD ANGELS legion, MORTARION of the DEATH GUARD legion, CORVUS CORAX of the RAVEN GUARD legion,
First Captain EZEKYLE ABADDON is also present at HORUS LUPERCAL's side.
In the center of the STRATEGIUM is a computer console, a bulbous screen protrudes from its base. Across it is a system of FIVE different planets with ULLANOR PRIME highlighted.
Gesturing to the console.
EMPEROR
My sons, this is our next objective in the Great Crusade. The Ullanor System.
So it is easier seen, a projected HOLOGRAM image hovers above the table.
A MASSIVE fleet of SIX THOUSAND warships is poised in a nearby system, out of reach by an ORK vessels.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
Before us lies an ork empire, one the likes of which have never been seen before, and perhaps never again. With our victory on Gorro, the remnants of that engagement have fled back here. They are led by a Warboss named Urlakk Urg. In this system are millions of our enslaved human brothers and sisters. We have come to liberate them.
Pausing.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
Though I will be participating in this assault, I will not be briefing you on our overall strategy.
A stunned silence.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
I will instead, leave that to your brother Horus.
Gesturing to HORUS LUPERCAL.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
I give the floor to you, son.
Hesitating.
Bracing himself.
Then coming forward.
Nodding at the EMEPROR.
HORUS
Thank you, father.
Turning to face those present in the STRATEGIUM.
HORUS
Brothers, and friends. As my father stated correctly we have come to liberate the Ullanor System and free our kinsmen from oppression and slavery. Millions suffer at the brutal hands of the orks, and this next step will pave the way for our Great Crusade to unite humanity to continue with greater speed.
Guilliman narrows his eyes in surprise.
HORUS (CONT'D)
Unfortunately, we are outnumbered five to one, with the enemy having a total force of four hundred and fifty million.
Audible gasps from all except the SPACE MARINES and the PRIMARCHS.
LORD COMMANDER TABOR LUDOVICIA, of the IMPERIAL ARMY steps forward.
TABOR LUDOVICIA
With all due respect my lord. Would it be wiser perhaps then to bypass the system? Perhaps you and your Astartes might survive, but if we do attack, we could suffer over sixty percent casualties.
FULGRIM
Be silent miscreant. Do not insult us with your cowardice. The Emperor has decreed that we are to free this system and that is what we will do. Do not speak to your betters as if you were our equal. You will listen to the strategy Horus has prepared and keep your own judgements to yourself.
HORUS
(placatingly.)
Please, Fulgrim. He was only doing his duty.
Turning to face LUDOVICIA.
HORUS
If we attacked head on you would be right, Tabor. There would be no way that we could take the system without suffering massive loss of life. We also cannot bypass the system. If we were to circumvent it, the orks would harass our supply lines and continuously forcing us to divert ships to protect convoys, weakening the overall strength of the fleets and thereby slowing the Crusade. By eliminating the ork presence on Ullanor, we can instead use it as a staging ground for future engagements.
Pausing.
HORUS
Guilliman, you and your sons will attack Ullanor Tertiaris, your objective is to draw forces away from Ullanor Prime by striking a key orbital shipyard. Jaghatai, you and your White Scars will attack Ullanor Quandrous, it has the second highest concentration of orks next to Ullanor Prime. Your objective is the same.
Jaghatai Khan readily nods in acknowledgement.
Roboute Guilliman follows suit.
HORUS
Ferrus…
FERRUS MANUS, stands a little taller.
HORUS
You, and Mortarion will support Guilliman and the Khan respectively in their efforts.
A brief chime from a DATA-SLATE briefly grabs Horus' attention.
HORUS (CONT'D)
I have just received word from Alpharius that his forces are in position and ready to assist in our endeavors. They have their own separate mission parameters and objectives.
MORTARION
And what of you brother?
HORUS
I and my legion will lead the main force to strike at Ullanor Prime when the time is right. With me, will be Sanguinius, Magnus, Fulgrim, Angron, Vulkan, their legions, our combined Imperial Army and Legio Titanicus forces to support me. Each legion accompanying me is responsible for continuing to distract the enemy and cause as many casualties as you can once we have landed on Ullanor Prime. Again, when the moment is right, I will lead my legion directly to assault the Overlord's fortress with Corvus and his legion. While the Raven Guard hold off the orks within the Palace along with my legion, I and my First Company will gain entry into the palace. Our mission is to find Urlakk Urg, and kill him.
Nodding in understanding.
JAGHATAI KHAN
A speartip strike.
Looking appreciatively at JAGHATAI.
HORUS
With his death, the orks will collapse within themselves. He is the lynch pin holding everything together.
Guilliman looks vexed at his role.
Horus notices Guilliman's demeanor but continues addressing the entire gathering.
HORUS
It isn't that I don't think any of you are incapable of doing this task. You are each given the objectives that I know you will be able to achieve and I have absolute confidence in each and every one of you. Failure of one means the failure of the entire Ullanor Campaign. I cannot accomplish my objective without each of you in turn completing yours. I have given you each tasks that I would not be able to do myself.
Smiling.
Suddenly less formal.
HORUS
Which leaves me with the easy part.
Light scoffing and chuckles from the PRIMARCHS.
Other members of the gathering smile at the levity.
HORUS
Is there anything you'd like to add father?
Smiling, and joining HORUS.
EMPEROR
Only one thing, son.
Pausing.
Looking directly at HORUS.
EMPEROR
I will be joining you.
SCENE VIII - INT. THE IMPERATOR SOMNIUM – DAY
The Emperor is alone, standing looking at the visible planets of the Ullanor System.
Through the viewport, the various fleets of the combined armada break off to their engagements, engines pulse and flare with plasmic light and contrails wisp through the blackness of space.
FADE TO BLACK:
FLASHBACK SEQUENCE
INT. IMPERIAL PALACE INNERWORKS – NIGHT
A great chamber, a gigantic scientific lab, filled with cloning vats and scientific equipment, is on fire. There are twenty huge vats, lightning snaps from vane to vane. In the center of the room stands the Emperor. The only thing keeping the structure intact is his the psychic power. Above him, is a massive WARP VORTEX.
AMAR ASTARTE, a cloning and genetics expert, runs beside CONSTANTIN VALDOR, the captain of the LEGIO CUSTODES.
With clear authority, Amar directs the recovery operation. Caches of materials and data are salvaged and saved. She does her best to secure the cloning vats but is unsuccessful.
The vats are sucked into the vortex, ripped from their base, causing showers of SPARKS and little EXPLOSIONS to erupt.
Dead bodies litter the floor with no obvious sign of wounds.
The vortex slowly fades and then closes.
FADE TO BLACK:
EXT. IMPERIAL PALACE INNERWORKS – DAY
Amar Astarte is brought before the Emperor, with Constantin Valdor and members of the Legio Custodes. She is disgraced and disheveled. She is forced to kneel before the Emperor.
EMPEROR
(Sadly)
Why have you betrayed me Amar? What cause did I give you to plot with Uwoma Kandawire to rob me of this Imperium which I have created?
Pausing.
Then, with quiet fury.
AMAR
I see what you've done with my children.
EMPEROR
The Astartes are not yours to command, Amar.
AMAR
(yelling)
They are my sons! They are all my sons. You are an absent father who views them only as means to an end, as tools built for a single purpose and creation. But they are so much more. They represent the next evolutionary step for humanity!
She then openly weeps, a mother crying for her lost children.
The Emperor looks down at her with sympathy, but does not answer.
Breathing heavily in barely controlled rage.
Then collecting herself.
AMAR
They fight, they bleed, and die. Yes, it is for a noble purpose, but there are others who could perform the task of common men. You have mortals in your vast armies, and yet you use my sons alone for the seemingly impossible. And while they triumph on the field of battle, how many are killed? How many must suffer the horrors of war before your nightmares are fully realized? They willingly follow you out of ignorance because they know nothing better. They were never given a choice, and they all seek your approval. I was never so ignorant as to think you would view us as a family, and never expected anything as such, but I will not stand idly by and watch you destroy my children after this fashion!
The Emperor continues to look at her, with sympathy and understanding.
Without condescension.
EMPEROR
With the might of our sons, our Crusade to unite humanity will be over quickly and without the major loss of life that would have been necessary if we used only normal humans to complete this monumental task. They were never tools to me. They are all my sons. With every operation, regardless of the difficulty, I plan each to ensure the highest survivability rate so that as many of our sons can return as possible.
(pause)
I grieve for every loss; I remember the names and faces of all of those who died. I did not foresee that this would happen, that the powers of Chaos would take our sons away and disperse them across the galaxy as chaff in the wind. But the Great Crusade is more important than my feelings, than our feelings. It is more important than anything else in the history of man. The recovery of our lost brothers and sisters scattered amongst the stars just like our eldest sons. Should they also not be given the chance to come home with their Father? To return to the planet of their birth and be brought out of isolation and liberated from ignorance?
AMAR
But is it worth damaging so many of their souls? That my first twenty sons were lost to me by ways only you could have prevented and because of your arrogance our sons taken from me. You chose me to aid you in this task because I was the best geneticist on the planet, but I became a cloning expert because I could never have children of my own. I became who I am, because it was the only way that I could have children. And now, how of them many will die? How many will be spirited away to harsh worlds filled with extreme weather, radiation or primitive barbarians? How many will suffer from cold, hunger, and thirst without their mother to comfort them? How many will be tainted by the powers of the Warp? How many will be tortured and enslaved because of their gifts to unwillingly serve greater masters? How many are to be damned because of your pride? You let our first sons go, to be taken by the infernal powers of the Warp and you did nothing!
Getting down on one knee.
Holding her chin lovingly.
EMPEROR
I did everything I could to keep the powers of the Warp from stealing our first born. I understand your emotion, I understand its cause. If there was another way to save them, I would have used it, but even I was powerless to stop the Infernal Powers in this instance alone and it will never happen again. I have learned my lesson, harsh as it was, and I will not rest until I have found all twenty of our sons. I will not rest until every lost human world has returned to the fold. I could not have achieved all I have already done without you, and it grieves me most that you took part in this conspiracy against me. I wish I could have been able to give you want you desired most, but now, I can't.
(pause)
(sadly)
Your betrayal cannot be ignored. I wish it wasn't this way. Your actions this past month can't be overlooked. You conspired with others to take my life and end the Imperium of Man. You attempted to revert us back to the ways of Old Night and that cannot be forgiven or forgotten.
Standing up resolutely.
Drawing his sword. It doesn't radiate with any power, this time, it is only just an executioner's blade.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
For crimes against the Imperium of Man, for the attempted usurpation of the Golden Throne, for the attempted destruction of genetic material used for the benefit of humanity, the destruction of Imperial property…and, the attempted assassination of the Emperor of Man. I hereby sentence you to death by execution. For your prior service and dedication however, I can grant you one last wish…
Amar Astartes looks up.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
I can grant you permission to not only state your final words, but have them entered into the official Imperial Record, for time and all eternity until the day the Imperium of Man falls, and there they shall remain.
(pausing)
Are there any last words you wish posterity to hear?
AMAR
Only that the galaxy should know of my last regret, that none of my children will ever know their mother.
The Emperor swings his sword.
It's over in the blink of an eye.
On Amar's face is shock at his speed.
Amar Astartes's head falls off her shoulders.
END FLASHBACK
FADE TO BLACK:
SCENE IX - INT. THE IMPERATOR SOMNIUM TELEPORTER ROOM – DAY
Horus stands on a balcony overlooking the TELEPORTER ROOM, he is fully geared for war and wearing his full set of battle armor.
The chamber is a large square windowless hangar bay and three stories tall, it is large enough to be able to teleport the smallest of Mechanicus Titans.
He rests his hands on the balcony rails, gripping them in anticipation.
Below him, the Mournival direct the loading operation.
Once again, oaths of moment are sworn amongst the Space Marines. Imperial Army troopers check and re-check their weapons and equipment.
BEGIN FLASHBACK
INT. IMPERIAL PALACE INNERWORKS, INVESTIARY, EARTH – DAY
The Primarchs are gathered in a chamber called the INVESTIARY. It is a MASSIVE amphitheater, ringed by the statues of eighteen Primarchs. In the center of the room is a circular dais.
A ceremony is about to begin.
The Emperor stands in the center, in all his glory, surrounded by his sons.
Horus Lupercal, Lion El'Jonson, Fulgrim, Perturabo, Jaghatai Khan, Leman Russ, Rogal Dorn, Konrad Curze, Sanguinius, Ferrus Manus, Angron, Roboute Guilliman, Mortarion, Magnus the Red, Lorgar Aurelian, Vulkan, Corvus Corax, and Alpharius Omegon stand evenly spaced around the Emperor.
In the amphitheater, are the top military commanders of each of the expeditionary fleets, naval and army commanders. There are two hundred thousand seats, and all are occupied. Each has an individual name plaque of a top-ranking commander. It is akin to a Senate Chamber.
The room is brightly lit, and there is no need for extra ceremony or pomp and circumstance.
The presence of the Emperor and the Primarchs is enough.
Addressing the chamber. Needing no microphone.
EMPEROR
(radiating)
Today marks a joyous occasion for the Imperium of Man. When we set out on this Great Crusade, there were two objectives in mind. First, we would continue to expand and stretch forth the great arm of humanity to the furthest reaches of the stars, until we are once again united as a species. Second, was to find my lost sons among those same stars. One is ongoing, and perhaps will be perpetual, yet the other, I am happy and glad to report has been thoroughly achieved.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
(pausing)
Before you are my sons. Today I name them as my sons and heirs to be known in the official Imperial Record, from this time until eternity. Horus Lupercal, Lion El'Jonson, Fulgrim, Perturabo, Jaghatai Khan, Leman Russ, Rogal Dorn, Konrad Curze, Sanguinius, Ferrus Manus, Angron, Roboute Guilliman, Mortarion, Magnus the Red, Lorgar Aurelian, Vulkan, Corvus Corax, and Alpharius Omegon.
Each Primarch stands straighter with pride at the mention of his name.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
Together, on this day, do we swear an oath of allegiance, not only among ourselves, but to all the children of humanity. What we have set in motion is the greatest endeavor in the history of our species. It is the most important moment and an undertaking that could not have been envisioned even by our ancestors. With my sons before you and with me at my side, our Great Crusade will continue at a faster pace than ever before. The warriors of humanity, both of the Imperial Army and the Legio Astartes will continue their glorious efforts, but they will be aided now not only through my presence, but by these…
(gesturing)
…their new masters.
There is thunderous applause.
Holding up a hand for silence.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
Now, without further interruptions. Will you kneel my sons?
Without hesitation, as one, they go to one knee.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
Are you prepared to take the oath?
TOGETHER
Yes, father.
EMPEROR
Do you swear, through your diligence and honor, to be serve your Emperor with complete obedience, to never cause him harm, and to observe homage to him completely against all enemies with integrity and without deceit; that you swear to uphold the principles and ideals of the Imperial Truth; to protect the weak and defenseless; to bring justice to those deemed worthy of it swiftly and without remorse; and to discharge those duties of the rank upon which you are given?
One by one, beginning with Horus, each Primarch raises his head, and looks at the Emperor.
HORUS
I, Horus Lupercal, do accept this oath.
FULGRIM
I, Fulgrim of Chemos, do accept this oath.
MAGNUS
I, Magnus of Prospero, do accept this oath.
PERTURABO
I, Perturabo of Olympia, do accept this oath.
MORTARION
I, Mortarion of Barbarus, do accept this oath.
LORGAR
I, Lorgar of Colchis, do accept this oath.
CURZE
I, Konrad of Nostramo, do accept this oath.
ANGRON
(angrily)
I, Angron of Nuceria, do accept this oath.
ALPHARIUS
I, Alpharius Omegon, do accept this oath.
LEMAN RUSS
I, Leman Russ, do accept this oath.
VULKAN
I, Vulkan of Nocturne, do accept this oath.
SANGUINIUS
I, Sanguinius of Baal, do accept this oath.
LION EL'JONSON
I, Lion El Jonson, do accept this oath.
JAGHATAI KHAN
I, Jaghatai Khan, do accept this oath.
ROGAL DORN
I, Rogal Dorn, do accept this oath.
ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN
I, Roboute Guilliman, do accept this oath.
FERRUS MANUS
I, Ferrus Manus, do accept this oath.
CORVUS CORAX
I, Corvus Corax, do accept this oath.
Gesturing.
EMPEROR
Arise my sons. Arise and stand as men worthy of honor for all to see.
There is thunderous applause.
The Primarchs stand, they turn their backs and face the masses.
The Emperor stretches out his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. It visually evenly divides the Primarchs.
In front of him are Horus Lupercal, Fulgrim, Magnus the Red, Perturabo, Mortarion, Lorgar, Konrad Curze, Angron, and Alpharius Omegon.
Lorgar stands opposite Roboute Guilliman.
Konrad Curze stands opposite of Rogal Dorn.
Behind him are Leman Russ, Vulkan, Rogal Dorn, Roboute Guilliman, Sanguinius, Lion El'Jonson, Jaghatai Khan, Ferrus Manus, and Corvus Corax.
Sanguinius stands almost directly behind the Emperor, from the front, his wings add more to his majesty.
Rogal Dorn is on the Emperor's right.
Roboute Guilliman is on the Emperor's left.
Directly opposite of the Emperor, looking into his face, is Horus.
END FLASHBACK.
FADE TO BLACK:
SCENE X - INT. ONBOARD THE IMPERATOR SOMNIUM TELEPORTATION ROOM – DAY
CLAXONS blare, bringing Horus out of his stupor.
Waiting patiently by his side, is First Captain Abaddon.
ABADDON
My lord, we are ready to disembark the Imperator Somnium. We await your command.
HORUS
Is my father and his Custodes ready?
ABADDON
They are my lord. The Emperor is awaiting your presence down below.
Horus looks, and he sees the Emperor looking up at him, smiling confidently.
Warming to his father's presence, Horus smiles back and nods in acknowledgement.
HORUS
Then we should go down to him.
INT. IMPERATOR SOMNIUM TELEPORATION ROOM, LOWER LEVELS – DAY
Horus, smiles as he greets the Emperor.
HORUS
Father!
They embrace warmly, as a father to his favorite son.
EMPEROR
Horus my boy!
EMPEROR
(Jovial, Whispers)
I hope I didn't step on your toes by coming down here ahead of you.
HORUS
Of course, not father. Are your forces ready for the speartip?
EMPEROR
Indeed they are son, all are assembled here with Captain Valdor, and yours?
HORUS
First Captain Abaddon has informed me that they are. We merely await your command.
Shaking his head.
EMPEROR
(Confidently)
This isn't my operation son, this is yours. You carry full responsibility and authority this time. We may start, when you are ready.
Horus swells with pride.
HORUS
(Smiling)
Then what are we waiting for.
Fade to Black:
SCENE XI - EXT. SURFACE OF ULLANOR, URRLAK'S FORTRESS - PALACE – DAY
Millions of Imperial Army infantry soldiers, supported by aircraft and vehicles directly attack Urrlak Urruk's stronghold.
It is a massive complex and the monstrosity, devoid of any true architecture, is held together and supported merely by the collective belief of the all orks present in the Ullanor System.
One hundred Titans of various sizes of the Legio Titanica race forward, their steps thundering and lumbering across the battlefield, all of their weapon systems blazing. They cut huge swaths through the ork hordes surrounding the fortress-palace. They gauge holes in the sides of the palace itself, and crush hundreds of orks with every lunging step.
Below them, thousands of smaller armored vehicles, swarm like ants, all guns firing. Smaller orks are crushed underneath their treads, larger ones are vaporized into red mist by their guns.
Around them are Imperial Army soldiers, charging and yelling with all their might and fury. Their Lasguns, while individually weak against a large ork, are devasting at squad level. Infantry squads are led by capable sergeants, who bark orders into vox-coms and direct their fire to withering effect on the orks. They too suffer casualties, and the battle seems even, despite the initial surprise of the attack.
The first to arrive is the Luna Wolves legion, they are the first into the breach, and crush any works in their path.
Then the Space Marine Drop pods from the Blood Angels and World Eaters legions COLLIDE with the first defensive wall around the fortress-palace. The full might of Angron and his legion is unleashed against the orks. Angron towers above the largest orks, and FEAR is clearly visible on their faces. Racing to them, weapons sheathed, he grasps a MEGANOB ORK, one of the largest present, and proceeds to rip it apart limb from limb with his bare hands.
Sanguinius, armed with his spear and sword and the Blood Angels surge ahead.
A company of FLYBOYZ, orks with literal rockets bolted onto their backs, zoom down from above. Sanguinius looks up, sees them approaching, and leaps into the air. His wings are dazzlingly graceful but he doesn't slowly soar in the sky. With seemingly impossible speed, appearing like an archangel from biblical myth, he dispatches the entire company with ruthless efficiency.
The Thousand Sons land, behind the World Eaters, cutting off the retreat of those orks outside of thew walls. They come out, eyes blazing with ethereal light, and with them is their Primarch, Magnus the Red.
Seeming to be a giant even compared to Angron, Magnus and his legion send blasts of lightning and fire from their palms. It surges through the ork masses but passes harmlessly through and amid the Imperial Army forces. Orks turn to ash and float away on the winds, others dissolve within their own bodies, turning into liquids. Orks go insane from unseen mental visions, ghostly warriors materialize out of thin air and hack the orks to pieces.
The Emperor's Children, Salamanders and Raven Guard legions impact on the upper levels of the fortress-palace.
The Salamanders burn their way through the orks using heavy flame throwers.
The Emperor's Children fight using SONIC weapons, deafening the orks, and disorientating them using GRENADES, and other explosives en mass, causing mass confusion, SMOKE billows from where they landed, bright white flashes flicker through the building showing their current location. The sonic weapons they use affect any material and are used to blast away obstacles without using explosives.
The Raven Guard space marines are a black blur, using POWER SWORDS, CHAIN AXES, and CHAIN SWORDS, they slice their way through the orks quickly and efficiently.
FADE TO BLACK.
INT. THE TOWER OF ULLANOR THRONE ROOM – DAY
Ork NOBZ and OGRYN humans are gathered in the central throne room. There are a hundred of the massive orks and mutated humans.
Suddenly there is an audible LOW, DULL, ELECTRIC HUMMING.
STATIC ELECTRICITY, embers of EMERALD radiance, dance and flicker across the throne room.
With a thundering ROAR of splitting air, a searing flash of JADE LIGHTNING, explodes across the center of the throne room throwing a backwash of color and stark hard shadows across the walls and ceiling of the room. The brilliant light is blinding to the orks present.
Then with another sudden FLAT crack of displaced air, the teleportation sequence is complete.
Where there were only orks and ogryns now stand; the Emperor of Man, Horus, ten members of the First Company's Justaerin dressed in full TERMINATOR armor, and another twelve of the Custodian Guard.
The orks recover, quicker than expected, and at once they swarm the tiny group of Space Marines and Custodians.
Horus immediately charges towards Urlakk Urruk, his sword unsheathed. Urlakk is truly a HIDEOUS and GARGANTUAN ork, even for his species, but he is simply no match for Horus. A duel begins between the two.
The Terminators engage the orks and ogryns relentlessly, they are unwilling to fire into the duel Horus makes.
The Emperor fights alongside Abaddon, the Justaerin and his Custodians.
Many of both go down, but they take more of the orks and ogryns with them.
Abaddon looks back at Horus.
Horus and Urlakk are going at it hammer and tongs, neither giving an inch. No quarter is given, and none is expected.
Abaddon starts to run to Horus to give aid.
EMPEROR
(Bellowing)
No, Abaddon!
Abaddon turns abruptly to the Emperor at sound of his name.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
Let the prince win his spurs!
Unable to disobey the Emperor to his face, Abaddon relents, and returns to the fighting. This time by the Emperor's side.
Urlakk swipes at Horus with a POWER CLAW and misses, bellowing with rage, the ork fires at him with a stormbolter.
Horus easily dodges and goes in for the kill. In the blink of an eye, he dashes past Urlakk, and with finesse, in a single stroke, cuts a wide gash from Urlakk's stomach to his left armpit.
Urlakk screams in pain, rage and anger. He brings his stormbolter around and fires another burst. Horus effortlessly cuts through the arm at the elbow and it clatters to the ground, still firing wildly as the nerves in the hand twitch.
Blood spewing from his side and arm, Urlakk is helpless. Panic is visible in his eyes.
Horus doesn't dispatch him quickly. Walking beside him, he grabs him by his head, then after pulling him down, he RAMS his knee into his back.
There is a sickening, audible CRACK! as Urlakk's spine snaps.
Then lifting with all his strength, Horus raises Urlakk's body over his head.
Beside the makeshift throne is an open window, below, battle rages between the forces of the Imperium of Man and the orks at the base of the tower of Ullanor.
Horus hurls the body out of it!
EXT. TOWER OF ULLANOR – DAY
The body of Urlakk Urg plummets to the ground quickly, it falls the full length of the tower, before splatting on the ground.
All the orks nearby see the body of their leader fall to the ground.
Panic ensues.
The orks route and the battle is a victory for the Imperium.
INT. TOWER OF ULLANOR – DAY
There are only three survivors of the engagement, Horus, the Emperor and Ezekyle Abaddon. All of the other Custodians and Justaerin have been butchered but so have all the orks and ogryns.
Abaddon is deeply wounded and lying on the ground.
EMPEROR
Are you alright, Abaddon?
With no desire to appear weak before the Emperor, Abaddon struggles to get up, but is in obvious pain.
ABADDON
I can fight, sire.
Nodding in understanding.
The Emperor, assists Abaddon up to his feet.
Abaddon looks to Horus.
Standing in the light of the window, radiating from his face and armor, Horus turns and face them, appearing to be a spitting image of the Emperor.
Abaddon
(Slightly confused)
Is everything alright my lord?
Smiling, radiating like the sun behind him, warm and elated.
HORUS
Of course, I am Abaddon.
Then looking at the Emperor.
HORUS
(Solemnly)
Father, it is finished.
EMPEROR
(Smiling)
Well done, first of my sons.
FADE TO BLACK:
SCENE XII - MONTAGE SEQUENCE: TRIUMPH OF ULLANOR
EXT. SURFACE OF ULLANOR - DAY
Four Labor Fleets of GEOFORMERS go to work on the rugged hinterlands that had housed the feral warlord of the savages, levelling the world's largest continent as a stage befitting the Master of Mankind.
Millions of SERVITORS, automatons and PENAL BATTALIONS go to work on its construction, reducing mountains to rubble and using the debris of their grinding down to fill the lightless valleys and even out the undulant wastelands where the ORK had lit his revel fires and thrown up his ugly fortresses of mud and clay.
GEOFORMER platoons from the Mechanicum bring WORLD ENGINES and MOBILE STONE-BURNERS to cut a massive swath across the broken landscape left in the battle's wake. Dead ORKS are buried in their millions with their savage ruins, interred beneath transplanted rocks and the heads of crushed mountains.
The ground below is turned into a polished granite mirror, a terrazzo landmass that SHINES like GLASS.
Vitrified MELTED craters in the landscape and are filled with PROMETHIUM.
SEARING flames turn the sky orange and send TOWERING pillars of smoke into the heavens.
They build a highway and with only ONE structure to stand proud of the great platform – an ornamental PAVILLION of black marble and heavy granite that had been built piecemeal on Earth and then shipped across the void by special envoy.
A laser-straight road, 500m wide and 500 km LONG cut through the heart of the craters, its extremities marked by trophy posts bearing the bleached, fleshless skulls of ORK brutes.
MARKER POSTS are decorated with the ORK BRUTES pace out the length of the road. Behind them, great BOWLS of smokeless PROMETHIUM burn BRIGHTLY, endlessly lighting the highway with their blue-white fire.
The Mechanicum ERADICATE every last remaining trace of the enemy and paved over them with a giant boulevard, a PARADE STAGE as wide as the footprint of some cities.
What should have taken centuries takes months.
END MONTAGE
SCENE XII - EXT. SKY AND LOW ORBIT AROUND ULLANOR - DAY
Squadron after squadron of THUNDERHAWKS of the THOUSAND SONS LEGION hang BREATHTAKINGLY through the acrid clouds of smog and dust over Ullanor.
Almost obscured by the smoke, hundreds of enormous WARSHIPS hang in low orbit, their engines straining against the pitiless attraction of gravity. The atmosphere clashes with chain lightning from the blistering electromagnetic fields each vessel generated. Flocks of STRIKE CRUISERS, FIGHTER AIRCRAFT and BOMBERS fly in formation overhead, the roar of their engines a wordless vocalization of primal glory.
The vermillion starships of the BLOOD ANGELS jostle for position with the fabulously ornamented vessels of the EMPEROR'S CHILDREN. The PHALANX, the mighty golden fortress of the IMPERIAL FISTS, dominates its segment of the sky, defying the laws of nature by hanging immobile above the earth.
EXT. EMPEROR'S PAVILLION ON ULLANOR - DAY
Assembled are the regiments of the IMPERIAL ARMY and TITAN LEGIONS. The survivors of an 80 million strong force become a sea of battle armor and dress uniforms. On every uniform is an ONYX-AND-GOLD TRIUMPH BAR on their uniforms, every soldier wearing a citation award for the victory at Ullanor.
The TRIUMPH BAR is forged from BOLT SHELLS recovered from the field and melted down. A dizzying plethora of banners, battle flags, trophy standards and icon poles are rammed into the ground in the centre of each armed camp. They stand proud alongside thousands of ARMORED VEHICLES and hundreds of TITANS of the LEGIO TITANICUS.
Towering above the normal INFANTRY soldiers, the treads of the TITANS are like a city of steel on the march.
The SKY is cut to ribbons by the contrails of a THOUSAND aerospace fighters; and above those, high over the thin white cirrus clouds of Ullanor's day, WARSHIPS move as slow as they dare through the upper atmosphere, washes of interface heat rolling off their void shields as they show their flanks in a gesture of renewed fealty.
Then come the SPACE MARINES.
FOURTEEN full strength SPACE MARINE LEGIONS stand represented at Ullanor.
With them come the Primarchs. Among them are:
MORTARION, the reaper of men and master of the DEATH GUARD, cowled and lethal in aspect, matched by the warrior-guardians of his DEATHSHROUD.
FULGRIM, the Phoenician, resplendent in his finery and handsome in aspect, lit by the reflection of gold and platinum.
MAGNUS THE RED, the Crimson King, the lord of the unknown, his soul as much a mystery to the common world as the workings of the warp and the ghosts within it.
LORGAR AURELIAN, the quiet and brooding zealot who burned with such intensity and buried it all deep in his heart, saying little and standing watchful.
ANGRON, the gladiator-lord and son of grief, never able to settle or moderate his seething, endless fury, always on the verge of outburst and violence.
ROGAL DORN, the stalwart man of stone, the Imperial Fist with his unswerving manner and unbreakable focus, the one who would always obey, always ready for duty.
JAGHATAI KHAN, the Warhawk of Chogoris, his fur-trimmed robes and ornate armour detailed with a thousand narratives of the White Scars Legion, his every step across the land a challenge to the galaxy.
SANGUINIUS of the Blood Angels, flanked by the gold-armoured honour detail of the SANGUINARY GUARD, his mighty wings folded back across his battle plate, his face turned to the sky to welcome the impossible, majestic sight before them.
The lusty red of his armour contrasting with pale feathers of his wings. Hung with loops of silver and pearl like glistening tears, the beatific primarch stands with the Khan, a swarthy warrior shawled in furs and lacquered leather plate, with a winged back-banner that echoes those of the Lord of Angels.
HORUS LUPERCAL of the Luna Wolves, the Hero of Ullanor, liberator and first among equals.
The battle-scarred flagships of the KHAN, ANGRON, LORGAR and MORTARION fly above the mirrored ground alongside their brother PRIMARCH ships, yet supreme amongst them is a gilded warship that held anchor above the one element of the continent not planed flat by the industrial FLAME THROWERS of the Mechanicum.
This is the VENGEFUL SPIRIT, command ship of HORUS LUPERCAL, second only to PHALANX in its savage power of destruction. Entire worlds had died by its lethal arsenal, and Horus Lupercal had shown no restraint in unleashing its full fury.
The Fourteen Legions had answered the Emperor's summons, one million of the greatest warriors in all human history, and nine of the primarchs in attendance, the rest too scattered by the demands of the crusade to reach Ullanor in time.
The entire continent SWELTERS like a blacksmith's forge, the hammer of history ready to beat the soft metal of existence into its new form.
Only an event of galaxy-changing magnitude could warrant such a spectacle.
Only the greatest being in the galaxy could inspire such devotion.
It is to be a gathering like no other.
The THOUSAND SONS are amongst the last Legion forces to make planetfall in full strength.
SCENE XIV – Ext. - SANCTUM OF THE RED KING - DAY
AHRIMAN fixes the MAGNUS' cloak to the pauldrons of his armour, hooking the bone catches on a clasp in the form of an up thrust talon. He settles it around the Primarch's shoulders, letting the flowing lines of iridescent feathers mould to his frame.
Magnus stands at the center of a spiral within his SANCTUM, the glass pyramid brought in pieces from the PHOTEP and rebuilt upon the perfectly flat surface of Ullanor. The crystalline panels SHIMMER orange in the light of the giant fires outside but they are kept cool to the touch by his power.
MAGNUS
How do I look?
AHRIMAN
You will certainly attract attention.
Countering.
MAGNUS
And why should I not attract attention?
Throwing out his arms in an operatic gesture.
MAGNUS
Am I not worthy of it? Fulgrim and his warriors may quest for perfection, but I embody it.
MAGNUS is clad in all his finery, the gold of his armour shimmering bright in the flickering torchlight. A HORNED BREASTPLATE protruding forward and magnificent, his helmet barely able to contain his slicked crimson hair, which is bound in three long SCALP-LOCKS.
He wears TWIN KOPESH BLADES sheathed across his back and carries a HEGA STAFF of gold and emerald, his chained grimoire partially concealed in a long kilt of leather and mail.
AHRIMAN
It's not the sort of attention I think you want. I have seen the way the other Legions look at us.
Fearfully hesitating.
AHRIMAN (CONT'D)
As they did when they learned of the flesh change which plagues our legion.
MAGNUS turns his gaze upon him, the emerald green of his eye matching the gemstones on his HEGA STAFF.
MAGNUS
The Symbol of Thothmes holds within my Sanctum, so none may hear your words, but make no mention of the flesh change beyond these walls. That curse is behind us. When the Emperor brought you all to Prospero, I ended the degradation of the gene-seed and restored biological harmony to the Thousand Sons.
Reaching down, placing a hand on AHRIMAN's shoulder.
MAGNUS (CONT'D)
I know I was too late to save your brother, but at least, I was able to save the Legion for the time being.
AHRIMAN
I understand my lord, but after seeing what happened to Hastar…
MAGNUS
An aberrant mutation, a one in a billion fluke. Trust me, my son, that can never happen again.
Looking into Magnus's eyes.
AHRIMAN
I do trust you, my lord.
With finality and benevolence.
Smiling.
MAGNUS
Good. Then we will speak no more of this.
SCENE XV - EXT. THE EMPEROR'S PAVILLION - DAY
With MAGNUS at their center the SEKHMET march across the mirror-smooth surface of the continent towards the one feature, that stood proud of the landscape.
Upon a STEEL SKINNED DAIS, once the base of an entire MOUNTAIN, is the PAVILLION for the EMPEROR and his honored sons.
Magnus takes his place alongside his gene-sire with his brothers: Dorn, Jaghatai Khan, Angron, Sanguinius, Horus, Fulgrim, Mortarion and Lorgar.
Joining him on the DAIS is the THIRTY-SIX strong honor guard of the SEKHMET, handpicked SPACE MARINES, each wearing a CARTOUCHE secured to their armor by a WAX SCARAB. Only one member is absent.
The flickering embers of the TUTELARIES frolic in the air above them, basking in the presence of so much raw aetheric energy.
The AIR of Ullanor still contains some traces of the ORKS, despite the seared REEK of the promethium basins and the lingering aroma of GUN OIL and Astartes BIO-CHEMICALS.
Exhaust fumes hang in low lying smog banks, and the burnt metal taste of Mechanicum machines is a sour STENCH of exotic oils and unguents.
Thousands of SPACE MARINES fill the plain as far as the eye can see, preparing for their triumphal march.
There is tension in the air, a volatile mixture of martial pride and superiority, common among gatherings of fighting men of different origins.
AHRIMAN marches alongside MAGNUS.
AHRIMAN
I never thought to see so many Astartes gathered together, my lord.
MAGNUS
It is impressive, son. My father always knew the value of the symbolic gesture. They won't forget this. They'll carry tales of it to the far corners of the galaxy.
AHRIMAN
But why now?
MAGNUS
When the Crusade is in its final stages.
A shadow crosses Magnus' face.
MAGNUS
Because this in an epochal moment for humanity, a time when great change is upon us. Such times require to be marked in the race memory of the species. Who among us will ever experience a moment like this again?
They draw near to the first checkpoint in the perimeter around the EMPEROR'S DAIS.
A pair of WARLORD TITANS stand sentinel on the approaches to the sheared root of the mountain. They are clad in gold and bearing the thunderbolt and lightning motif of the Emperor.
The SEKHMET marches between the two TITANS.
To KHALOPHIS, mockingly.
HATHOR MAAT
Bigger than the creature you propped up outside the Pyrae temple aren't they?
KHALOPHIS
That they are. But war isn't always won by the warrior with the biggest gun. Canis Vertex is a predator, and would take both these fine fellows with it before it went down. Size is all very well, but experience, that's what counts, and Cards Vertex earned its fair share on Coriovallum.
HATHOR MAAT
A Titan wouldn't worry me. It's just a machine, a big one, I'll grant you, but without a princeps to command it, a Titan is simply a giant statue. For all their skill, the Mechanicum haven't yet invented a machine that doesn't need a human being to control it. I could agitate the water molecules in the princeps' skull until his head exploded, boil the blood in his veins or send millions of volts through its carapace to electrocute the crew.
Playfully.
PHOSIS T'KAR
I could bring it down easily enough. I did it once before, remember?
UTHIZZAR
Yes. We all remember. You never tire of telling us how you saved the primarch from a Titan on Aghoru.
PHOSIS T'KAR
Why shouldn't I? And besides, the bigger they are-–
AHRIMAN
-the bigger mess they make of you when they tread on you. We are here to escort the primarch, not indulge your fantasies of how powerful you are.
Beyond the Titans, hulking LEGIO CUSTODES protect every approach to the hub of the continent. There are six of them manning each checkpoint, a trio of LAND RAIDERS growl behind them and a pair of DREADNOUGHTS standby at the ready.
Smiling.
HATHOR MAAT
First Titans, now this. You think they expect trouble?
AHRIMAN
Always.
HATHOR MAAT
Surely these security measures are ridiculously overblown and unnecessary? After all, who would dare attempt something hostile on a world crowded with Astartes and the best war machines the Imperium has at its disposal?
PHOSIS T'KAR
Have you ever met a Custodes?
HATHOR MAAT
No, what has that got to do with anything?
PHOSIS T'KAR
If you had, you would know how stupid that question is.
AHRIMAN
I met one on Terra before setting out for Prospero. A young, ramrod-straight warrior named Valdor. I believe the primarch knows him.
Magnus grunts in acknowledgement.
UTHIZAAR
What was he like?
HATHOR MAAT
Can't you tell? What's the matter, don't you read minds anymore?
Uthizzar ignores him.
Magnus turns to face his officers, mock seriously.
Ahrimand smiles.
MAGNUS
Enough. Captains or not, you will not be permitted to pass onwards if the Custodes decide you are not of a serious enough mindset. Their word is absolute, and not even a primarch can go against it in matters of the Emperor's safety.
HATHOR MAAT
Come on, Ahrimand. What was this Valdor like?
Magnus nods indulgently, giving permission.
AHRIMAN
He was a grimly efficient praetorian, if rather humorless. I suppose when you are part of the cadre responsible for the safety of the greatest being in the galaxy, there is little room for levity.
CUSTODIAN AMON
Little? There is no room whatsoever.
Two CUSTODES warriors are alongside them, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
They are tall, as tall as the SPACE MARINES, though their armor was nowhere near as bulky. Their armor has a misleading ceremonial look to it. They are armed with GUARDIAN SPEARS, lethal polearms that could cut through sheet steel with ease and could sever the ogre-like body of an armored ORK in two with a single blow.
Red horsehair PLUMS spill from their tapered helmets like waterfalls of blood, and the green glow of their helmet lenses are eerily similar to that of the THOUSAND SONS. Gilded CARVINGS snake from the seals of their neck plates, curling around their shoulders and down the inner facings of their breastplates.
CUSTODIAN AMON
Halt and be recognized.
Over the built in VOX communicator.
AHRIMAN
Six of them.
MAGNUS
Seven. One is more subtle than her compatriots in veiling her presence.
The CUSTODES cross their spears, barring their path to the Emperor's dais.
Magnus leans down, his eye tracing a path over the inscriptions that flowed across the burnished golden plates of the leftmost warrior.
MAGNUS
Amon Tauromach Xiagaze Lepron Cairn Hedrossa.' I would go on, but the rest of your name is hidden within the curve of your armour. And Haedo Venator Urdesh Zhujiajiao Fane Marovia Trajen. Fine names indeed, displaying grand heritage and exceptional lineage, but then I would expect nothing less of Constantin's warriors. How is the old man these days?
CUSTODIAN AMON
Lord Valdor abides.
Reaching out to touch the SPIRALING script on Amon's SHOULDER.
MAGNUS
I expect he does. You have an old name, Amon, a proud name. It is a name borne by my equerry, a student of poetry and the hidden nature of things. If the name maketh the man, does that mean you are a similar student of the unknown?
Carefully.
CUSTODIAN AMON
Defending the Emperor requires a talent for discerning hidden truths. I pride myself on having a certain skill in that regard.
MAGNUS
Yes, I see you do. You are an exceptional man, Amon, and I believe you will go far within your order. I see great things ahead for you and for you also, Haedo.
AMON inclines his head at that.
The two Guardian Spears are lifted aside, allowing MAGNUS and the SEKHMET to pass.
AHRIMAN
That's it?
CUSTODIAN HAEDO
The Unified Biometric Verification System has identified and logged your genetic markers within its network. You are who you claim to be.
MAGNUS
(Laughing)
Is anyone ever who they claim to be?
The CUSTODES don't answer, but stands aside to allow them pass.
SCENE XVI – Ext. - EMPEROR'S PAVILLION - day
The PAVILLION is in sight.
The golden-skinned Urizen holds an intense discourse with ROGAL DORN of the IMPERIAL FISTS and ANGRON, while Fulgrim and his CADRE of lord commanders preen alongside Horus Lupercal and his lieutenants.
Fulgrim's white hair SHINES like a beacon, his perfect features gloriously sculpted.
Magnus sweeps forward to join his brothers.
Before he reaches them, a warrior in dusty white armour, edged in pale green steps to meet him. His shoulder-guard has the image of a skull in the centre of a spiked halo, marking him as DEATH GUARD. His posture is bellicose and visibly hostile. His name, as we would soon find out is GRULGOR.
Sneeringly judgmental and arrogant, full of pride.
GRULGOR
I am Ignatius Grulgor, 2nd Company Captain of the Death Guard.
Calmly, with an unrecurring threat.
MAGNUS
I do not care who you are, warrior. You are in my way.
Like a living statue, Grulgor stands his ground before Magnus.
Two MIGHTY WARRIORS in brass, gold and ash-colored Terminator armour appear on either side of Grulgor, long, ebony-hafted scythes held in spiked cestus gauntlets. The harvest blades known as MANREAPERS are dark and heavy with the weight of slaughter they accumulated.
MAGNUS
Ah, the nameless Deathshroud.
Looking around.
MAGNUS
Tell your master to show himself. I know he is here, within forty-nine paces, if memory serves.
A patch of shadow at the foot of one of the CUSTODES TITANS, a tall, gaunt figure in armour of pallid white, bare iron and brass, stands by, shrouded in a mantle of storm-cloud grey. A bronze rebreather collar obscures the lower part of his hairless skull, and feathers of rancid air gusted from it at regular intervals. The giant figure breathes deeply of these vapors. This is MORTARION, primarch of the DEATH GUARD.
Hissing.
HATHOR MAAT
Mortarion.
MORTARION'S sunken cheeks are those of a consumptive, and the deep-set amber eyes those of a man who has seen horrors without number. Glass vials and filters strung together on his breastplate clink musically as he walks, his strides sepulchral, punctuated by the rap of his enormous scythe's iron base on the polished ground. A long, drum-barreled pistol, named LANTERN hangs at his side.
Brazenly, as if with distilled anger.
MORTARION
Magnus, I wondered if you would show your face.
Ignoring his words.
MAGNUS
Brother, a great day is it not? Nine sons of the Emperor gathered together on one world, such a thing has not happened since…
Robust and resolute.
MORTARION
I know well when it was, Magnus and the Emperor forbade us to speak of it again. Do you disobey that command?
Tone light.
MAGNUS
I disobey nothing, brother but even you must recognize the symbolism of our number. Three times three, the pesedjet of ancient gods, the Occidental orders of angels and the nine cosmic spheres of the forgotten ages.
Sneering.
MORTARION
There you go again with talk of angels and gods.
Moves to take MORTARION'S hand.
MORTARION pulls away from him.
MAGNUS
Come, Mortarion, you are not immune from the music of the spheres. Even you know that numbers are not cast blindly into the world, they come together in orderly balanced systems, like the formation of crystals or musical chords, in accordance with the laws of harmony. Why else would you insist on keeping these bodyguards within seven times seven paces of you?
Shaking his head.
MORTARION
Truly you are as lost in your mysteries as the Russ says you are.
MAGNUS
You have spoken with Leman?
Promising.
MORTARION
Many times. He has been quite vocal since departing the Ark Reach Cluster. We know all about what you and your warriors have been doing.
MAGNUS
What is it you think you know?
Hissing.
MORTARION
You have crossed a line, Magnus. You hold a snake by the tail and bargain with powers beyond your understanding.
Countering.
MAGNUS
No power is beyond my understanding. You would do well to remember that.
Laughing. A sound like MOUNTAINS collapsing.
MORTARION
I knew a being like you once before, so sure in his powers, so convinced of his superiority that he could not see his doom until it was upon him. Like you, he wielded dark powers. Our father made him pay with his life for such evil. Have a care you do not suffer the same fate.
Shaking his head at his brother's ignorance.
MAGNUS
Dark powers? Power is simply power, it is neither good nor evil. It simply is.
Magnus points to the LANTERN.
MAGNUS (CONT'D0
Is that weapon evil? Is that great reaper of yours? They are weapons, nothing more and nothing less. It is the use men put such things to that makes them evil. In your hands, the Lantern is a force for good. In an evil man's hands it is something else entirely.
MORTARION
Give a man a gun and he will want to shoot it.
Snapping.
MAGNUS
So now you are going to give me a lesson in causality and predestination? I am sure Ahriman and the Corvidae would welcome your input on the subject. Come to Prospero and you can instruct my warriors.
Shaking his head.
MORTARION
No wonder Russ petitioned the Emperor to have you censured.
Magnus is visibly shocked.
MAGNUS
(dismissively)
Russ is a superstitious savage. He speaks out of turn about things he does not understand. The Emperor knows I am his most loyal son.
MORTARION
We shall see.
Mortarion turns away and marches towards the EMPEROR'S DAIS as a thunderous braying erupts from the WAR HORNS of every TITAN on Ullanor.
PHOSIS T'KAR
Now what do you suppose he meant by that?
SCENE XVII - EXT. EMPEROR'S PAVILLION – ULLANOR - DAY
The SEKHMET fulfill their duty of seeing their primarch to the Emperor's sheared mountain podium, marching in procession alongside the honour guards of the nine primarchs who had come to Ullanor. Ahriman looks like he's finding it hard to comprehend the notion of moving in such elevated circles.
The PRIMARCHS take their place upon the steel-sheathed dais and their honour guards are dismissed. The chance to parade before the Emperor is a once in a lifetime opportunity for most of the warriors.
Ahriman stumbles. Briefly seeing a vision not shown to others.
PHOSIS T'KAR
Are you well, brother?
Feeling sick to his stomach.
AHRIMAN
I am.
ABADDON
He says he's fine. Leave him be and let's rejoin our companies. The march will begin soon.
Abaddon extends his hand, and AHRIMAN accepts the proffered grip.
SEJANUS
You will have to excuse Ezekyle. He forgets his manners sometimes, most of the time in fact. I am Hastur Sejanus, pleased to know you.
AHRIMAN
Ahzek Ahriman. Sejanus? Ezekyle? You are Mournival.
With a winning smile.
SEJANUS
Guilty as charged.
PHOSIS T'KAR
I said those Custodes didn't know security worth a damn.
Pushing past AHRIMAN to pull Sejanus into a crushing embrace.
PHOSIS T'KAR
It's good to see you again, Hastur.
Laughing, Sejanus pulls himself free of the embrace and punches PHOSIS T'KAR on the shoulder as two more warriors in the livery of the Luna Wolves appear at his side.
SEJANUS
Good to see you too, brother. Nobody's managed to kill you then?
Jokingly.
PHOSIS T'KAR
Not for lack of trying. Ezekyle Abaddon and Tarik Torgaddon, as I live and breathe, and Little Horus Aximand too. I still tell my brothers of the foes we faced together. Do you remember the battles in the Slaughterhouses of the Keylekid? Those damn dragons gave us a hard fight, and no mistake. There was one, remember Tarik? The one with the vivid blue hide that almost—
Aximand holds up a hand to stall the reminiscence.
AXIMAND
Perhaps we can gather after the Triumphal March? All of us. I would greatly like to meet your fellows and swap more outrageous tales of battle.
SEJANUS
(nods)
Absolutely, for I have it on good authority that the Emperor has a great announcement to make. I, for one, do not want to miss it.
Giving a shiver of premonition.
AHRIMAN
Announcement? What sort of announcement?
Growling.
ABADDON
The kind we'll hear when we hear it.
Giving a diplomatic chuckle.
SEJANUS
No one knows. Horus Lupercal has not yet deigned to tell even his most trusted lieutenants.
Sejanus looks back towards the Pavilion with a grin.
SEJANUS
But whatever it is, I suspect it will be of great import to us all.
EXT. EMPEROR'S DAIS, ULLANOR – DAY
The forces are assembled, the Triumph is about to commence.
The Primarchs are gathered.
The Emperor is present.
Coming to the forefront.
EMPEROR
Today, a victory was won on a scale never before seen in the history of mankind. Millions took part in the liberation of this system. Many of you are standing before me today. Over the past two hundred years, my son, Horus Lupercal of Cthonia, has won countless victories in my name and for the good of the Imperium of Man. He is unbowed, unbeaten, and unbroken against all enemies. You, his forces, his fleet, and his legion, have loyally served with and under him and achieved every objective flawlessly. You are not only soldiers worthy to serve in my name, but also worthy of this endeavor we call the Great Crusade. You, are the finest examples to the galaxy of our tenacity, devotion, dedication to duty, and are the embodiment of service to a higher cause. Today, was won by you, and today was earned because of you. However, honor is not only deserved by you this day.
Gesturing to Horus.
EMPEROR
Step forward, son.
Somewhat sheepishly, and a little embarrassed in front of his brothers.
Placing an arm on his shoulder.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
This victory was planned and won by my son, Horus. It was he who not only thoroughly planned and executed this assault, but he who led a speartip directly onto the fortress-palace of the Overlord Urlakk-Urg, and defeated him in single combat. It was he who not only broke his back, but also snapped the spine of the enemy's will to fight, by taking Urg's body, and tossing it from the throne room window of Urg's own tower. It was this action, along with his bravery on Gorro, and his countless other victories which have earned him, a new title and position.
Horus looks at the Emperor, shocked.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
On this day, I leave the Great Crusade, for I have matters to attend to on Terra that only I can resolve. However, today, has shown me that I can leave on in my stead, who can be my sword, and strike where they are most needed. Today showed me, that there is one in whom I can trust, to accomplish this task set before us all. He stands beside me, and before you today, under the bright sun of Ullanor Prime. Today, I name Horus Lupercal of Cthonia, Liberator of Ullanor Prime, and Warmaster and Supreme Commander of the Great Crusade!
A wave of applause ripples through the crowd below.
A deafening roar cuts through the air as the largest TITAN bellows a signal horn.
It is the signal for the Triumph of Ullanor to begin.
Horus turns to face his brothers.
Sanguinius breaks the ice and is the first to embrace Horus in genuine brotherly love.
He is followed by Lorgar, Fulgrim, and Jaghatai Khan.
Rogal Dorn is hesitant but after the others release Horus, he approaches with dignity, and stoically holds out a hand.
Horus equally stoic, shakes the proffered hand in understanding.
Mortarion holds back.
Horus looks at Angron.
Angron is visibly fuming.
Horus then looks at Lion El'Jonson and Roboute Guilliman.
Lion El'Jonson and Roboute Guilliman are visibly disappointed at the Emperor's choice. Both CLEARLY think it should have been them.
SCENE XVIII - Int. EMPEROR'S DAIS, ULLANOR - DUSK
UNIT EIGHT-EIGHT-EIGHT-KAPPA-TWO's work tables for the day started and ended in this place, a commander's lavish tent erected on the southern face of the Great Triumph's stage. A light wind RIPS the shallow peak of the PAVILLION overhead, but the SERVITOR only registers the atmospheric effect in the most vague way.
On his skull is an implant module taking up a full quarter of his skull. The module's outer skin is made of brass polished to a brilliant amber luster, and it matches the buttons on the SERVITOR's brocaded coat, the buckles on its boots, the multiplicity of additional fingers at the end of its long arms.
Horus enters the PAVILLION.
Bowing low, and uttering a preprogrammed greeting.
The words are wet and breathy.
UNIT EIGHT-EIGHT-EIGHT-KAPPA-TWO
M'lord Horus. I await your instructions.
Ignoring the SERVITOR, Horus steps to the far side of the tent, where a flexible PANEL in the weatherproof material allows him to see out.
NIGHT is falling across Ullanor and still the Great Triumph was rolling on.
SHIPS in the sky glitter like radiant JEWELS, and the fires muttered a steady chorus over which the sounds of a victorious army washed back and forth, like OCEAN SURF.
Horus shrugs off the wolf pelt about his shoulders, tossing the mantle to one side with scarcely a glance to where it fell. Dutifully, the SERVITOR walks to the heaped fur and gathers it up.
UNIT EIGHT-EIGHT-EIGHT-KAPPA-TWO
What is your will Warmaster?
Echoing.
Rolling the word around his mouth as if tasting it.
HORUS
Warmaster.
His mood does not appear to lighten.
He turns away.
Commanding.
HORUS
Bring me wine.
UNIT EIGHT-EIGHT-EIGHT-KAPPA-TWO
I exist to serve.
The SERVITOR ambles to a table and recovers a bulbous EONOCHOE JUG covered with a mosaic of running wolves under gibbous moons.
The SERVITOR pours a generous measure into a bronze cup and brings it to HORUS'S open hand. The goblet, large in the SERVITOR'S grip, but delicate in HORUS'S fingers.
The SERVITOR returns to a waiting mode, head slightly bowed, observing without really observing. It did not register the way Horus allowed a scowl to cross his powerful features before he chased it away with a sip from the cup.
A motion of the tent's door flap causes the SERVITOR'S head to SNAP up and FOCUS on another arrival.
Sanguinius enters the tent.
Smiling.
SANGUINIUS
Brother. Ah, forgive me. Warmaster.
Bowing slightly, unmockingly.
SANGUINIUS (CONT'D)
The title does have such gravitas, don't you think?
Horus manages a brittle smile in return.
HORUS
Shall I grow to fit it?
Confidently.
SANGUINIUS
It will grow to fit you. And you'll wear it well.
After a seemingly long pause.
HORUS
How do you manage that?
SANGUINIUS
Manage what?
HORUS
To find the right words at the right moment, every time. I see you when you speak to the others, to the rank and file. Even to those outside the Legion.
Spreading his hands.
SANGUINIUS
We all have some of father's oratorial gift in us.
HORUS
Of course, but when I seek words to express my intent I have to dig for them, measure them first and cut to size. You are effortless with it.
Sitting down next to him, Sanguinius' wings fold in.
SANGUINIUS
You're wrong.
Summoning the SERVITOR with a curl of his slender fingers.
SANGUINIUS (CONT'd)
I'm just better at making it look effortless.
The Servitor performs the function expected of it, and brings a new goblet and fresh wine to both the primarchs. Neither of them acknowledge it as it worked. It then backs away once more.
SANGUINIUS
I saw the royal barge landing.
Horus nods in the direction of the ship fields.
HORUS
The Custodian Guard are preparing for the journey.
Curiously neutral.
SANGUINIUS
The voyage back to Terra is a long one. The Imperator Somnium has shifted too far out of orbit. The Emperor will lead the departure, it is only right. He will return to the Segmentum Solar and we…we will return to our Crusade.
Echoing.
HORUS
Our Crusade. It truly is ours now, brother. Father's decision to return to the Imperial Palace places it squarely in our hands.
They fall silent for a moment.
After another pause.
SANGUINIUS
You were as surprised as the rest of us. I had thought he would have told you of his intent.
Distantly.
HORUS
(Absentmindedly)
To lead, one must have a solid grasp of theatre. And this is such a stage we have built here.
Trailing off, glancing back towards the window.
Before Horus can continue…
SANGUINIUS
I think I have intruded. You wish a moment alone.
He gets up, and turns back towards the door flap, placing his goblet on a table, the contents untouched.
SANGUINIUS (CONT'D)
I'll keep the others occupied for you.
HORUS
What will you say?
Sanguinius halts.
HORUS (CONT'D)
That you found me brooding?
Lightly.
SANGUINIUS
Are you? We're leaving that to Angron this night, I thought.
HORUS
He's not happy.
Nodding to Horus.
SANGUINIUS
He never is. It's his lot in life.
Sanguinius turns.
HORUS
He's furious. More furious than usual, I mean.
Horus is fingering a CHAIN OF PLATINUM LINKS hanging about his neck, upon each link is a SAPPHIRE cut into the shape of the EYE OF TERRA.
The medallion is a sigil of rank and status, given to Horus by the Emperor.
HORUS (CONT'D)
Angron won't be the only one. There will be others who become embittered by the distinction father gave me this day. When Perturabo hears of it…
A shadow passes over Sanguinius' face.
SANGUINIUS
It will not be to his liking, that is so. He will think it should have been him. And Curze, well…
Hesitating.
SANGUINIUS (CONT'D)
They'll hate you for it. At least at first.
Horus scowls and lets the medallion drop from his fingers.
HORUS
I never asked for this. But I won't be sorry for it.
Turning back and going to the goblet.
Confidently, comfortingly.
SANGUINIUS
Nor should you!
Picking up the goblet again.
SANGUINIUS (CONT'D)
Brother, the mantle of Warmaster is yours and it is right to be so.
Grinning.
SANGUINIUS (CONT'D)
I am so proud and pleased it is beyond my ability to express.
Suddenly uncertain.
HORUS
You are?
SANGUINIUS
I'm not alone Horus! Lorgar and Fulgrim, did you not hear them cheer with me when father said the words, when he named you supreme commander? The others were an echo behind, but they feel the same. I'm sure if Rogal were not so stiff he would have done so as well.
HORUS
Dorn did shake my hand.
Laughing.
SANGUINIUS
From the Imperial Fist? That's practically an outburst of joy!
Briefly, a smile spreads from Sanguinius to Horus.
Horus gives a very shallow nod.
SANGUINIUS (CONT'D)
Do you know why he picked you? It wasn't favoritism, it wasn't politics or expedience. It's not a reward, do you understand? It's what you deserve. Because you have always been the best of us, Horus. You are the closest in soul to the people we are sworn to defend, you are your father's son… and, let's not overlook the fact that you are a fairly good general.
Sanguinius walks over and claps a hand onto Horus' shoulder armor in an easy going manner.
Eying his brother.
HORUS
Some will think it should have been you. I…, I think it should have been you.
Blinking surprised.
Shaking his head.
Slightly taken aback.
SANGUINIUS
No. Do you believe that?
HORUS
Does it matter?
Sanguinius' jaw stiffens.
SANGUINIUS
Anyone who thinks I should stand where you do now, anyone who speaks those words does not see either of us clearly. No, not I. I am…too far away.
His wings draw in towards his back, the slight motion ringing the small ornaments of silver and pearl hanging from the pinions as they moved.
SANGUINIUS (CONT'D)
A Warmaster can only walk the field of battle, never soar above it.
Then the smile and the laughter return.
SANGUINIUS (CONT'D)
This honour could only be yours. Our brothers will all come around in the end. Let some of them grimace and secretly claim they are the better choice, and as they do, you will prove to them why they are not with words and deeds. You will validate father's decision, Horus. You already have. Angron and the rest… They just need to see it. Just as you need me now to tell you what you already know.
HORUS
Perhaps so. You have always been my conscience, Sanguinius. Never forget how much I value that…but I think even this…might be too much for me. If I fail, Guilliman will laugh, and the Lion will ridicule. They will both leap at the chance to say I was never fit to be Warmaster, since I cannot read the hearts of men. Most of them already ask 'Why is Horus named the Warmaster, when there are others more worthy of the title?'
Coming to stiff attention, with a snap of ceramite so loud it's like a gunshot and it makes the SERVITOR twitch and stutter.
He saluted with the goblet.
SANGUINIUS
You will lead us to a final, glorious victory in father's stead, to the ends of the Great Crusade. I believe this with every fiber of my being. As for Guilliman and the Lion, there is but one thing you can do brother.
Sanguinius drains the goblet with ritual formality.
SANGUINIUS (CONT'D)
Prove them wrong.
Horus contemplates his answer.
After a little pause.
SANGUINIUS (CONT'D)
I will do all I can to help you with this, however long it takes.
With a nod, Sanguinius tosses the cup into the air and the SERVITOR smoothly steps forwards, its eight-fingered hand splaying open to catch the thrown goblet without effort.
The SERVITOR returns the drinking vessel to a serving trolley, cleaning it as it went.
Sanguinius begins to walk away.
SANGUINIUS (CON'TD)
I'll leave you to your thoughts, brother. And make the most of this moment of quiet, because I doubt you'll have many more with your new office.
HORUS
Wait. I have a question for you, that only now comes to me.
SANGUINIUS
I'll answer if I can.
Unable to face SANGUINIUS.
HORUS
I've never asked you about your gifts, Sanguinius. I have never asked about your sense for… future events.
SANGUINIUS
(Demurs)
Nothing so grand, an inkling, no more. A greater sense of instinct that sometimes reveals itself to me in dreams.
HORUS
Indeed. So tell me, in your dreams, did you ever see this day unfolding? Our father, taking leave of the Crusade for reasons he does not fully share with his sons, and this new laurel about my head?
At last Horus looks his brother in the eyes.
HORUS (CONT'D)
Did you foresee any of this?
The warmth fades from Sanguinius' face.
SANGUINIUS
No.
Horus nods once more.
HORUS
Neither did I.
SANGUINIUS
You know Horus…
HORUS
Yes?
SANGUINIUS
You should also honor your legion the way father honored you by making you Warmaster. The Luna Wolves have served you faithfully and well for a long time.
HORUS
As is the task of any legion.
SANGUINIUS
True, but do they also not deserve merit for their service?
HORUS
(Pondering)
I will think on it Sanguinius, maybe if I can think of a proper way to honor them.
SANGUINIUS
I would rename the legion, give them something more fitting of their role and honor.
HORUS
Really? And what name would you chose to give my legion?
SANGUINIUS
One worthy of their service.
(Pausing)
If I were you, I would chose, the 'Sons of Horus'.
FADE TO BLACK:
SCENE XIX - EXT. ON THE EMPEROR'S DAIS – DAY
Horus exits the tent, shortly following Sanguinius.
He is congratulated formally and warmly by Fulgrim, Jaghatai and Lorgar.
Angron is gone.
Guilliman, Russ, Dorn, Mortarion, and the others remain pensively behind.
Again, Sanguinius embraces Horus warmly.
The crowds of soldiers and SPACE MARINES cheer loudly.
Horus smiles.
To the soldiers and Space Marines down below, perhaps all but the Mournival, it is radiant and full of joy.
The Primarchs can see that it's hollow.
Approaching center of the pavilion, where a lectern awaits, Horus raises a sign for silence.
Pausing to take a breath.
HORUS
My brave soldiers, and Astartes here today.
(gesturing to the crowd for silence)
You have fought bravely and won a great victory today, regardless of whatever happens, no future generation can ignore that. Today, my father proclaimed me to be Warmaster and his proxy in this Great Crusade. On today of all days, it is the greatest honor I have ever received. Yet with such power and responsibility, one should be equally magnanimous in distributing honor.
(speaking directly to his legion)
I am of course, speaking of my legion, the Luna Wolves. We have fought and bled together. On countless worlds of this emerging Imperium of Man, have we served together, not as a tyrant commanding a horde, but side by side as brothers and friends. Today marks our greatest triumph, with the orks defeat at Ullanor, we have rid the galaxy of a scourge, liberated millions, and paved the way for the establishment of a bright future in the Imperium for this world. For two centuries, you have gone above and beyond the call of duty, you have done more than I ever could have asked for and we have won countless victories. These are actions not only worthy of warriors, but worthy of sons.
There is an audible gasp in the crowd, mostly from Imperial Army soldiers.
HORUS (CONT'D)
As such, on this day, after this triumph, you will no longer be known as the Luna Wolves. Your actions have earned you a new name, and a new title, one worthy of your valor and the glory you have achieved in this Crusade. You are my sons, and now, this sixteenth legion will be the Luna Wolves no longer, you will be known from now on, as the Sons of Horus!
There is thunderous applause, not only from the Imperial Army troopers of the 63rd Expeditionary Fleet, but all those within earshot.
Space Marines from other legions present soon join.
Starting with the members of the MAUNIVAL then taken by the rest of the LUNA WOLVES legion, before sweeping through the assembly like a wild fire, a chant arises.
Chanting. Bellowing. Radiating with excitement and joy.
CROWD
Lupercal! Lupercal! Lupercal! Lupercal! Lupercal!
FADE TO BLACK:
SCENE XX - EXT. THE ASSEMBLY OF ULLANOR – DAY
GARVIEL LOKEN, a Luna Wolf Space Marine, Captain of the 10th Company. He has pale, craggy features, short fair hair, grey eyes and a slightly freckled face. His stalwart and calm manner is notable even by Rogal Dorn. He has fought with the Luna Wolves since the beginning.
A shadow passes over Loken's face upon hearing the name change.
Ever the joker, notices Loken's mood swing.
TORGADDON
What's the matter, you wanted it to be the Sons of Loken?'
Smiling.
LOKEN
No, it's just–
TORGADDON
Just what? Don't we deserve this? Hasn't the commander earned this honour?
There is raucous cheering and deafening applause.
Nodding.
LOKEN
(Shouting)
Of course, Tarik, more than anyone, he has earned it, but don't you think the name carries a whiff of self-aggrandizement to it?
TORGADDON
(Laughing)
Self-aggrandizement? Those remembrancers and scholars that follow you around like whipped dogs must be teaching you new words. Come on, enjoy this and don't be such a starch arse!
Tarik's enthusiasm is contagious and Loken starts cheering again until his throat is raw.
FADE TO BLACK:
SCENE XXI - Int. ONBOARD THE EMPEROR'S SHUTTLE, ULLANOR – DAY
The EMPEROR's shuttle is large and spacious, fitting for a person of his rank and stature.
Flying over Ullanor, as if on an inspection tour of the work progressing on the planet below.
Only the EMPEROR and HORUS are in the center of the main cabin. The windows are shut, the lights are on. The area is secure.
Turning to face the EMPEROR.
HORUS
I know why you brought me here father.
Cocking his head.
EMPEROR
Really my son?
HORUS
You wish to inform me of something privately, away from my brothers and away from prying eyes.
The EMPEROR nods.
EMPEROR
Of course, I knew I wouldn't be able to deceive you. That wasn't my intended purpose, but you are right. I wish to tell you the reason why I made you Warmaster, and am returning to Terra from the Great Crusade.
Pausing.
EMPEROR (CONT'D)
I wish to tell you about the Webway Project.
END
