Warhammer Multiverzum

You stood at the edge of a precipice, staring into the darkness below. You knew what waited for you there, could feel the power of the warp writhing and seething before you as the athame’s taint oozed deeper into your soul. For all of the magnitude of the choice that lay before you, for all of the galaxy-spanning implications of your decision, in the end it boiled down to two achingly simple options. To turn back, or to step forward, and fall into the darkness.
At your shoulders they stood, speaking lies and truths, each demanding that you heed them and not the other. Magnus: the learned, the arrogant, the oath-breaker. Erebus: the faithful, the treacherous, the serpent. You listened, that I will admit. You heeded their words, but turned from them both. You made your own choice, did you not? Nobody could control you, the great Horus!
Once you were first among equals, but then you became so much more. Leader of the Crusade, de-facto head of a glorious empire. At your word Legions marched into battle and great fleets duelled with unfathomable threats in the darkness between the stars. Worlds were saved, or put to the torch. Populations wept in gratitude at your benevolence, or cursed your name in their last moments before the world-breakers fell. Your father commanded you, but he was cloistered away, working on his projects. The power was yours to use as you saw fit, and it was glorious, was it not?
And it was all coming to an end.
The bureaucrats were taking over. Resources that you requisitioned were not arriving in the quantities you desired. You had to justify why you needed them: you, a primarch, answering to mortals! The worlds that had sworn fealty to you were being taxed unjustly. You were not being listened to as you should have been. How dare they ignore you. How dare they.
It was easier in the beginning, when you first joined the Crusade at your father’s side. You knew what you were fighting for, yet you could pretend that that day would never come. There was always another war, another world to be pacified, another xenos race to be purged or driven off. You could allow yourself to forget the fact that the Imperium you were building was never meant for you.
And what would you do, when it was all over? Some of your brothers were already well-equipped for peace. Roboute, Vulkan, Sanguinius, even Perturabo. Others like Angron, Curze, or Mortarion… they would struggle. But what of you? What would you do when the Crusade was over, and the mantle of leadership was placed on the shoulders of others? What would the great Horus do when he was no longer special?
That was what made your choice for you, was it not? Not the visions that the gods showed you, for you were not naïve enough to believe them to be anything other than a deception. Not the honeyed words of Erebus, for his agenda was obvious and his lies even more so. In the end, you stepped over the edge because you were too afraid not to.
Lorgar had already embraced the gods, you were told, and benefited greatly from their gifts. Perhaps there was something in it, if wise Lorgar saw merit in following them, you thought. Yet that was only part of the truth. You understood your brother, saw all too clearly the gaping void at the core of his being that he endlessly sought to fill with belief in something greater than himself. You knew he was weak; why should one lesser than you possess power that you did not?
And so, you took that final, fatal step.
Into the darkness you fell, and the warp did as it ever has, as it always will. It reflected everything that you were back at yourself endlessly, magnified and distorted again and again but still, ultimately, just you. Did you hear it, as you plunged ever deeper and the warp reshaped your mind? Did you hear the gods laughing even as they poured their gifts into you? Did you understand that they never truly wanted you to win? That your purpose was to bring about the Imperium’s stagnation, and its slow, relentless descent into damnation and Chaos?
Did you even care, as Terra burned beneath you, and your brother lay dead at your feet?
Horus Lupercal. The Warmaster. The Sacrificial King. Now you are no more than a memory, and in time the darkness will consume even that. It is all that you deserve.