Chapter 53 Performance Art Awards
Aboard the Vengeful Spirit, flagship of the XVI Legion, the Sons of Horus, four company captains assembled in a private strategium chamber:
First Captain Ezekyle Abaddon
Captain Tarik Torgaddon
Captain Hastur Sejanus
Captain Horus Aximand ("Little Horus")
They were the Warmaster's favored sons — commanders whose loyalty and competence were beyond question.
Yet being summoned individually rather than as a command council was… unusual.
Torgaddon glanced at Sejanus.
Sejanus shrugged.
He did not know why they had been called.
The chamber doors parted.
Horus Lupercal entered.
His expression was troubled.
Sejanus felt a chill.
This was wrong.
Before his sons, Horus was always composed — confident, radiant, unshakable. If he showed uncertainty, something deeply personal must be weighing on him.
But the Legion was triumphant. Compliance followed compliance. Their advance rivaled even the Ultramarines and Iron Hands.
What, then, could trouble the Warmaster?
Abaddon and Aximand spoke at once.
"Father, what troubles you?"
Horus sat slowly.
His brow furrowed.
Then he asked:
"…Do you think I am handsome?"
Silence.
Abaddon blinked.
Torgaddon stared.
Sejanus nearly choked.
Aximand answered instantly:
"Of course you are, my lord."
Sejanus chose his words carefully.
"…May we ask why you ask?"
Horus sighed heavily.
The Matter of the Armour
Recently, Horus had received a masterfully forged power sword from Ferrus Manus, crafted in the fires of Terra itself. Horus treasured the blade and had sent a lengthy letter of gratitude to his brother.
Along with it, however, came a gift of even greater significance.
A suit of Terminator armour.
Crafted on Mars under the Emperor's direct oversight.
During the later Great Crusade, the Emperor had intended to formally elevate Horus and present him with symbols of supreme trust and authority. But at Yuki's urging, He chose not to leave His son waiting in uncertainty.
The armour was a relic-grade Tactical Dreadnought suit — layered ceramite, atomantic shielding, reinforced servo-musculature, and neural interface systems designed to respond at the speed of thought.
There was only one complication.
The cranial interface required dermal contact nodes at the base of the skull.
Horus would need to shave his head completely.
He had never worn his hair long — only a warrior's close crop — yet the idea troubled him more than he wished to admit.
He could not explain why.
Perhaps because he knew how symbols mattered.
Perhaps because he wondered whether appearance influenced perception.
Perhaps because he remembered that when Fulgrim walked into a room, beauty itself seemed to follow.
Horus clenched his jaw.
If he became ugly…
Would his father see him differently?
Absolutely not.
Impossible.
Yet the thought lingered.
Across the table, the captains watched their gene-father's face cycle through emotions with almost theatrical intensity.
Torgaddon discreetly kicked Sejanus under the table.
Sejanus ignored him.
What possible strategic doctrine addressed this situation?
Thinking quickly, Sejanus rose.
"My lord… I would hear again the tale of your years on Cthonia."
Horus blinked.
"You wish to hear it again?"
"Yes, my lord."
Horus leaned back.
"Very well. I was drawn from the gang warrens of Cthonia…"
Sejanus sat down, exhaling slowly.
Normalcy restored.
Across the table, Torgaddon and Horus Aximand stared at him.
Sejanus returned an innocent look.
I did it for him.
Abaddon, meanwhile, had fallen asleep.
Three hours later:
"…and that was before I ever set foot on Terra," Horus concluded.
He paused.
"…I may have strayed from the point."
Sejanus nodded calmly.
"It was instructive, my lord. Please continue."
Horus explained the armour.
The room fell silent.
For one brief moment, Sejanus contemplated ventilating his own skull.
This… was the crisis.
He steadied himself.
"My lord," he said gently, "the Emperor does not value superficial things. Those who love and respect you do so for who you are — not for your hair."
Horus's troubled expression softened.
"You are right, Sejanus. In some matters, I am less wise than my own sons."
"Please do not say so, my lord."
Horus rested a hand on his shoulder.
"If I surpassed you in every way, why would I need you?"
Sejanus felt a tremor of pride and devotion.
Horus rose.
"Do not fear speaking honestly because I am your gene-father. I am human. I have flaws. I will correct them. And I will always hear you."
Sejanus felt his vision blur.
This was why they would follow him into hell itself.
Sometimes Horus could be impulsive.
Sometimes even foolish.
But in moments like this, loyalty became inevitable.
"Hrrrk… hrrrk…"
All solemnity evaporated.
They turned.
Abaddon snored loudly, face planted on the table.
"Abaddon," Horus said, amused, "your punishment is to transcribe my Cthonian recollections ten times."
Abaddon lifted his head groggily.
"…It's over?"
Then realization struck.
"…My lord?"
Horus smiled thinly.
Torgaddon and Aximand offered helpless shrugs.
"No!"
Elsewhere in the Expeditionary Fleet
"No! No! No!"
Kadis and Melo clung to Yuki's legs.
"Mother," Kadis pleaded, eyes wet, "can we transfer Legions?"
After departing Terra, Yuki had rejoined the Crusade. The VII Legion had already redeployed, and her own Zero Legion had spent extended time operating independently.
She intended to attach temporarily to another Legion.
Fulgrim had approached personally, inviting her to accompany the III Legion.
Yuki had raised an eyebrow.
"Did Ferrus not explain?"
"Explain what?" Fulgrim asked.
Yuki nodded slowly.
Ferrus had said nothing.
She reviewed fleet dispositions. Few options were ideal.
"Very well," she agreed.
Unexpectedly, the strongest resistance came from her own Legion.
Legion Identity
Gene-seed often reshaped Astartes to resemble their Primarch:
the VI Legion bore lupine features reminiscent of Russ,
the XVI carried Horus's visage in uncanny similarity,
the VIII grew gaunt and predatory,
the III Legion became strikingly beautiful — pale, flawless, violet-eyed reflections of Fulgrim.
The Emperor's Children even bore the right to display the Palatine Aquila, a rare honour.
By contrast, the Zero Legion showed almost no phenotypic drift.
Aside from rare anomalies like Eussons, they appeared largely as they had before ascension.
And yet the III Legion were called the Emperor's Children.
The optics were… confusing.
Some civilians even assumed they were Yuki's progeny.
The Zero Legion tolerated the misunderstanding.
But now—
The purple-armoured warriors of the III Legion clustered around Yuki with courtly devotion.
To the Rising Sun Angels, it looked like an artistic performance entitled:
"Attempted Maternal Appropriation."
Kadis reached for his twin blades.
Melo seized him.
"There are too many!"
"Hold me back," Kadis whispered. "I cannot be responsible for what I do."
Through the press of violet and gold armour, Yuki spotted one of her own sons standing rigidly, face expressionless, radiating silent protest like a living sculpture.
Yuki blinked.
"…What am I looking at?"
The Great Crusade continued.
But within it, wars of pride, loyalty, identity — and occasionally hairstyle anxiety — were fought just as fiercely.
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