So I've had this idea playing through DOW3 and thought to myself that the Emperor's favored son's not getting the love he deserves- I mean, sure, he threw the Imperium back into the dark ages with his rebellion.

But what if he was given a chance to redeem himself? He brought down the Imperium, perhaps only he can bring it back up? Or at least, it starts from him.

I nearly drove myself insane scouring the thousands of archives the internet has on W40K, so please forgive me if I leave out something or get it wrong. Feel free to point out the mistakes in the reviews.

How long I'm going to keep this one up, I have no idea. Let's see how this goes…

As always, I don't own Warhammer 40k, except for my OC's…


The swirling cauldron of black and purplish lights swelled and roiled without end, a trait that surely earned its name among the denizens of the material realm. The Warp was an unwelcoming collection of all the psychic energies of every living thing, an ocean constantly stirred with each thought, each action committed. At the center of it all lay the Ruinous Powers, the dominant gods of the Era. The Warp was their playground and so many were the toys in their reach…just waiting to be handled.

Nurgle, busy with perfecting his diseases. Khorne spent eternity brooding upon his skull throne, hand on sword as he watched the endlessly flowing river of blood traverse the fiery paths of his domain. Slaanesh lived her life to the fullest, drinking and laying with her slaves. And among the Four, Tzeentch the God of Change, took a greater interest in the affairs of the material realm more than the others. There is nothing more terrifying than a dark god whose attention is piqued.

Like a giddy child shaking the ant farm, he never tired of playing the elaborate game of deception, orchestrating from behind the scenes the wars fought in the reaches of the Imperium. His favorite was the Horus Heresy, and of course, the results that followed the terrible event. Never before had there been a large amount of souls daily sent to the Warp. Those were the days when the Ruinous Powers had truly gotten drunk on the influx, and like the drunkards they have become, they soon found themselves craving a stronger dose.

But this is where they shall remain...

With both the Imperium and the scattered remnants of the Chaos spacemarines leaderless, everything remained in static- devoid of any motion forward or back. The wait was torturous, but in truth, there was little Tzeentch and his infernal siblings could do to change it. Limited by the veil separating the Immaterium from its counterpart, the Gods of Chaos relied on their followers to enact their will, thereby providing an extension of their presence- but never for too long.

So setting eyes on Hel'Nkuza, an orbital chapel long lost to the powers of Chaos and renamed according to their masters' will, swallowed into the storm-filled embrace of the Warp, the Dark God of Change watched as a collective of cultists loyal to Chaos Undivided performed their daily rituals of blood sacrifices and other unholy sacraments. These were necessities, however, to achieve a higher and equally darker purpose within the walls of the corrupted temple.

The gene seed of the Great Betrayer, the Favored Son of the Emperor, was stored at the heart of Hel'Nkuza. The Arch-Acolyticon was confident in his skill at gene-forging, having learned the lost art through a recently unearthed relic of mankind's glorious past, and set to work once the hands of corruption had seeped into the very walls of the chapel. The countless years spent plotting in the time-voided realms of the Warp fed the Lord of Change, enough to earn his favor by allowing the Arch-Acolyticon to keep the secrets of the Golden Age and use it to purpose.

He, along with his fellow cultists and acolytes, worked to create the Primarch Horus Lupercal's perfect self, devoid of the Emperor's Light but born under the darkness of Chaos. All the other clones were complete and utter failures, all that the Arch-Acolyticon wished to forget and have this great triumph pave his way to attaining the gifts of the Warp. Sacrificing more and more slaves to fuel the monstrous engines powering the genetic matrix which held the mold of the Primarch himself, there was without a doubt this final attempt will be it.

Horus Lupercal would be reborn, and with him at the helm of the forces of Chaos Undivided, they shall usher in a new age and finally crush the Imperium!

The whole fortress monastery shook as the tainted machines did their work, the screams of the unfortunate slaves filled the air as their souls were consumed. A brilliant golden light momentarily blinded those who gazed upon the genetic matrix, then a searing green glow surrounded the mold, signifying the climax of all their efforts!

Stepping forward as his sycophants bowed and swayed and chanted their words into a nightmarish mantra, the Arch-Acolyticon gleefully cackled. "Immortalized by Nurgle's touch, bound by hate of the Blood God, tempered by Slaanesh' charm- be reborn anew by the will of Change! Horus Lupercal, step forth and claim what is yours!" Sparks flew from the overheated soul-machinations, and they spewed a torrent of pink fire as they strained to accomplish their task. All that stood witness feared the worst, for the culmination of their efforts may go all to waste should something go awry!

Finally, the matrix fractured, tearing itself open and freeing the completed form of the feared Primarch of the Luna Wolves!

The results were…not quite what they expected.

Dazed and confused, like a newborn babe, Horus stumbled into the cold and bloodied floor. He blinked as if in pain, then rose to his full ten-foot height. He was glorious, perhaps a little too glorious for a champion of the God of Change. He bore no scars, save for the necessary implants where his power-armor's wires are to be inserted, nor signs of the taint. He was captivatingly handsome, though, sure evidence that Slaanesh favored him better than Tzeentch?

Unsure of what to do, yet refusing to call this a mistake, the Arch-Acolyticon summoned one of his acolytes to fetch the weapon they had forged before the procedure was completed- something of a welcoming gift should they succeed in recreating Horus.

"Welcome back, Master Lupercal!" The Arch-Acolyticon cried out in mad joy, dramatically thrusting out his arms and bowing before the towering figure.

The hammer, a weapon that once belonged to a loyal soldier of the Imperium, was given unto the slowly-recovering Primarch, fresh blood glistening in the writhing light of the warp as it adorned its corrupted features.

"Death to the False Emperor!" A Chaos spacemarine bellowed, cheering with his brothers at the wings of the room from where they stood. A cacophany of screams, yells and cries broke through the chamber as the maddened servants of Chaos butchered the remaining slaves in celebration. Horus gazed down at the weapon in his hand, eyes squinting as faint memories started to resurface in his newborn mind. His mouth moved, words obscured by the din of the joyous acolytes and gunfire of the Chaos marines' weapons.

From all the noise, they did not hear him. But the Lord of Change did, and for the first time in a millennia, Tzeentch frowned.

For as the Primarch endured through the first minutes of his rebirth, the memories came rushing back to him like a massive tidal wave.

"You are like a son and together we have all but conquered the galaxy."

Words of love from his father, his Emperor. Images of the Great Crusades in which he was named Warmaster and tasked to complete. They were winning! The glorious future of mankind was in reach! And then, he was betrayed. The festered wound upon him by the corrupted battlebrother Temba on the world of Davin, the deceit of Chaplain Erebus for his treatment under the Warrior's Lodge. It was here, he first felt the touch of Chaos. It was as though his mind was removed from his body, a passenger in his own skull as he watched the Ruinous Powers take control of his words and actions!

Images of the Great War that broke the Imperium, the blood of thousands upon thousands of his battle-brethren on the brutal massacres on the Istvaans, the corruption of his fellow Primarchs- he saw them all!

And then…the War reached Holy Terra. Horus saw it all again…

The wail of a thousand innocents burning as his flagship bombarded the capital, the look of betrayal on Sanguinius' face as he confronted his brother in what became his final battle. The wolf had sunk its teeth upon the angel's back and broke his wings, never to fly again.

He saw the blood of his best friend and brother fresh upon his hands, the abject horror on his father's face as he beheld his son.

The Chaos Gods, united for the first time in a long millennia, filled him with great power as their combined presence kept their grip on his will. They spoke through his mouth, taunting the Emperor to meet the same end as his angel, yet Horus screamed in the background- begging his father to end it. He did as was asked, of course, but at great cost. Whether or not the Emperor heard him, justice had to be done, and Horus was blasted away from the material plane.

How he came back through this cloned body, be it through some twisted science or malevolent sorcery, one thing was certain…

It filled him with raw, undiluted rage.

Horus flexed his young arms and gripped the foul weapon in his hands, intent clear on his face as he beheld the legions of Chaos on that corrupted temple. He cared little for living through this blasphemous experience, he was unfit to live in the first place- a traitor to his own people.

Yet there may be some small redemption in his resurrection. He could continue his true purpose- and what better way to start than killing these heretics?

With that in mind, the Lupercal leaped from the platform and struck down the Arch-Acolyticon, sending brain matter and blood splattering in all directions. The maddened servants of Chaos were too busy in their celebrations to notice the enraged Primarch until he had already killed seventeen corrupted marines. Even then, it was too late.

Horus had seized one of the spacemarine's heavy bolter and had begun spewing bolt round after bolt round in rapid succession, tearing apart cultist and brick alike. He roared forth his challenge, bellowed litanies of vindication. These were warcries, not just out of loyalty for the Imperium, but born of vengeance for the untold billions who died in the War.

Years of experience were with him, but his body was still fresh from birth, it did not respond as quickly as his mind told it to, making it difficult for him to move about and fight properly. Yet Horus was not called Warmaster for nothing, he adapted quickly enough to survive the battle on the gene-forge chamber. They fight back, but none could stand against the powerful superhuman, especially not when he was at peak condition.

Once he dispatched the insufferable curs, Horus scanned the room for any means to cover himself, knowing that fighting a whole citadel full of the maddened servants of Chaos dressed in nothing but his own skin would be foolish.

The corrupted weapons in his hands grow hot as he senses the demons within them try to seep into his skin. Protected by a strange golden glow, he had enough opportunity to use them to defend himself and soon after drop them.

The Warmaster gazes about in confusion, wondering what to do next. He found himself pressed to do the unthinkable, pray to the Emperor. He knew his father was a powerful psyker, but would he even listen after everything he had done against mankind?

He had to try. There was a reason why he came back. With these thoughts, Horus decided it was worth a shot, knowing there was no other option.

"Father." He began, breathing heavily as though he bore the whole world of Terra on his shoulders. He might as well have, for the full weight of his sins was upon him, and no words could describe the guilt the Warmaster felt. "Father…forgive me…" Drenched in the blood of traitors, Horus fell to his knees and wept bitterly, fists grinding against his temples in grief. "I live again…yet I know I am unworthy of this life! Please…show me…show me why you have brought me back!"

On Terra, life goes on.

Imperial citizens walked the streets of the metropolitan cities, the laud hailers called for the pious to worhip. Pilgrims journeyed from all across the galaxy to kiss the holy steps leading to the gilded Imperial Palace. Inside, the Adeptus Custodes waged an endless day to day war of their own against the demonic incursions spawning from the frequent tears opening below the capital. Unbeknownst to the public, the valiant guardians stood watch over the tears the traitor Magnus had unleashed, forever vigilant lest the demons once again reach the surface and massacre the innocent subjects of the Imperium.

None had deviated from the normal routine, and the praetorian guards learned to be content with that. For if there was any change at all, it could mean worse than the usual demonic outbreak. Alas, today was a day for change. One of the custodes witnessed a bright light emanate through the crack of the massive golden doors securing the Emperor's throneroom. Fearing the worst, he sent a vox-message up the ranks to notify the authorities. One thing led to another, and the doors were opened.

The Throne shone with a brilliance so intense that all those who witness the glory of the Emperor's corpse staggered back, blinding permanently all those who did not look away. At that same moment, the churning waves of the Warp were becalmed for a brief moment- if there was any semblance of time at all- and every psyker within a million lightyears from Terra felt a blast of intense pain as a massive spike of psychic energy lanced through the Warp.

On Hel'Nkuza, Horus lifted up his tear-stained eyes and beheld his answer. An astral projection of his beloved father knelt beside him, hand upon his shoulder and wearing a comforting smile on his face. His very presence was enough to cleanse the chamber of all taint, removing corruption from both machine and stone as the demonic influence fled from the Emperor. Joy compelled the lost son to embrace his father, and he did so without a thought of hesitation.

No words needed to be spoken. Horus knew now what he was brought back for. The Emperor made him see what his dream had become. A bloated, rotting carcass of an empire driven not by reason and hope but by fear, hate and ignorance. He was to bring them back from the brink, and he would not do it alone. Guided by the Emperor from time to time, he would gather as many allies as he can, and he journey back to Terra and do what must be done.

The Emperor must return. To do that, he must die.

It won't be an easy task, many will shun the penitent Primarch, many will attempt to kill him in righteous zeal. Even the Chaos gods will intervene- personally if it suits them. But then again, nothing ever worth doing is easy for a Primarch.

The astral figure faded from sight, having done its part in renewing the Wolf's purpose. Horus looked upon the cleansed ground and saw a new suit of armor, fashioned according to his old regalia. But instead of the traditional black of the Serpent's Scales, this one had a bleached white to accompany the purest of gold. Horus eagerly donned the suit, feeling the satisfying click as the wires and tubes slip into his implanted sockets. He wears the armor proudly, comforted as though it was a second skin.

His father was kind enough to include a white wolf's skin for a cape. White- the color of forgiveness.

The Lupercal examined the helm that came with it and smiled as his boot tapped against the handle of his new weapon. He picked it up and looked it over.

It was a spear, yet like all the weapons granted unto the Primarchs, it was no ordinary spear. The blade was curved in one side in the shape of a fang, like a halberd but not quite so. The handle was composed of ceramite, blade of adamantine and cut as deeply as the metal promised. In his former life, Horus bore the Worldbreaker. With this mace, he shattered whole worlds as the name implied, and taught men and women to fear him. In this new life he was given, he was not meant to break- he was meant to lead.

This is why he was given a spear, for the symbol it bears was power in itself.


Credits to BrotherCaptainShepard, who provided the idea. ( This Chapter has been rewritten for the sole purpose of smoothening the wrinkles I've missed )