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Golden armor cast long shadows in the crimson emergency lighting of the Vengeful Spirit's bridge. Through the viewport, Terra burned.
A voice filled the command bridge. He heard it as much as he felt it. It vibrated every fiber of his soul, reminding him however briefly, that it was indeed still there.
+You did it, Horse.+
The voice. His voice.
The voice of his father.
+You truly are the Warhammer 40,000.+
The Emperor of Mankind stepped onto the bridge. At his feet lay his slain son Sanguinius, broken and still; in death his body nothing more than another of the countless casualties of the relentless advance towards Terra.
Horse stood at the command throne, his ill-fitting power armor creaking as he shifted his weight from hoof to hoof. The same brown coat, the same steady gaze that had led the Emperor's armies for a century.
The Custodes spread out beside and before their master, golden sentinels to witness the end. Each step punctuated the carnage as auramite boots crushed viscera of friend and foe alike.
+I gave you everything. My trust, my armies, my sons.+
Even the slow, heavy steps he took towards his father were drowned out by the silent voice of the Emperor.
+I even gave you your name.+
His name; Heresy. A once proud name that now rang with the peals of treachery across a galaxy on fire.
+The lack of foresight is my own burden to carry.+
“Neigh,” whinnied Horse.
The Emperor raised his sword and faced his approaching son. There would be no speeches today.