clone stuff

It was Horus Lupercal, charging into our loose ranks and slaughtering us with Worldbreaker . He came from one of the far antechambers, awoken by Fabius in readiness for this moment.

To their credit, Lheor and the last warriors of the Fifteen Fangs reacted faster than any of us. Their Heavy Bolters gave a leonine roar of throaty chatter, kicking and booming as they fired on the Warmaster of the Imperium, with every bolt hitting home. But even as their bolts tore at Horus's armour and flesh, their initiative did little but doom them before the rest of us. Worldbreaker swung again, hurling four of them aside in a single blow. They struck the deck in a ragged disarray. I felt Ugrivisn die before he even hit the floor.

We broke. Gods of the veil, of course we broke. We did not run, but we broke and fell back, scattering to the edges of the room to escape the war maul of this enraged revenant. My Rubricae, much slower than living warriors, marched back in their stately tread, barely pausing as they emptied magazine after magazine of Warp-altered shells at the cloned Primarch. And they still died with every swing. Gunfire shattered the Primarch's black ceramite and blew fist-sized chunks of flesh from his bones. Pain threaded his aura, yet Horus fought on.

The Talon of Horus