Yeah, yeah, Horus, so you’re a Primarch and all. You’re still the ultimate girly-man, and I’ll tell you why. You have no guts, you have no self-confidence, you lack the self-esteem a warrior needs and ultimately, you’re weak in character. You let minor, petty things get to you and you forgot to check your ego at the door. As a result, mankind has spent the last ten thousand years in the ol’ grimdark!
Let’s see if I have this straight… Horus is a genetically engineered super-human war machine. A real Lord of War, if you will. Horus has genetically enhanced everything and the benefit of massive intelligence. You are the Emperor’s fave child. When the Emperor has to be other places, you know, to do Emperor things, he puts Horus in charge of… well… EVERYTHING in the freaking imperium of mankind. Yeah, that about sums it up, right old boy?
So, instead of using your amazing emperor-given gifts of wisdom and brain-power, our little girly-man starts to have nagging doubts and gets to feeling all lonely. “Oh golly, daddy, am I good enough for this?” Get a life, you loser! Yes, you’re good enough; the emperor didn’t make YOU warmaster because of your steely good looks (even if that’s what Abaddon thinks). He TRUSTED you! Move on! There is an old saying, “When you’re in command, Command!” That means that you do what you think is right Horus, you whiner, and trust your own judgment. If the emperor thinks you’re screwing up, he’ll let you know.
Then you start with the whole, “oh golly, this is hard, being in charge of everything”. Man up, you little dork. If it was easy, the emperor would have had a normal man do it, but he picked you, a FREAKING PRIMARCH to do it. The emperor kind of thought you might actually, oh I don’t know, Primarch up and become a leader. Instead, you picked the easy route and wimped out.
It took some real nerve to actually try to blame the emperor for your own lack of male genitalia. To actually say that it was his fault that you were weak, because he should not have left you with such a heavy burden to bear. What did you think? Being a Primarch was just about war and swords and bolters? You didn’t see that it might take some real thought? You whiny little bitch, go change your panties, I think you may have leaked a little.
And what about this ‘ability’ you have to see into men’s hearts and souls? You really mean to tell me you didn’t see Erebus coming? You didn’t see this addlepated twit of a space marine chaplain manipulating you? Some Primarch you turned out to be. The minute the going gets tough, you whine like a girl and sit on a Nurgle infested moon and cry.
I could almost deal with you when you had the whole Mournival thing going. Good idea, that was, always good to have some other opinions around. As long as you realize the final decision rests with you!! You’re the gol-durned WARMASTER. But, instead of listening to everyone all around, no, you prefer to go to Abaddon, who has the galaxy’s biggest man-crush on you, for advice. (Yeah, and after you die, you twinkle-toed panty-stuffer, you leave him to run thirteen freakin crusades from the eye of terror because of his failed man-crush… way to go, good disciple choice there…) So, yeah, you almost had a good idea, but like everything else, you lacked the willpower to do it right. You’re not a leader; you’re a whiny follower with delusions of leadership. It’s like putting the schoolyard bully in charge, you may win a few fights, but as soon as there is a challenge, you’ll fold like a house of cards.
And boy did you fold up. The minute some warp entity shows you a scene of some emperor worship, your bruised up little ego takes over and you go on a three day crying binge. Your complete lack of character, confidence and leadership showed up that day. Even Angron would have seen through that shit, but not you, you had to be the one everyone liked. You wanted statues to Horus, didn’t you, you freak.
I’m not going to fault you for your betrayal and what you did to all your loyal brothers. Your complete lack of moral fiber and character means that you wouldn’t learn the lesson anyhow. For you, making the plans to murder your own people, to kill your own brothers was easy once you took the gutless way out. It was easy to use their strengths against them, as a coven of women might. And I’m sure your little privates-polisher; Abaddon was helping all the way. It’s quite easy to be the warmaster when you’re planning a seditious little war on your own family, your own father. Just remember, jack-wagon, it’s hard to keep an oath; it’s very easy to break one. But the measure of a man comes from keeping his word, not breaking it.
I wonder how you could look Sanguinious in the face that day. How could you look upon someone who had upheld their convictions, stood true to their word, and their brothers? Is that why you killed him? Was the reflection of your sorry little ass in his eyes too much to bear? Did you realize, all too late, that your entire life was forfeit, meaningless and wasted? I may be giving you too much credit. Petty men hardly ever see the truth when it stares them in the face, they would rather blame someone else for their failures.
Being cut low was too good a fate for you. It should be you on a golden throne as well as the Emperor. Although, I suspect your throne would be made of a quivering mass of jelly, as befits your spineless nature. You should have been forced to watch ten thousand years of misery and strife, caused because you couldn’t do as men do. You could not keep your word, your faith or your honor.
Death was too good for you, you pretentious little sot. In your final act, as in all things, you took the easy way out. Wuss!
(Thus endeth the lesson :)