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Horus was home. Horus was on the battlefield. Ten different voices were shouting over the vox, each demanding his attention in a different Imperial or Cthonian dialect. Various tactical datastreams filtered over his visual display, giving readouts of troop movements, atmospheric conditions, ammunition and energy reserves, and other useful minutiae. Soldiers hurried about him, rushing past his massive, armored bulk and cordon of Justaerin honor guard. Laser fire and munitions choked the skies overhead, and the ground seemed trapped in an endless earthquake as artillery mercilessly pounded the earth.

Horus ignored all of it. It wasn't relevant. He had his eyes locked on a different target. A horrifying xenos beast surged toward him, its multiple tendrils grabbing and throwing Astartes warriors like they were children. Their foes, in their desperation, had unleashed a warbeast against their superior foes, and now this monster and many more like it were wreaking havoc in friendly and enemy ranks alike. Horus was reminded of the ancient histories he learned from his father, particularly stories of tusked war-oxen yoked into battle by the warrior-kings of Ind.

Horus surged forward, a mountain of adamantium and ceramite in motion. His Justaerin did their best to keep pace, but he led the pack. Enemy soldiers, fleeing the chaos that had been unleashed onto the battlefield, fled blindly into their midst. A single stroke from Worldbreaker was enough to swat them all aside, like so much chaff. Horus pressed onward, and the alien monster entered his bolter's range. He unleashed a hail of bolts from his gauntlet-mounted cannon, which detonated futilely against the beast's grotesque hide. It wrenched itself about to find the source of the disturbance, and Horus saw his own reflection in the monster's rows of beady, black eyes. It roared at him. Good, he had its attention. It charged him, muscular tendrils flailing wildly as the Justaerin unloaded their combi-bolters into it, to no effect. Horus gripped Worldbreaker's haft with both hands, and as he grew near enough to look down the beast's gullet, he swung.

Before he felt the impact of the weapon up his arms, and the satisfying rain of the monster's exploded skull against his armor, light overtook him. A shot of confusion and panic ran through him at the surprise; his mind raced with possible reasons for his sudden loss of sensation. Psychic attack? Neural weaponry? Could he, a gene-perfected Primarch be suddenly suffering from a stroke or aneurysm? Before he could weigh the options further, his vision returned, and he found himself following through with his earlier strike. He would have stumbled from the unexpected movement, had the mass of his terminator armor not kept him stable.

Horus looked to his surroundings. He was no longer on the battlefield. Rather, this seemed to be a grassy plain as far as the eye could behold, and he was not alone. There were others here; one was introducing himself, Driscoll he called himself. While Horus did not recognize any of them, he understood them, so they were most likely human. Most of them seemed to be, anyway... more or less... Horus examined them carefully, not taking any motion toward them, searching for signs of aggression. He saw confusion, fear, anger, but no overtly aggressive overtures. Fine. He had a moment to collect himself, then.

Horus returned to the readouts he was ignoring earlier. Many were now missing, as his cogitator link to the [i]Vengeful Spirit[/i] seemed to have been severed. He manipulated his optical display with his neural link, searching for his ship's data-signal, but he found himself alone. He reflexively nearly called for his Master of Signal, but caught himself before he made himself look more foolish. It seemed that he was alone... wherever this was. While he could not sense any psychic interference, it was nearly impossible to be sure. There was no way that he could have been teleported this range; nothing like this idyllic scene existed anywhere on the world he had been in the midst of conquering. More than anything he felt confused and bewildered, and recognition of those feelings angered him. The situation was wildly out of his control, and this fact humiliated him. He was the Warmaster of the Imperium, the highest-ranking soldier in an empire of trillions. This sort of thing should not have happened to him.

He doubted that the oppositional forces he had just been facing were behind this. They were fundamentally incapable, with limited access to standard technological templates, and lacked the resources to detect and train psykers among their population. If he was to gain a better grasp of his situation, these people seemed like the next anomaly worth investigating. Horus strode forward to join the coalescing group. His movement was slow and purposeful, each footstep causing the earth to shake slightly under his tread, his weight gouging out the ground and trampling the grass underfoot. His armor's reactor hummed, and each movement came with the soft whine of servo-motors. Once he was close enough to speak, he set Worldbreaker down on the mace's head, leaving it standing upright in the grass in front of him. His unclawed hand free, Horus pulled loose his golden-masked helmet, its burning red eyes staring at the others present.

Free of the helmet, Horus looked at the others with his own grey eyes. Behind the mask was a regal countenance, beard and head both shaved clean. He tucked his helmet into the crook of his arm, and wiped the sweat and grime of war away with the back of his gauntlet. He smiled at the others, despite his trepidation, and did his best to appear nonthreatening, as futile a task as that might have been. Still, he projected a preternatural aura of calmness and control, his facade flawless.

"[color=9bc2b1][b]Hail, I greet you in peace, [i]Ave Imperator[/i].[/b][/color]" He spoke in a giant's voice: dark, rumbling, impossibly deep. "[color=9bc2b1][b]I am known as Horus Lupercal, Warmaster of the Imperium of Mankind. I possess no foes powerful enough to abduct me unwillingly; have I been caught in some snare set by an adversary of yours?[/b][/color]" He gestured to the others, hoping that they would offer answers.