When all was said and done and the dust had settled, most of the planet was left a wreck. The young natives that could be reeducated were selected to undergo psychological rehabilitation and reeducation as part of the Imperium, while the adult ones were sent for processing to become servitors.

I couldn't let them do that. There had to be a better way, so I paused my current research project on warp mutations for some time in order to find a more humane way to go about the adult natives.

I was operating under a tight time schedule since the great crusade had quotas that had to be filled and we couldn't spend too much time stabilizing planets conquered.

As such, I worked furiously with the help of my apothecaries to produce a fast fix.

Every day I would pour over medical texts, analyzing protein structures, viral payloads, and spend hours scanning the brains of the natives with my biomancy.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that the issue laid in the fact that brain plasticity, or in other words, the ability of the brain to change was something that decreased with age. Also, after performing some tests, it seemed that brains that aren't challenged, will atrophy much like a muscle would. My most expert apothecaries seconded my theory.

After that, we worked tirelessly to produce an injectable compound that would allow them to temporarily regain brain plasticity. We also cloned their neurons and injected them as well. The process was painful since the injections had to go up their nose, piercing right through the bone in order to bypass the blood brain barrier. With more time we could have come up with something better, but such was life.

If this was back in earth, I would have probably been sued a million times for malpractice and bad medical ethics. But well, it was better than making them servitors. At least in this way, they would have a new chance at life.

But that wasn't the only thing that happened after the fight.

Several researchers, Apothecaries, and Mechanicus began looting and experimenting on the enemy, trying to pry their secrets for humanity's advancement.

I was no exception in that regard, and as a Primarch, I got dibs. What interested me the most, was the Khrave Prince's crown. The thing was made out of luminous, ethereal warp crystals. And, like a child who had received a fancy Christmas present, I couldn't wait to begin researching on it after I was done with the Warp mutations project.

Last but not least, there was one last notable event. Some of the top psykers under my command, including Sanctioned Primaris Psyker Valentine Jultz, presumed dead in the engagement, somehow made it out and returned to our camp.

"Um… Primarch Sir!" Valentine told me, prostrating herself on the ground as if addressing a monarch, "We have, uh, we have returned alive from killing the Xenos scum! We are definitely, uh, ready to serve you in any way you want!"

I didn't understand why she was reporting directly to me, since technically she was supposed to report to Lord Commander Pictard, who was the head of the Astra Militarum, and not me.

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Somewhat embarrassed by her over the top display, I said "Come on get up please, there's no need for that," once she was back up, I put my hand on her shoulder and smiled, "I'm glad you made it out okay and congratulations on your good work."

The white haired girl blushed and hid her head, shuffling her feet like a kid. Was this really a trained Primaris Psyker?

After dealing with the psyker issues, I had to go through some more paperwork. One of my captains and head of intelligence, Lazaras, brought me up to speed about various issues like the 30% losses we took, resupplying, etc, were brought to my attention.

Thankfully, almost as if she had calculated the timing to when I was the most bored, a cheerful Horus came to the rescue, saving me from the tedious work that being a leader brought with it.

"Brother!" she wrapping me in another of her strong shoulder hugs, my face dangerously close to her breast, her big bre- no no no! I couldn't think of her that way! I had a girlfriend and this was so wrong on so many levels that I couldn't even begin to explain.

I pushed her away, face red, putting some distance between us.

"What happened?" she asked, concerned.

"Nothing, I just- I needed a little space."

Her face took on a mischievous smirk, "Oh, did the close proximity to my body arouse you?" she said, running a hand on the tight fitting furred robe that clung to hear body, her slow moving hand emphasizing all her curves.

"Haha, very funny," I said in a dry, sarcastic while averting my gaze from her hot bod, "You need some new joking material (this wasn't the first time she had made a joke of this manner)."

Horus just guffawed at my reaction. Making a fool out of me really seemed to tickle her funny bone.

"Ah, but how I enjoy our times together," she said after her laughter fizzled out. "But I didn't come here just so you could drool over my body like some Chthonian street hound. I came to inform you that since most of our wounded have recovered, as is our custom, my legion will be having a celebratory banquet over our victory, and that we would love to have you and your valiant legion come. I feel like just like you and I, our legions have gotten close over the last couple of months and this would be a great opportunity for them to bond."

Like many times before, I agreed. It was always hard to say no to her. She always had the right arguments, the right words to convince me. Already, I considered her a friend, perhaps even a sister. Frankly, I was scared, scared of what would happen if I kept spending time with her, of becoming a puppet being pulled by her expert manipulating hand.

Horus detected my brooding, and like other times before, she made some joke or gave me an interesting piece of information to distract me. While I was with her, I couldn't seem to stay unhappy for long, caught along her flow.

---

At night, as I promised, I made my way to the banquet hall.

The place was massive. It took place in one of the old human buildings from before The Khrave took over. It had been heavily renewed by our builders and decorated in the style of the Imperium.

Hundreds of thousands of people were arrayed on long tables.

I found the upper brass table that had all the Captains, Nobles, and notable figures. Horus had saved me a spot at the head of the table next to her and I sat down next to her.

If this would have been a few months ago, Horus' Mournival would've sat on one side of the table and my Captains on the other, segregated. But now there was some more mixing.

The subject on the table before I joined had been which legion had performed the better. It was a touchy subject, but such rivalry was inevitable.

"No, you are wrong," Abaddon, Horus' First Captain, said in her characteristic arrogant tone, "The only reason your legion even came close to matching our legion was your psyker resistance. We won thanks to our skill and tactics, while you got by due to luck."

I had to admit that coming face to face with the future Despoiler, the Warmaster of Chaos, felt strange. Obviously this was before her dark descent and she was much different than my mental picture, but still, a feeling of weariness remained in me.

My own First Captain, Castia, answered her just as arrogantly, perhaps even more. Gone was the First Captain that had begged me to kill her for her mistakes. Now, she seemed to have settled into being a condescending and acid tongued ice queen. "Oh please," she said looking at Abaddon with contempt reserved for one that is inferior in every way, shape, and form, "Most of your legion had to fall back due to not being able to stand the enemy. And, I saw you during the fight, Abaddon: you seemed to be struggling to keep up while I effortlessly tripled the number of enemies you slew."

Those words and Castia's mocking smile made Abaddon fly into a rage. "What did you say to me?!" she snarled, slamming her fist into the table. "Let's take this to the arena and I'll make you eat your words!"

Their rivalry had been growing by the day due to their arrogant personalities and people on the table began jeering and making bets, adding fuel to the fire.