Horus wore a variant of Terminator armour crafted specifically for his primarch's frame. His hands were sheathed in giant gauntlets from whose backs sprouted claws as long as swords. But impressive though his armour was, it merely acted as a frame for his majesty. His visage was at once beautiful and terrible. He was handsome by standards applicable to gods, his features sculpted by a hand of rare genius. All eyes in Tria Station were fixed upon that face. It was impossible to look away from it. He wore a smile that promised generosity and violence in equal measure.

'Citizens of the Martian Empire,' he said. He did not speak loudly, but his voice carried further than that of the most skilled actor. 'I have come to you to free you from the lies of the False Emperor, my father.'

When he spoke, every thinking being in earshot willed their hearts to be still in case they missed the slightest nuance to his words. When he paused, they craved more.

'You have shown great wisdom in joining yourselves to my cause. At my side, you will help me usher in a new era for the Mechanicum. Together, as equals, not in the master and slave relationship the Emperor forced upon your noble nation, we shall reforge the galaxy and declare a new Terran Empire that shall rival the greatest realms of the ancient days. Only with me can mankind reach its true potential. By embracing the truth of the empyrean shall we conquer the galaxy and rule supremely for evermore.'

A cheer erupted from every mouth and mechanical augment. An outpouring of love for the Warmaster banished every trace of fear, so loud and fervent the ships in the docks shook.

By a great act of will Cawl cut all forms of broadcast and plugged any external data receivers he could find in his augments. He shielded his biological thoughts with a repeated loop of devotional binaric chants that drowned out the speech of the conqueror.

The whole of Trisolian was enthralled. This was the legendary charisma of Horus Lupercal gone bad from within, like a great tree whose limbs bear green leaves and fresh shoots, but whose heartwood is rotted out. The compulsion to listen went far beyond that engendered by a man of oratorical prowess. The effect the words had was out of all proportion to their meaning. He was an artwork of a master overwritten by a less kind hand, its nobility perverted into something vile An urge to abase himself before this man gripped Cawl, and he knew it was wrong through and through.