Chapter 298: Fooled
It was clear that Malcador had already completed his mission—he had begun driving Hades out of the Solar System.
Hades blinked. He looked at the weary Malcador. They were heading toward the Black Ship, with Charon, Sister Nera, Jin, and the others following close behind.
The group looked rather strange.
"…Malcador, did you… forget something?"
The old man impatiently glanced at Hades from under his hood.
"When did you become so indirect, Hades?"
Hades thought for a moment, then spoke in a low voice.
"Last time you came to Mars, didn't you take me to—"
Malcador's staff struck the ground heavily. The Regent's calm yet faintly irritated voice rang out, with no attempt to conceal his words from the group behind them.
"You've already received the scattered shallow treasures. If you want to keep digging deeper… then you will fall entirely into a world you cannot comprehend, into its vast sleeping memory—or, we could unseal it, let it awaken, and then you can try to subdue it."
Hades gave a dry laugh. Never mind, nothing happened just now.
So they continued walking in silence.
In the distance, the colossal hull of the Black Ship cut across the heavens like a dark line. Mars' wind was dry and cold.
Hades drew a breath.
He still wasn't used to so many scents carried by the wind—he could smell the faint burnt tang from Jin's engines at work.
He spoke, and even he found his own words a little ridiculous.
"Malcador, about me… what exactly do you people intend? Do you plan to set me up on Mars?"
"Obviously."
The old man replied evenly,
"If you need it, Hades—if the moment requires it—I can make it rain on Mars again. Provided you stay at least twenty kilometers away from me. Personally, I think you could just climb to the tip of the tallest factory tower, shout some incomprehensible yet allegory-filled words, and it would suffice."
Hades sucked in a sharp breath. He carefully asked,
"Back then… back when the Emperor did it, was that how he acted as well?"
"He didn't," Malcador said. "He found two Martian hunters roaming the wastelands and let them witness the miracle—a golden-armored god descending from the heavens, accompanied by the prophesied rain…"
"…while I, on the ship, was the one actually making it rain."
Hades swallowed hard as he stared at the bent figure in front of him.
He thought he caught the faintest trace of something in Malcador's tone—something he couldn't quite name.
"The Mechanicum already has faith. Why, then, did the Imperium choose me?"
Hades weighed his words.
"In my opinion, the Mechanicum's faith in the Emperor is obvious… surely preserving that faith is the more reasonable course."
Malcador turned back and looked at Hades. The old man's eyes glimmered with rational light.
"To this very day," Malcador began slowly, "the Mechanicum worlds dissatisfied with the Emperor and the Imperium are still numerous. And as the Imperium continues to pressure the Forge Worlds in the future—cutting their authority, demanding priority in supplying the Legions' logistics—the number of resentful Magos will only grow. Mere faith alone cannot withstand the grinding force of survival in reality."
Hades spoke slowly, "But if you try to prop up another divine figure, doesn't that in itself fail to resolve these contradictions? I don't think replacing one image… say, with me… would calm the Forge Worlds' discontent."
"You are still running from your own essence, Hades."
Malcador said it bluntly. Hades froze for a moment. The atmosphere of the group seemed to grow tense, yet except for Hades, Jin and the others still followed obediently behind him as if they hadn't heard anything at all.
"Even He, at this stage, cannot span vast star systems and directly bestow His power to those who call upon Him. He still requires a medium—or faith strong enough to channel Him."
"Every single gift He grants drains away from His power."
"But you are different, Hades."
"Your so-called 'gifts' actually cause your warp-presence to spread further and deeper… Or rather, they are not gifts at all—they are plunder."
"Through faith, people resonate with you. Their faith, respect, fear, and devotion draw their soul-flames closer to you—and then, they are devoured."
Hades clicked his tongue softly.
"I don't think people are all masochists—willing to believe in a god who inflicts pain on them, even shortens their lifespan… Or else, wouldn't I simply be considered a Chaos God?"
"At the moment, that is indeed a possibility."
Malcador replied indifferently, "That is why the sect under Jin's supervision remains only a small organization for now."
Behind them, Jin lowered his head deeply as if in acknowledgment, the blackstone on his body giving off a crisp knocking sound.
"But if…"
Malcador paused for a moment.
"If the veil were torn open, and the tides of the Warp surged into the material realm—Hades, you would very quickly gain followers. Compared to the suffering you might bring them, the distortion of the Warp itself is far more shattering."
"At that time, you will come face to face with the power of faith."
Malcador spoke gently,
"In this world, there is no weapon stronger than thought—than faith."
The approaching roar of the Black Ship sounded, reminding Hades of the songs of ancient whales.
Malcador turned, fixing his gaze on Hades, his eyes burning with endless fire.
"Believe me, Hades—I too hope never to see the day when mankind truly names you a god."
Then the old man lowered his hood, blocking Hades from his sight. He let out a dry chuckle, his tone lightening.
"After all, I can't even picture what it would look like—people actually worshipping someone like you?"
Hades felt as though an arrow had struck his knee. He stretched out a pleading hand.
"Wait! If you force me up onto the altar, and my Black Domain can't suppress itself anymore—what then? You won't just toss me into some desolate wasteland, will you?"
"You shouldn't have so many questions. Keep this up, and do you really expect me to explain Mortarion's warp-essence to you?"
The old man waved his hand, motioning Hades to board the ship.
"This journey takes us to the Perfect City. Once you find the Emperor, you'll understand his plan—"
Malcador, being Malcador, had once again revealed nothing in the end…
So—wait a minute! Malcador! What is Mortarion's warp-essence?!
. . .
[Calling 19th Company. Prepare for warp jump.]
Guilliman sat at his desk, the Primarch staring fixedly at the sheet of parchment pinned to the wall in front of him.
[My father has pointed the Imperium toward a vision, and granted it unbreakable strength. Once this vision is applied to all social, cultural, and military organizations, it will inspire a cohesion that surpasses personal ambition.]
[—Guilliman, On Loyalty, 45.22.xiv]
Guilliman felt nervous sweat trickle from his hairline downward. He felt suffocated. He felt… unreal.
The Emperor—his father—had ordered him to destroy the Perfect City.
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