Chapter 86: I Console This, You Console That
Black smoke puffed out of the tank in rings, accompanied by the sputtering sounds of its engine.
Hades scratched his head awkwardly and immediately stopped broadcasting the binary transmission.
The tank's coughing subsided slightly.
"…Sorry?"
Hades tentatively sent a binary message.
In response, another plume of smoke belched directly at his face.
Hades wisely chose not to dodge.
Cough, cough, cough… COUGH!
As the oily smoke dispersed, Hades took a deep breath and resumed typing a message in his cybernetic mind.
"Uh… sorry about that. I thought you guys liked that kind of thing."
"LIKE HELL WE DO!"
"What kind of misunderstanding do you have about machine spirits, kid?!"
It sent Hades a compressed package full of binary curses.
Hades wasn't upset. On the contrary, he found blunt, straightforward entities far more agreeable than people who danced around their thoughts.
After all, a few swear words were better than a sudden burst of explosives.
"My bad, my bad."
When the old tank finally stopped hacking and wheezing, Hades tried to console it further.
"Kid, I don't recognize your markings. What legion are you from?"
"Death Guard, formerly known as the Dusk Raiders."
The Dusk Raiders. The tank remembered them—those ground combat-loving Astartes suited its preferences.
But then it took another look at Hades, whose face was now smudged black from the smoke.
Sigh… one generation worse than the last, one generation worse than the last!
"Just you, representing the Death Guard?"
Hades nodded.
"Yeah, we're still in the integration phase. Most of them don't want to come to Mars."
"Then why did you come here?"
Hades scratched his head again.
"Because I think I really like machines and stuff."
"You?!"
The old tank was about to spew exhaust fumes again but restrained itself.
In truth, aside from that initial disrespectful broadcast, the kid hadn't done much wrong. He'd been apologizing non-stop.
But… wait!
"Kid! I can't sense your soul!"
Hades froze.
"Oh… yeah, I'm a special kind of Untouchable."
An Untouchable as a Techmarine?!
Was he crazy? Machine spirits found Untouchables inherently unsettling!
The old tank suppressed its growing irritation and examined this Death Guard more closely.
Apart from its personal dislike of him, it didn't feel that usual repulsive sensation.
Still, the kid really didn't have a soul.
The tank fell silent.
If this was the first envoy sent by his legion to learn, and if he'd come willingly despite his condition, maybe it was better not to crush his spirit.
"Here, I'll send you a compressed package. Use it whenever you operate machines. Play it at normal speed, no copying!"
In reality, the tank knew that machine spirits simply wanted their users to treat them with respect and use them for their intended purpose.
The rituals of the Mechanicum were just a small comfort to the spirits.
Use the machines properly. Treat them with respect. Fulfill their purpose.
For all but the most peculiar machine spirits, this was enough to earn their cooperation.
The tank added a heartfelt message to the package, encrypting it. It would be a long time before Hades deciphered its true meaning.
Until then, all he needed to do was play it to the machines he operated.
The old tank couldn't guarantee this would make its peers approve of Hades, but at least they wouldn't curse him outright.
That's enough. I'm old—let me rest. Stop sending people like this to bother me!
"Kid, tell the Mechanicum's priests to either decommission me or disassemble me. Stop using me as a teaching aid."
"Oh, and tell Magos Yordan I hate him. He should've let me die on the battlefield!"
Instead of dressing me in ridiculous fabric and making me listen to their nonsense!
The tank's servo-skull rotated. Given that it had lashed out at this Death Guard earlier and now needed his help to deliver a message, it decided to offer one last piece of advice.
Another encrypted message was sent to Hades, who blinked.
"Got it. Thanks for the heads-up—I had a feeling."
Alright, at least the kid isn't stupid.
The engine's rumble faded away, and with a final shudder, the old tank fell silent, as if completely defunct.
<+>
The unusual scene drew the attention of other Techmarines.
Two Space Marines—one from the Imperial Fists and the other from the Iron Hands—approached Hades. The rest watched from a distance.
Among the Techmarines, the Imperial Fist Heslop and the Iron Hand Kano were elite, deeply attuned to machine spirits.
Of course, where there were Imperial Fists, there were no Iron Warriors. The Iron Warriors present ignored Hades entirely, continuing their welding exercises as if he didn't exist.
Jin-306 nervously emerged from a pile of scrap metal but, upon seeing the two Space Marines, shrank back and stood awkwardly to the side.
"Brother from the Death Guard, what happened here?"
The deep voice of the Imperial Fist Heslop rumbled.
"Uh…"
Hades hesitated for a moment.
"Well, this tank says it hates being made to work by the Mechanicum priests."
What?!
Heslop and Kano exchanged bewildered glances.
Nearby, feigning death, Jin's display screen also lit up with a question mark.
What was this Death Guard saying? Could he really communicate directly with machine spirits?!
<+>
Terra, the Imperial Palace.
They now stood here, deep within the earth.
The chill of the soil seeped into them, and Malcador could feel the cold air infiltrating through the seams of his robes.
That grim, reaper-like figure now stood inside the first gate. The black arch loomed above, oppressing everything beneath it.
Mortarion's gaze bore into Malcador, glaring at the incomprehensible scene before him.
"So, the truth of the Great Crusade is a regime built by sorcery?"
Malcador sighed. The frail sigillite gestured to Mortarion, urging them to leave this place and continue the discussion elsewhere.
However, the Primarch didn't move an inch. His right hand twitched unnaturally, and Malcador, following the trajectory of his muscles, deduced that Mortarion likely wanted to strangle him.
Malcador swallowed the instinctive sigh that rose to his lips. Otherwise, Mortarion would surely act on his impulse and kill the man he deemed a sorcerer.
He was now a defenseless beast-tamer, facing a volatile predator.
But Malcador was also a wise man, well-versed in the art of speech. He knew what to say and how to say it to navigate this perilous moment.
"Mortarion," he called softly.
"This isn't about establishing a regime for sorcerers. In fact, it's about ending the era of psykers altogether."
Mortarion looked at him in confusion.
"Think about it. When humanity no longer needs Navigators to guide its way through the Warp, when it no longer has to traverse its chaotic tides…"
"That's what He is working toward now—"
"I want to see the Emperor."
Mortarion cut him off cleanly. Though some of the sigillite's actions had earned his grudging respect, it wasn't enough to excuse Malcador's concealment of sorcery.
Malcador's brow furrowed imperceptibly.
"He isn't here. He's attending to more pressing matters."
"So, I'm not one of the things He deems important?"
"I know what you're thinking. You see me as a dirty Barbarus farmer, a potential traitor waiting to happen in the future."
"So you imprisoned me here, dangling the pretense of learning while holding my Legion hostage."
"Isn't that right?"
Mortarion closed in on him silently, his shadow engulfing Malcador as the acrid stench of poison clutched at his throat.
Mortarion's hand trembled, itching to reap a soul.
Were it anyone else, they would've already knelt, trembling under the Primarch's suffocating fury.
But Malcador did not. He simply sighed again and said gently,
"If you don't trust my answer, then you can ask your friend."
"Friend?" Mortarion blinked.
Hades?
"What does he have to do with this? We're just two illiterates from the same planet. What could he possibly know about your plans?"
"Do you truly believe he's just an ordinary man from Barbarus?"
Malcador stared at Mortarion intently.
Mortarion fell silent.
Now Malcador had regained control of the conversation.
"He is fortunate. And chosen."
Malcador began walking toward the exit, and the Primarch followed silently behind.
The beast-tamer continued scattering breadcrumbs, and the hunter quietly picked them up along the way.
"Of course, he is also cursed."
"But so far, he has done well."
Beyond this point, the road would be out of their hands.
There were only a few final preparations Malcador could make for the Emperor's chosen.
"You know your friend's condition, Mortarion."
"His nature is both his gift and his curse."
"Hades knows this. The Emperor has seen him."
Malcador carefully chose his words, speaking slowly.
"Then why… why him?" Mortarion stubbornly asked.
"Because He knows humanity has no other choice."
Malcador's reply came swiftly.
"It's not that we've exploited him; it's that he wants to change something, and so he chose us."
"Of course, I haven't yet uncovered your friend's true motivation for doing so."
Malcador cautiously laid another verbal trap.
"Otherwise, perhaps this conversation would be going much more smoothly."
Hades' motivation.
That resolute figure, climbing the peaks of Barbarus alongside him to liberate their world.
For humanity.
Mortarion was silent once more.
Malcador sighed.
"That is what we are working toward."
"Didn't he advise you to preserve the Death Guard's archives? To keep and develop them, so that humanity might one day rid itself of psykers?"
A brief silence.
It was time to change the subject.
Malcador quickly assessed Mortarion's temperament.
What others might see as flaws could, perhaps, be turned into advantages.
It was worth a try.
"The Emperor's ultimate plan is to free humanity from the entities of the Warp."
"And to protect human souls."
"His intention has always been for humanity."
Malcador clung tightly to these words, as if grasping at the last straw on the edge of a cliff.
Mortarion laughed, his voice corroded by poison echoing down the empty corridor.
"I understand."
"You trust me, don't you?"
"That's why you're telling me this."
"Because He looks at humanity, and so… someone must be abandoned by Him—"
"For example, me?"
Mortarion laughed instead of growing angry.
"If what the Emperor grants me is death and humanity, then I shall gladly accept it."
Malcador subtly let out a sigh of relief.
Coming from a world steeped in taint of death, this son of the Emperor never believed in glory or rewards.
He also never trusted gifts handed to him without reason—unless they were laced with thorns that brought him pain.
He stubbornly believed only in a bleak future.
Then let him see the true despair behind the Great Crusade.
Let him witness the Emperor's ruthless resolve.
Behind the grand armies and glorious victories, humanity was already sinking into quicksand.
There was no time.
They were racing against the clock.
"The Warp watches us everywhere. What you saw earlier is the true labor of His heart and soul."
The towering Primarch followed the stooped sigillite as they walked away. Behind them, the black archway stood silent, slumbering as it waited for the future.
<+>
"Huh?"
"A letter from Terra?"
Hades froze mid-scoop of his porridge.
He was currently sitting at the dining table, surrounded by Techmarines from the Imperial Fists and Iron Hands.
In the distance, the Space Wolf, Manning, occasionally cast longing glances their way.
Hmm... Hades had wanted to bring Manning over, but unfortunately, the Fists and Hands weren't too keen on the Wolves.
A servo-skull still held the letter aloft, waiting for Hades to take it.
Hades blinked, picking up the unadorned letter.
The Techmarines around him tactfully began other conversations.
[How have you been?
I spoke with that psyker Malcador. The Imperium appreciates the Death Guard's policies.
He agreed to provide the Death Guard with some initial Untouchables, but he insists that we establish a specialized anti-psyker unit.
As for obtaining more Untouchables in the future, we'll have to find them ourselves.
This aligns with what we envisioned from the start.
Naturally, you will lead the anti-psyker unit.
-The text here is scratched out; Hades couldn't make it out clearly.-
But that cunning psyker has only given verbal promises so far.
'The time is not yet right.'
That's what he said.
This is why I dislike psykers—they always deceive us with vague and ambiguous words.
Malcador mentioned he would visit Mars in a few years and asked if I'd be willing to negotiate with the Magos for some reserve equipment for the Death Guard.
He said most of my brothers had visited Mars and established private agreements with them.
Perhaps you could handle this for me. What do you think?
—Mt]
As Hades read, he scooped another mouthful of porridge.
Malcador had indeed proposed that the Emperor form an anti-psyker unit. However, the tasks involved were too trivial, and the Emperor's Custodes and Sisters of Silence already served that purpose effectively. Thus, the proposal had been shelved.
To be honest, during the Great Crusade, encounters with psyker enemies were rare; most foes were physical threats.
Even when psykers were encountered, overwhelming firepower could still break through their defenses.
And failing that, Magnus' psyker Legion was the go-to choice for dealing with such threats.
So for both the Imperium and the Legions, creating a dedicated anti-psyker unit was, in the short term, an effort with little reward.
However, with a longer-term perspective, an anti-psyker unit could be extremely important.
Currently, the Emperor and Malcador were preoccupied with the Great Crusade and the Webway Project. Their top priority was completing the Webway before anything catastrophic occurred.
So outsourcing this task to a Legion, using their internal resources, seemed entirely reasonable.
If it were another Legion, they might quietly grumble about the Imperium's orders. But if it was the Death Guard...
Let's just say it was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Of course, the Imperium probably wouldn't lower the Death Guard's Great Crusade quotas as a result.
It was then that Hades realized!
If Mortarion was pushing this task onto him, then wouldn't he, Hades, be the one stuck doing all the work in the end?!
Hades nearly spat out his porridge.
So, after all that discussion, the result was finding him something to do. They'd provide a few Untouchables initially (which wasn't even a firm promise), and then he'd have to grind out the rest of the work himself?!
Frustrated, Hades angrily ordered another bowl of porridge.
And he couldn't even refuse. After all, he had been the one to suggest Mortarion start building an anti-psyker unit within the Death Guard in the first place.
But this was entirely different from what Malcador had proposed.
If the Imperium got involved, they wouldn't just focus on the psykers the Death Guard encountered. They'd expect them to handle all sorts of messes across the board.
A bit of funding and resources for a mountain of problems.
What did they call this? Joyful suffering? Being the Imperium's overworked servant?
This was it.
Other transmigrators might enjoy some leisure, but here he was—always studying or working overtime!
Heslop of the Imperial Fists gave Hades a puzzled look.
After receiving the letter, this Death Guard's emotions had clearly fluctuated significantly.
Heslop asked curiously,
"Are you alright, brother of the Death Guard?"
"I'm... fine."
Already envisioning his future of overwork and early burnout, Hades forced a weak smile.
<+>
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