Chapter 360: Not Here To Watch The Fun Anymore?
Great Hall of the Council of Nikaea
Magnus felt his soul trembling.
He stood in the light, exposed on the stage, like a crystal ornament displayed behind a glass window. Countless eyes were fixed on him—questioning, mocking, uneasy.
Those… those little worms who only dared hide among the crowd to mock him from the darkness!
Magnus thought in fury—but the anger vanished as quickly as it came. He felt hollow again, pale, like a helpless victim abandoned beneath a spotlight.
He glared at the culprit—the only one who still had the courage not to hide his true face behind falsified shadows!
He looked directly at the creature disguised as a Blank, but that brief contact made Magnus dizzy. He had to look away.
He saw the ignorant Mortarion, the crude Leman Russ, and the one who looked brutally violent—Angron. They were blind! Could they truly not see the real nature of this so-called Hades?!
But he had no time left to curse them. Magnus turned his pleading eyes toward Fulgrim. How he wished someone would stand up for him. Fulgrim simply frowned in worry and gently shook his head.
Magnus cursed inwardly. Then he looked toward the Angel. The Angel's gaze was cold as ice, like a statue on the verge of shattering. He gave Magnus's silent plea not even the slightest response—he simply sat there.
Magnus's soul gasped loudly. His wavering gaze swept to the Librarius of the White Scars, but the chief librarian only looked at him with guilty sorrow. This was not a scene where an Astartes could intervene.
…Why had the Khan not come? Had he known the purpose of this trial all along?
Magnus was filled with grief and rage. He had been abandoned. He looked to the Thousand Sons' seats—his sons were staring at him in deep worry.
He could not fall.
If he fell—if one of the Imperium's greatest psykers fell—then all research into the psychic arts would once again plunge into an age-long darkness. They would burn books, bury instruments.
Magnus took a deep breath. His spell-casting hand trembled slightly. If he summoned the tutelaries, would these mortals understand the truth of those spirits?
The Thousand Sons rarely revealed their tutelaries to outsiders. Their little companions possessed a beauty mortals could scarcely comprehend—but any psyker would understand their charm. Before scholars agreed to name these warp entities "tutelaries," the Thousand Sons had called them angels.
"Angel," a term loaded with religious meaning and irrationality, was abandoned. There were no angels in this world, nor were there—
Magnus's peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the darkness twisting and screaming in the aether.
Well, daemons did exist—and right now, one of them was trying to drag humanity back into medieval ignorance.
Hades raised the enormous sword resting in his hands. A faint thud echoed as it touched the floor.
From the high dais, Malcador's voice came:
"Magnus, mind your time."
In the shadows, someone frowned deeply.
Magnus stared at Hades's expressionless face.
"Crimson King, silence and lies both drain what little trust the Sisters of Silence still have in psykers."
Magnus read the rest in his tone—Hades was threatening him, mocking him for exhausting the Imperium's patience with psykers.
Magnus raised his voice. His sharp words echoed through the hall:
"The boundless ocean bears goodwill, but it is no fool—it does not open its gates to those who hold prejudice!"
Hades closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them.
"Words alone mean nothing. Show your evidence, Magnus."
Magnus's body trembled. He—could he really summon the tutelaries here? Would that not be publicly declaring that the Imperial Truth was a lie?!
Magnus had always upheld the Imperial Truth. He had no desire to tear away the Emperor's carefully crafted falsehood before the eyes of the crowd.
No, no, no—he could describe the tutelary as a kind of psychic entity, bound to a Thousand Son through the warp.
But he… he really had to—
Behind him, on the high dais, Malcador's staff struck the ground with a thunderous crack that shattered Magnus completely.
No one supported him! Even Malcador had thrown his lot in with that daemon! Then why—why shouldn't he prove his own innocence?! Why should he bow beneath a lie?!
Magnus took a deep breath and raised his right hand. Psychic lightning crackled; with the sweep of his arm, a summoning circle manifested on the floor beside him.
Its chaotic runes twisted as though alive.
In the audience, the Angel's eyes flew wide. He gripped the armrests and rose slightly, the gold and silver ornaments on his wings clinking together.
"No," the Angel whispered.
The White Scars' Chief Librarian clenched his arms uneasily; behind him, every Librarian wore the same ashen look.
In the Thousand Sons' section, Ahriman and the others stared at Magnus in tight-coiled anxiety. Which tutelary would their father summon?
The Wolf King growled a low, threatening rumble.
Those ignorant of the warp looked on in curiosity or fear.
Hades remained expressionless. The fish has taken the bait, he thought.
Magnus spread his arms, pacing slowly to show the assembly the summoning array. He had deliberately chosen a quiet, gentle tutelary.
Then he began to chant. The Crimson King's red hair lifted in a wind that was not there; psychic lightning shone around him, tearing at the darkness.
Under normal circumstances, Magnus would need only a summoning circle and a single thought to call forth enough tutelaries to serve an entire city. But now his brows furrowed deeper; fine beads of sweat gathered.
He could barely sense his tutelary. There were too many blanks here—too many blanks—weakening his link to the great ocean.
Perhaps he should give up. But the shame of failing a simple summoning spell before all these people was something Magnus could not accept.
His chanting grew louder, psychic lightning thickening instantly around him.
Sanguinius frowned. The Angel clenched his fist in frustrated anger. What in the Throne's name is Magnus doing?!
Hades's gaze darkened. Did Tzeentch flee? Is that it?
If so, Magnus would be punished for lying at most, not for proving himself guilty of a cosmic crime.
Hades tightened his grip on his sword hilt. Come on, Magnus, he thought softly. Do it.
Sweat slid down Magnus's cheek. His sweeping gestures made him look even more like a medieval sorcerer. His heart hammered as he desperately searched the great ocean for a familiar presence—
Above!
. . .
"It's trying to escape!!!"
Korklan's scream exploded in Vorx's ear. Vorx clung to the Custodian's convulsing left leg on the ground and yanked a white-round from his belt, crushing it instantly.
Bang!
The thing inside the Custodian let out an impossible, piercing shriek.
Bjorn, who held the Custodian's right arm, hacked violently as the powder choked him, but he kept his grip tight on Amon's struggling hand, kicking the Custodian's side for leverage.
Jin's massive body crashed down on the Custodian, on most of Bjorn, and on part of Vorx. The Tech-Priest was slamming his mechadendrites repeatedly into the Custodian's neck.
The four of them writhed across the floor. Amon fought desperately to stand, but the other three refused to let him get the leverage he needed.
Korklan stood beside the rolling heap of bodies, roaring as he jabbed the Martian axe into whatever part of the Custodian he could reach beneath the tangle of limbs. Vorx was fairly certain Korklan had already chopped him twice by accident.
Hawser cowered in the corner of the room, shaking uncontrollably. Moments earlier the Custodian had begun giggling, muttering incomprehensible words—and in the next instant Jin had rammed into him, Korklan had been thrown against the wall, and Vorx and Bjorn had charged into the room.
Bjorn charged in first, taking the Custodian's attack head-on. After the blast of a black-round, Vorx dove forward and rammed into the Custodian's waist, plunging a syringe straight into the gap Korklan had torn open in the armor.
The unsettling fluid was injected, and the Custodian began to convulse. That gave them their chance—between Bjorn and Vorx, they dragged the fight to the ground. The Custodian's weapon was knocked aside, and then kicked even farther away by Korklan.
The Custodian roared in fury. Once, he nearly managed to stand, but Jin leapt and slammed down on him, and Hawser heard a sharp crack of breaking bone.
"ANOTHER WHITE-ROUND!!!"
Korklan bellowed. Vorx spat blood.
"I'm almost out! Only one left!!!"
"Little bastard who goes into battle without a gun! The Lord of the Underworld spits on you!!!"
Korklan shrieked, bringing the axe down on the Custodian's head again.
Vorx cursed—he had already thrown a dozen white-rounds! And only one black-round!
"What are you afraid of?! The Sisters of Silence will be here soon!"
Bjorn roared.
No—they couldn't let the Sisters come! They needed evidence, not even a recording but living proof! A blank would drive away their last hope—
"NO SISTERS OF SILENCE!!"
Jin and Korklan shouted at the same time. Then Korklan roared:
"Blow open the floor! Blast it!!! The great hall is right below!!"
"What the hell are you doing?! Korklan! You think you can blow open the flooring of a fortified building?!"
Jin's electronic voice cracked violently, but Vorx saw the mech-sage's red robes shift—an auxillary limb extended, holding…
Explosives.
"Throne above!!! What are you trying to do?!!"
Bjorn shouted in furious confusion, but the three maniacs who had once served in the Death Guard paid him no attention.
"THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!!"
Korklan screamed, half-mad. The sage's body trembled, scattering components and explosives across the ground. Vorx suspected he had ripped out every part capable of detonating.
Vorx despaired once more, realizing he never should have come here. But Mortarion's warning echoed in his mind. He clenched his teeth and roared:
"No! It's going to escape! We can't—"
The Custodian convulsed violently, psychic radiance bursting forth. Vorx swore he heard the monster's desperate scream.
Someone was strengthening its connection to this space!
Vorx's heart leapt. Praise that kind and helpful soul! He ripped all the black-rounds from his gear and tossed them to Korklan—taking another kick from the Custodian for the trouble. His cheekbone was surely shattered.
"In the name of Hades!"
. . .
Hades instinctively lifted his head.
. . .
Korklan roared, and the Magos fired at the mound of explosives piled beside the Custodian. The first spark ignited—
BOOM!!!
With his electronic eyes, Hades was likely one of the few in the hall able to see everything clearly.
Time seemed to slow. Within a single instant, countless things happened.
The ceiling above the grand stage blew open. Thick dust swallowed the entire view. Hades saw several bodies falling—
He recognized Vorx, a Space Wolf, a Custodian, and Jin.
Before Hades's mind could even form a question, a mechadendrite shot out from the jagged opening above and, faster than thought, snatched Jin—who had been clinging to the Custodian—and yanked him back up.
Light shone on the falling debris and swirling dust—inside it were Vorx, the Space Wolf, and the Custodian.
They were plummeting directly toward—Hades lowered his gaze—Magnus's face, still frozen in a triumphant smile. The summoning circle beneath him glowed as though the ritual had succeeded—
The center of the summoning circle.
At that moment, the Angel rose in horror. Dorn stood up, reaching for his blade. Mortarion's hand froze halfway to his pistol. Fulgrim's mouth was already open in a shout. Corax tried to dissolve into the shadows.
Did Tzeentch just get handed the greatest assist of all time?
Hades thought as he raised his sword. He had been warned early by Korklan's prayer—he was the first to react.
He watched the mass of bodies drop straight into the ritual circle. In the instant they struck the floor, there was a moment of silence—yet most still had not processed what they were seeing. Magnus, carried by sheer momentum, finished the final note of his incantation.
A soft detonation.
Psychic energy erupted.
A twisted blue silhouette flashed across every retina—too brief for anyone to know whether it was illusion or reality—
Hades leapt.
A scream that had barely begun to form was abruptly snuffed out. Darkness flickered like a broken frame of memory. When people regained awareness—standing, tears at their eyes, trembling as they stared toward the center of the stage—
They saw the Head of the Silent Sisterhood standing beside the collapsed form of Magnus.
The broken blade rested lightly at the Crimson King's side, as though with the slightest pressure it would—
Hades bowed his head, absolute darkness covering his face. Crimson light glared straight at Magnus.
Blinding light shone behind Hades, outlining him in a harsh halo.
"Others may not understand,"
"Magnus,"
the Lord of the Underworld said softly—so softly that only the gasping Magnus could hear him.
"But I know exactly what you were doing."
"So, Magnus… do you know what you were doing?"
Magnus, trembling, looked toward the summoning circle. The light was already gone. He saw the Custodian lying within it, barely clinging to life.
He gasped uncontrollably, unable to breathe. As the creator of the circle, he naturally—he naturally—
Magnus gagged violently.
Upon the throne, the Master of Mankind rose. His eyes, terrible and wordless in authority, churned with vast golden storm.
Magnus, do you admit your guilt? +
. . .
Out of everyone's sight, Mortarion quietly kicked Vorx—who Hades had just knocked down and who was clutching his mouth to stop himself from groaning—gently backward.
On Russ's side, the Space Wolf also suddenly became obedient, lying down beside the Wolf King like a small hill.
Clinging to the jagged edge of the shattered ceiling, Jin and Korklan exchanged a high-five.
For the Lord of the Underworld, the two of them cheered in binary—while also conveniently packaging a virus into the message.
<+>
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