Chapter 250: The End
The debate had already ended before it had even begun.
The Custodians were always a delicate presence—and now, at this moment, an even more delicate one.
For a time, not a single Primarch spoke. Each harbored their own thoughts, their eyes fixed on the two figures before Hades.
Outside the castle, the night pressed on, ever deeper.
Hades smiled faintly and looked at Charon.
"Quite the trouble, isn't it."
"This is our duty, Lord of the Underworld."
Hades nodded, then turned again toward Ahriman's side.
"It seems there has been some misunderstanding between us. I think, perhaps, the greatest point of contention lies with myself."
No sooner had Hades spoken than Dorn, Guilliman, and Horus all realized something was amiss.
To those without a psychic perspective, events were not unfolding in that way at all.
Yet, to their surprise, on the other side, Magnus seemed to acknowledge Hades' words.
But… wasn't this originally Mortarion and Magnus' quarrel over psychic powers? When had the focus shifted?
Mortarion remained silent, arms folded across his chest behind the table.
He disliked the Custodians, yes—but that didn't mean he disliked watching them give Magnus trouble.
Hades' smile lingered, as if the clash just now had never happened. But no one present would take that smile at face value.
"Then… I'll trouble you, Charon, to explain."
At Hades' words, Charon stepped forward. The golden armor he wore threw back a blinding white light, his red sideburns flaring wild and proud.
Hades stayed where he was. Behind him stood the tall figure of the Sister of Silence, clad in black armor. She held her greatsword with both hands, its tip planted into the ground.
Her water-blue eyes, devoid of emotion, swept across the hall. She stood firm behind Hades, wordless.
Charon bowed once more, his voice cold and unwavering as it rang out:
"My lords, forgive my intrusion, but the situation is urgent—we had no choice but to arrive without delay."
The words were humble, yet paired with Charon's tone, they seemed to stray far from humility.
"Lord Hades is a Blank recognized by my master, and is the head of the Imperium's Silent Sisterhood. By the Lord's own will, he is temporarily stationed with the Fourteenth Legion."
In an instant, every Primarch's gaze fixed on Hades, their eyes sweeping up and down.
Hades stood calm and steady—
But this was all a façade.
Beneath the composed exterior, he was screaming inside. He had no idea when he suddenly became the so-called head of the Sister of Silencehood, nor why his presence here was labeled as "temporary."
Stop casually assigning him jobs! Was this a decide first, tell him later situation?!
And what's more—
The sound of Mortarion's sudden, heavy breathing behind him made Hades realize he had been set up once again.
But compared with Hades and Mortarion, the other Primarchs each had their own interpretations.
Dorn would not press the matter further. Guilliman, after some thought, would let it pass as well.
The Angel pondered.
To him, this seemed more like farce than anything else, a coincidence of timing. Yet in his mind, it was not impossible for the Imperium to create forces specialized against psykers—the Black Ships were proof enough of that.
As for the Custodians' treatment of Hades… this might well mark him as something akin to Malcador's Blank counter to psykers—or some other kind of anti-psyker entity.
At the very least, the golden psychic aura on Hades was not what the Angel had feared it to be.
He exhaled a small breath of relief.
Horus, on the other hand, kept silent. No one could guess his thoughts.
But in Hades… Horus saw a possibility.
Magnus,, on the other hand, was shaken to his core.
He could not comprehend how such a being could ever be categorized among Blanks.
He. Did. Not. Understand.
And in that moment, Magnus despaired.
If the ignorant and unlearned could still confuse the two, then for Magnus—who had studied the Warp with precision—he knew full well that they were not the same kind of being.
The difference was as vast as that between a blueberry and a blue whale!
This was a farce, calling a stag a horse! This was deliberate! This was distortion of the truth!
He wanted to instinctively rebuke them, but he sat at the place of silence. To speak rashly would only give Mortarion the chance to mock him.
Magnus seethed with rage.
He began to use psychic whispers to nudge Ahriman, to convey the flaw he had noticed, to pass along his will.
Ahriman sat silent before him.
But at last, Ahriman spoke, his voice calm:
"…Perhaps we require the Imperium's official definition of a Blank."
"No comment."
Charon cut the matter short with icy finality, his cold gaze locking onto Ahriman.
Then he stepped back, retreating to stand beside the Sister of Silence, positioning himself once again behind Hades.
"So then,"
Hades said, "At the very least, regarding me, the accusations and insults just now are invalid."
Hades still wore that faint smile. Guilliman knew that smile well. At times it could be mistaken for kindness, even by those it was aimed at—but in truth, it was the smile of one who already held the upper hand.
"In the Death Guard there exists myself—a special Blank. Thus, the Death Guard has always maintained an exchange of information with the Imperium in this regard."
"Well then—"
Hades said with a cheerful air, "Has the Thousand Sons, so adept in psychic arts, also kept the Imperium equally informed in their research of the warp?"
The last syllable faded, and the hall fell silent enough to hear a pin drop.
Dorn and Guilliman's expressions suggested this was only natural.
Horus, who had been brooding, straightened his chest.
The Angel's pupils shrank, just for an instant.
But Magnus and the Thousand Sons froze into silence, like statues, unmoving, their faces anything but pleasant.
They had been questioned. They had been challenged. But could they really answer that question?
Hades could feel the Warp field sparking with psychic static around them. Out of courtesy, he did not dampen it for them—
Doing so might alarm the others.
Magnus kept silent. He seemed impatient now, agitated, hurried. He wanted to conceal something. His lips twitched unconsciously, as though he wanted to speak.
But he said nothing. He held his posture, rigid.
Of course he couldn't say anything!
If Magnus truly could answer, Hades might as well have seen a ghost.
For the list of Magnus' blunders already included—
Sacrificing one of his own eyes to Tzeentch in hopes of curing the Flesh-Change afflicting the Thousand Sons—only to discover that a single eye was merely considered a down payment.
Encouraging the Thousand Sons to cultivate "tutelaries"—which were, in fact, trinkets of Tzeentch's daemons. Magnus at least grasped the implications of this, and so he never allowed his sons to reveal these tutelaries before outsiders.
Conducting secret deals with the Forge World of Zhao-Arkhad, developing psychically powered automata—
And, to make matters worse, Zhao-Arkhad was a Forge World near Barbarus… which the Thousand Sons had stolen away.
Oh—wait. Come to think of it, the Death Guard had their own variants of those psyker-driven automata.
Ahaha, well then, that last accusation automatically collapses.
Hades kept tallying up Magnus' foolish deeds in his mind. He had already decided to ask Charon later if a message could be sent to the Emperor.
Who knew what Magnus might do once provoked further.
The other side still hadn't responded, so Hades simply stood there, unhurried and composed.
Ahriman's lips moved. He wanted to speak—but the Thousand Sons had indeed conducted far too many studies frowned upon by the Imperium. The Imperium, representing the will of the common man, naturally bore narrow prejudices against psykers and mutants.
He wanted to refute. But Ahriman's gaze fell upon the Custodian and the Sister of Silence standing behind Hades: the Custodian's piercing gold, the Sister's deep, steadfast black.
Ahriman realized then that this was a hopeless game—a shameless contest where judges and contestants colluded. They provoked the quarrel, dismissed the Thousand Sons' every endeavor, and then lured the Thousand Sons into striking back—
So that in the end, they would fall straight into the trap.
The Thousand Sons could never answer such a question directly. Yet their silence, or any attempt to deflect, had already revealed their stance.
Despicable, despicable Death Guard!
Behind Ahriman, he could feel Magnus' fury and helpless sorrow. Magnus kept his outward appearance steady with psychic force, but Ahriman knew well—his father was already drowning in negative emotion.
Perhaps their silence dragged on too long, for Dorn at last spoke, his brow furrowed:
"If you have already reached a conclusion, then do not waste any more time. There are matters of far greater importance that await our attention."
He could not understand why the loyalty of a single Death Guard had to be scrutinized. To him, it was no more than the petty emotions of two immature Primarchs.
Nor was he satisfied with the Thousand Sons' silence. Though Dorn knew that every Legion had its share of inconvenient secrets, that did not mean he couldn't feel displeased at such evasions.
Charon inclined his head.
"If there is nothing further, then we shall take our leave."
Charon and the Sister of Silence were the first to depart. The Death Guard followed soon after. There was nothing more to be said. For the victors to linger would only make the defeated all the more humiliated.
As he left, Mortarion gave a short, sharp sneer—but he was quickly pulled away by Hades and Garro.
Dorn and Guilliman offered a few token words of comfort to Magnus, then also departed the chaotic hall. They could speak further with Horus aboard the Vengeful Spirit.
The Angel and Horus stayed behind to console Magnus in turn, but in the end, Magnus left sullenly, his sons trailing behind him, their morale struck low.
After Magnus had gone, the Angel and Horus spoke together at length.
. . . .
"Er… Charon, could I—"
Hades' words were cut short by Charon's sudden gesture.
Charon raised a hand in a halt signal, then snapped to attention in salute.
From his armor, the Custodian drew forth a letter.
A letter that gleamed with golden light, its paper dusted with gold powder, bound with a shimmering golden ribbon, glittering and sparkling brilliantly.
He handed the letter to Hades.
Hades arched a brow. Well, no surprise there.
He accepted it—but the letter did not seem to open. Hades stared at the glittering little object.
Then he understood.
Channeling the Black Domain into it, the letter unlocked at once.
And sure enough, at the very end of the message, the signature read: [The Emperor].
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