Chapter 294: The Tide of Thought
[Solar System]
Hades was groggy now—only just realizing that Malcador's approach was what one might call "courtesy first, force later."
Before he even had the chance to walk around Terra and digest, Hades was "invited" onto the operating table by an impatient Malcador—without so much as a moment to prepare himself mentally.
In those dark, endless years past, Hades had often woken to find his innards twisted together in unbearable pain, only to be immediately subjected to skill tests—before being sent right back onto the surgical table.
Now Hades finally understood why scientists—especially those who studied life—so often ended up as villains in horror stories.
Fortunately, this time it was finally over! His expression sharpened with relief.
Through the tireless efforts of the researchers, Hades had become bigger, stronger, tougher, more—WAAAAAAAAGH!!!
WAAAAAAGH!!!
His entire physical baseline had been given a massive upgrade. According to Malcador, so long as his nutrition kept up, he could reach foundational stats on par with a Primarch.
—Of course, the old man never said which Primarch.
There had been a small episode during this period. When Hades' cranial augmetics were being iterated and replaced, the scientists urgently summoned Malcador. After a few hushed words with them, the old man turned a strangely amused gaze toward Hades.
But when Hades tried to ask about it, Malcador only waved it off and returned to his usual calm.
"At the very least, this is nothing we need to concern ourselves with now. As for the future… let us first see if we still have one."
Reject the riddler, start with yourself. Thus Hades repeatedly pestered Malcador at his desk after surgery, until at last he extracted a clearer (if impatient) explanation.
"In the history of the Great Crusade, there have indeed been instances where entire squads—sometimes Astartes, sometimes auxilia—suddenly vanished without a trace."
"My Lord's answer was that we need not worry. This presence holds no particular malice toward humanity. In fact, quite the opposite—when it comes to the struggle against Chaos, its stance is aligned with ours."
"In fact…"
Beneath the hood, Malcador's eyes sharpened.
"The Master of Mankind foresaw this long ago."
"As for the details—you will have to ask Him yourself."
Hades blinked, about to ask further—but Malcador drove him out with his staff-turned-club. Once the Sigillite realized Hades was bound by a simple moral code—namely, don't hit old men—the usually cautious and mild old man descended… to something rather less honorable.
Even so, Malcador still felt that the mental blows Hades dealt him far outweighed any bruises he left on Hades.
What gave the old man some relief was that this torment was nearly over. As the final stages of surgery wrapped up (dragged out because of Hades' ridiculous resistance to drugs, forcing the staff to use higher doses and take longer), this damned man could finally carry his damned questions off to bother someone else.
Before that, however, they needed to make one more stop on Mars. And… the Master of Mankind had left Malcador another daunting task.
On the Martian wastes, their shuttle kicked up clouds of dust as it descended. This secretive journey to Mars began, as Hades insisted, with a visit to a Techmarine base—nonnegotiable, according to him.
As before, Malcador leaned against the window, feigning sleep. But this time, beneath his cloak, a heavy copy of the Lectitio Divinitatus rested in the old man's lap.
If one wished to spark a faith, there was no better place than Mars.
But clearly, Malcador had no intention of completing the work himself.
. . . .
[The Endurance]
"My lord, Pluto has not yet realized His power. Too much humanity still binds Him. But even so, this is His choice. And what we must do… is obey."
In the dim, cavernous chamber, Mortarion raised an eyebrow, staring at Magos Korklan standing before him.
The words just spoken had, of course, come from the vox-synthesizer mounted in the Magos chest.
Mortarion lounged casually in his chair. Having only just finished speaking with Horus, the Primarch had no interest in continuing any false displays of courtesy here, aboard the Endurance.
Though falsehood had, ironically, won him favor in Horus' eyes. Ever since Mortarion had penned those two letters, he no longer shied away from dissembling. It was not that he could not—it was simply that he had not wished to, before.
[Hades leads you directly, and this is how he allows you to behave?]
"Not so, my lord."
Korklan lowered his head obediently. The blackstone pendant on his chest swayed with the movement, catching a faint gleam of light.
Mortarion narrowed his eyes dangerously.
It reminded him of their conversation on Mars. Back then, this Magos had not dared to display such confidence before a Primarch.
[Then give me a reason for such boldness.]
"You are not the same as Pluto. I believe you do not resent such things."
Merely indifferent, Mortarion thought blandly. Part of his mind still lingered on the hollow courtesies exchanged with Horus.
[…You think me tolerant?]
"Not at all, my lord."
Korklan bowed again.
"I only wished to show you our devotion to Pluto. We follow His commands faithfully. We do not twist them, nor invent them."
Neither servile nor arrogant. An intriguing answer. Mortarion found his interest piqued, reflecting on what path had shaped this Magos into what he was now.
[Korklan,] rasped the Lord of Death, the weight of his presence pressing down across the room, [why do you believe he is a god?]
[And why choose to worship him?]
He saw the indicator lights flicker violently across Korklan's faceplate—apparently a sign of agitation. Hades had once mentioned such things, though Mortarion had been preoccupied with more urgent matters at the time.
"My lord, forgive my boldness."
Korklan emitted a sharp electronic chirp before continuing.
"The first question is irrelevant. It leads only into endless quibbling over definitions and concepts. The true meaning lies in the choice of the believer. We place our faith in Him. That is our decision, and it has nothing to do with Him."
[Faith in him—yet nothing to do with him?]
Korklan bowed his head deeply. Mortarion frowned.
It smacked of madness—or idiocy. Mortarion knew well that some humans gave themselves wholly to objects of fanatic devotion, even unto death.
Such fervor often blinded them to logic. To them, faith itself was a kind of profit, in place of coin or power.
And yet… as he often told himself, Mortarion did not care.
The Primarch knew such people were plentiful: zealots for the Emperor, for the Primarchs, for celebrated champions. The Imperium never lacked them.
But for the Cult of the Underworld to spin an entire doctrine from nothing more than Hades' persona…
Even as Hades himself opposed and suppressed them.
Mortarion stared silently at Korklan. Once, he might have dismissed the man as a mere lunatic.
But this smelled of concealment. Korklan was hiding something.
Was Korklan deliberately trying to lower his guard? The Lord of Death recalled… the day when Hades had spoken privately with these zealots in the interrogation chamber…
Yes. He remembered now. The Lantern Bearer, Ugo, had been present as well.
Why, for something as trivial as a question of faith, would Hades have invited a psyker?
Mortarion's face darkened. He opened a comm channel.
[Ugo. Come here. Now.]
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