Chapter 337: Only the Emperor Will Be Hurt
The Great Rift had always been a region where the material world and the warp bled into each other, a place where the gods cast sidelong glances and reached greedy hands.
The shattered god of matter roared.
The Holder of the Nightbringer sensed the violently unstable psychic currents in the region; the tatters beneath its black shroud whipped outward as it tried to disperse the spreading psychic laws.
But this was the Great Rift, the veil isolating realspace and the warp was already in ruins.
If Khorne could channel his authority over blood and violence to extend his power here, then that meant the Emperor could as well!
Even though the Emperor was now far from the omnipotent God-Emperor of terrifying legends; even though far-off alien interference weakened His power; even though there were no sanctified candles or ecclesiarchal liturgies here to call down a god…
Still—in the biting wind, countless Magos and World Eaters shouted the names of the Omnissiah and the Emperor as they charged the enemy. The brilliance that humanity erupted with in that moment was the perfect medium to resonate with the pulse of the Master of Mankind.
Amid the thick scent of blood—a burst of golden light!
Hades held the broken blade. The blinding gold radiating from it pressed down upon him with unspeakable weight. The Emperor's fingerbone rose from his chest, yanking against the chain so hard it nearly strangled him. For a moment, Hades felt as though the Emperor was going to choke him to death.
To avoid disrupting the Emperor's psychic focus—and to keep the fingerbone from continuing to throttle him—Hades withdrew his black domain as much as he could.
Using the bone as a conduit, flecks of golden light bloomed across his dark armor, flowing from his gauntlet into the Anathame's massive length.
Obeying the fingerbone that was nearly killing him, Hades raised the sword.
The Titans before him boomed with deep, heavy detonations, explosions lighting his face.
For a heartbeat, through the jagged edge of the broken blade, Hades glimpsed a knight riding a mule—his black hair flowing sharply in the wind, leaving Hades only a heroic silhouette.
A colossal, sky-darkening monster writhed and roared before him, but the Emperor on his shabby mule lifted His sword with steady, absolute certainty.
He seemed to say: Watch closely. I'm only doing this once.
Golden ripples surged across the Anathame, and in the next instant, a colossal arc of golden sword-light cleaved straight toward the Holder of the Nightbringer!
The Holder lifted a hand.
Space twisted violently before it, but the golden blade kept driving straight through!
At the same time, as Hades was guided to swing, the fingerbone at his throat flashed again—almost scolding him, disappointed. And under the crushing psychic weight of the Emperor, Hades could barely breathe. He hated warp power.
Around him, the Magos, witnessing a miracle with their own eyes, erupted into a frenzy:
"Praise the Omnissiah! Praise the Machine-God!"
After the slash, the dimming fingerbone suddenly flashed once more.
Hades' pupils dilated.
He suddenly heard—like a deaf man hearing the chaotic world for the first time.
He perceived prayers directed toward him—no… not toward Hades.
He felt the presence that did not originally belong to him.
And then, in the next heartbeat, he fell back into the silent ocean.
But it was enough.
Hades seized the intangible lightning once more, ignoring the discomfort from the Emperor's psychic pressure. The broken metal beneath his feet began to float, green lightning crackling around him.
The sword stroke once used by a dragonslayer had wounded the Holder of the Nightbringer—but not enough to shatter it.
The Holder rose, and when its attention returned to its "dessert"…
It saw, within the furious Titan battle-line, that drifting figure surrounded by floating metal, violent green lightning arcing between the god-machines and the lone man.
Warp energy and physical law began to wrestle against the Nightbringer's domain.
Sacred binharic litanies whispered through the vox. Shells slammed into loading chambers. Overheated ion conduits cooled in an instant. The god-machines roared and unleashed their barrage upon the being once more—but now their ammunition was nothing like before.
With the power of the Void Dragon coursing through them, the Titans were utterly ecstatic, pushed to their absolute limit.
The Omnissiah favored them!
. . .
Angron pounded furiously on the cabin wall. The Stormbird still fought through the raging storm; they had not yet reached the battlefield. The Nails buzzed inside his skull.
He listened to the engines' thunder. Squinting through the snowstorm, he saw the colossal war machines attacking with reckless abandon—some were twisted by an unseen force, but in the next second, the warped metal mended itself, flowing like living steel to re-cover the damaged Titan plating.
He saw green lightning flickering over every machine in the field. Metal crawled like vines over broken surfaces.
"F—!"
What in the warp was that?
Angron cursed. It looked disturbingly similar to the metal skeletons they had just fought—but surely the Mechanicus supporting them didn't possess such abilities…
Unless Hades was some kind of witch?
Restless, Angron paced the cabin. He hated fighting alongside psykers or Librarians—it drove the Nails deeper, and he despised that sensation.
But his shattered thoughts slipped back into their rightful place. There was no need to think about any of that.
Angron needed to do only one thing:
He would fight alongside the leader of his reinforcements—until victory, or death.
The Stormbird engines roared. Altitude dropped sharply. The hatch opened before the Primarch, and a blast of icy blood-stained wind and battle-fury surged in.
Angron leapt out.
The Lord of the Red Sands hurled his chain-axe, Gorechild, straight at the floating mass of black tattered cloth.
"WAR!!!"
The Primarch's thunderous roar drowned out everything, the fury of the Nails blazing through every thought.
But on the far side of the battlefield, a cry was ripped apart by the storm:
"Angron?!"
Within the Titan formation, Hades stared in shock as Angron dropped straight toward the Holder of the Nightbringer. The Primarch's sudden arrival shattered Hades' plan and dealt a devastating blow to the already fragile stability of his mind.
Hades immediately clenched his fist, canceling the next volley of fire, and ordered every Titan—previously in controlled retreat—to charge at full speed.
But they were too late.
The distance between Angron and the Holder of the Nightbringer was shrinking rapidly—and the Holder wasn't even paying attention to Angron.
The Primarch had no idea what kind of ultimate being a C'tan shardbearer truly was.
Hades felt a mouthful of blood rise in his throat as he watched Angron plummet.
No—No!!!
Lightning flared violently around Hades.
Metal beneath his feet surged.
The Head of the Silent Sisterhood leapt upward with explosive force—for the first time attempting to face the Holder of the Nightbringer alone.
His goal wasn't to wound the C'tan, it was to drag the Nightbringer's killing intent onto himself and away from Angron.
Why in the Throne's name was Angron here?! He should've just knocked that Primarch out cold the moment he saw him!
From the corner of his eye, Hades saw the Primarch get blasted away before he even made contact with the Holder of the Nightbringer. Angron was thrown back—but in the instant before the shockwave erupted, Hades clearly saw a surge of murderous crimson aura blocking the blow for him—
Khorne.
You're STILL here?!!!
But Hades' internal scream was cut short as the Holder of the Nightbringer struck again.
Green lightning surged around Hades, veiling him from the C'tan's deathly gaze, while the floating blackstone cracked and groaned in the shattered space around them.
Hades coughed blood. Two Titans broke formation and charged to intercept, saving him as they hurled themselves at the shardbearer, forcing the entity to divert its attack.
The moment Hades hit the ground he was already barking orders, directing his forces as he sprinted toward Angron.
Even now, even at a time like this, Khorne is still trying to tempt Angron?!
Hades panted harshly. The Void Dragon's power had blocked part of the Holder's strike for him—but he had still taken a very real hit.
He felt the crushing suffocation of the Emperor's psychic force constraining him, the finger-bones still tightening around him.
Hades shouted:
"Angron!!!"
He saw the Primarch stagger to his feet—but something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Angron seemed to be slowly losing his sense of self.
Hades watched in horror as blood pooled at the Primarch's feet.
He felt his last thread of sanity snap.
Behind him, the Holder of the Nightbringer fixed its gaze once more upon the Head of the Silent Sisterhood. Hades could feel the crushing weight of space itself beginning to press down again.
In that instant, many thoughts flooded his mind.
Time seemed to stop.
He saw his life flash before him.
He remembered the miserable days on Barbarus—the first time he learned to use a hoe to break open the hardened earth, the first time he ate corn and nearly spat it out from the bitterness—he remembered the grueling overtime of the Death Guard, and the deep resentment—along with the dark circles—he constantly saw in Garro's eyes.
He remembered Macragge, the place he still hadn't visited… That promise with Guilliman was probably going to fall through now.
Hades then thought of Mortarion.
He hoped he could at least bring his ashes back—maybe Mortarion would use his plentiful ashes to plant a flower.
Finally, Hades thought of those two human traffickers, the Emperor and Malcador.
If not for them, he would probably still be happily working endless overtime in the warm embrace of the Death Guard.
Even in his final moment, the Emperor's finger-bone still wouldn't let him go.
Even though it had guided him to feel the Void Dragon's power, all of this was ultimately futile—
Hades's thoughts snagged suddenly.
He remembered: the Anathame that absorbed golden light far more readily than his armor… the crushing pressure that had been present ever since that golden light first flared… and the way this finger-bone had always seemed to be strangling him.
No—It wasn't that the Emperor wanted to strangle him…
This was just… just simple incompatibility between psychic energy and his Black Domain!
And the Anathame, with its excellent psychic conductivity, could naturally channel the Emperor's power far more effectively.
And the reason he felt "unwell" was because the Emperor's psychic force was suppressing part of his Black Domain!
Hades opened his mouth slightly.
He seemed to understand what he had to do.
Emperor… sorry in advance.
He raised a hand and tore the finger-bone necklace from his neck.
In the final instant, Hades's roar tore through the blizzard that Khorne had oh-so-deliberately arranged—and stabbed straight into Angron's ears:
"ANGRON—OPEN YOUR MOUTH!!!!"
Mind blank, burning only with battle-lust and murderous rage, Angron instinctively turned toward the familiar voice.
He probably didn't understand what Hades was yelling—but it didn't matter. What mattered was that the Lord of the Red Sands's mouth was hanging open, panting.
The Emperor's little finger bone shot straight into Angron's mouth with pinpoint accuracy.
The next instant, a burst of golden light nearly blinded Hades.
And in the same moment, while his back was completely exposed, the Holder of the Nightbringer struck again—sending Hades flying once more.
. . .
"MY LORD, WHAT HAPPENED?!"
The Regent of Terra flung open the office door, dignity entirely forgotten.
Malcador stared in horror at the Emperor—who was sitting at his usual desk.
But the desk was split open, as if cleaved by overwhelming force.
The documents on it were sliced cleanly in half.
The Emperor held a pen… the end of which slid right off the pen shaft.
Silently, the Emperor raised his eyes.
He seemed like he wanted to say something—but wasn't sure what he should even say.
Malcador stared, waiting for the explanation of the Master of Mankind.
At last, the Emperor's lips moved slightly.
"...Nothing."
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