Chapter 345: I, Hades, Am the Master of the Great Rift!
Give Hades a little time, and he'll hand you back a world with productivity exploding off the charts.
The Emperor of Mankind once said that he alone was an entire army; the Imperial Regent, Malcador the Sigillite, hurried to add that this referred specifically to Hades' appetite.
He—the thorn in the eyes of the Four Chaos Gods, the rising star of the physical universe, the one who drives countless machine-oil-sniffing Tech-Priest insane, commander of the Emperor's nth Legion, the Death Guard Canteen Destroyer, the Confection-Thieving King of Barbarus, the reliable senior figure forever haunting the dreams of tech-sergeants…
He is Hades, Lord of the Underworld.
And now, yet another heavy crown is about to be placed upon his head—
Thunderous emerald light burst forth.
Hades kicked over a bizarrely shaped sacrificial pole and casually hurled a brick that killed the last cultist trying to flee in the distance.
Now, taking Faos as the center and drawing a circle within the Great Rift, the very last planet of this star region had declared submission.
The entire Rift whispered his name. On worlds that had enjoyed tens of thousands of years of peace, dark monsters now descended from the sky with hordes of madmen, shouting "In the Emperor's name!" as they burned, killed, and plundered—committing every crime imaginable.
Living beings shunned them, and even on the most isolated and enclosed planets, people spoke of that monster. Under the subconscious influence of psychic resonance, they didn't even dare mention his name.
At first, they called him the Monster.
After he burned the fifth planet to ashes, they called him the Unmentionable Defiler.
And once he conquered an entire tranquil star region, they began to speak with reverent fear, calling him the Master of the Great Rift.
To this, at the center of the event vortex, the Lord of the Rift, the Star-Slayer, the Death Guard Canteen Terminator—Hades, after another successful conquest, half-squatting and gripping a brick, commented:
"Let me catch whoever gave me that title—no good fruit for you, I swear. Burn your planet, scatter your sacrificial junk all over the place, and you still dare chant the names of the Four? I'll give you a brick and see if you keep acting crazy."
. . .
In the dim sky above, brilliant fire blossomed.
Another triumph.
Among the towering, densely packed structures of Faos, flecks of red spilled from crevices as the industrial behemoths of fire and electricity roared and gears turned without rest.
Faos was still under construction; on unfinished scaffolding, red banners fluttered everywhere, bearing slogans such as:
"Productivity Is the Hard Truth!"
"Down With All Demons—Victory Belongs to Humanity!"
"If someone near you suddenly falls ill, becomes irritable, please contact the Regional Archmagos immediately."
Rumor had it these signs were the Omnissiah's personal preference, but who exactly came up with the slogans was a mystery.
The Magos, who were finally allowed to step away from their workstations, surged into the streets and rushed toward the docks, where the Omnissiah's Grand Vessel was slowly pulling in.
Here they could glimpse the glory of the Omnissiah, cheer as emerald static crackled across their robes, and if fortune favored them, even catch one of the Omnissiah's scattered spoils of war—some Magos had even snatched fragments of an STC!
The Grand Vessel halted, unleashing an ear-splitting electronic roar.
Hades paused. Behind him, Archmagos Hysen and little Herila clutched their trophies. Then he smiled and strode down the ramp.
The crowd erupted in cheers. Hades snapped his fingers with practiced ease, emerald lightning flaring instantly and drawing screams of excitement.
Hades walked casually along the docks, half-dried, sticky blood clinging to his armored boots. Behind him, the mechanical tide flowed steadily—they had just taken a mining world and, as a bonus, cleaned out its entire warehouse.
Hades remarked that if something was free for the taking, he'd be a fool not to take it.
After he tearfully sent Charon off, the Imperium went dead silent—as if it had died altogether. For five years, not a single transmission arrived. But considering the instability of Warp travel and the unique nature of the Great Rift, Hades was willing to understand.
And so, with no Imperial supplies, Hades dragged along a half-ruined Forge World and a half-ruined World Eaters Legion, and, relying on the "good" neighbors of the other planets, managed to build his army from scratch.
Fighting, raiding, and building infrastructure simultaneously—and since they had no need for diplomacy, their development was even a bit faster.
Over five years, Hades watched the barren plains of Faos slowly transform into a sea of scaffolding, steel being devoured by titanic machines that forged magnificent wonders.
The first to be completed was the Twenty-One Cathedral, located at the very heart of the former holy war. A massive slab of blackstone served as the floor, with a heavy proclamation dais at its center, ringed by sculptures of the twenty-one fallen—each with a distinct expression frozen in time.
Mortals tried their best to imitate the Omnissiah, and so the cathedral had no artificial lighting. Instead, faintly luminescent metal flowed in liquid sheets down the walls and over the backs of seats, serving as the building's only fixed light source.
Anyone entering had to pick up a candle at the door. With metallic powder added to the wax, the flame burned with a cold, ghostly green hue.
But the cathedral's true secret lay deeper still.
Beneath the heavy slab of blackstone—far below the reach of any instrument or signal—the captive screamed endlessly, powering the entire planet.
When the Magos above prayed and meditated, they heard the sighs of the Omnissiah and the wails of the condemned—an experience that calmed their minds and helped them reach true enlightenment.
Compared to other superstition-ridden chapels, this cathedral truly deserved the name "sanctuary." In the foreseeable future, countless crystallizations of human knowledge would be born here.
As the heart of faith and energy, the Twenty-One Cathedral held the highest level of defensive protection, with anti-air and anti-explosive systems designed personally by the Omnissiah—though those systems were not yet fully finished.
After disembarking, Hades did not immediately go to the World Eaters' sector to visit Angron. Upon realizing Hades could not leave for the time being, the Lord of the Red Sands immediately declared that the World Eaters would await his return.
With Hades present, Angron had naturally seen very little combat in the past five years. Legion duties had been split between Lhorke and Khârn, and Hades was gratified to see that compared to Garro and Vorx—who alternated between violent and despairing the moment work began—the two World Eaters leaders were diligent and uncomplaining.
Perhaps this was the charm of "children from poor families learning responsibility early."
Angron, too, had recovered well—at least he no longer suffered dizzy spells. The Primarch and the World Eaters lived in cheerful harmony, and to the Death Guard's Hades, he felt like a shining third wheel.
Though aside from Hades, no one thinks of him as an outsider. Angron had clapped him on the shoulder many times, swearing that once he fully healed, the two of them would have a friendly duel.
Hades shook his head, throwing Angron's terrifying proposal out of his mind. He had no desire to wrestle with a muscle-monster Primarch. He had more important things to do today: the moment his ship reached Faos, the Magos had informed him that it was about to awaken.
In the research workshop, Hades stared at the screen with a blank expression…
He was attempting something deeply heretical.
He remembered the sudden revival of Korklan from the golden thought engine, remembered Belisarius Cawl of the future, remembered the Necron…
Technically speaking, preserving personality and consciousness was possible—and feasible.
But the cost and price of the entire technology were enormous, and Hades also had to consider its future impact—its implications for the outside world.
He took a deep breath.
Perhaps… he could try a different approach.
"Raibo?"
Hades called out abruptly.
[I am here, Lord Hades. Unit XS874 awaiting your command.]
Raibo was another special existence—unyielding in will, maintaining the highest vigilance toward Chaos, and destined to be incompatible with the Warp.
Hades pressed a button, watching the indicator light slowly brighten.
"You may begin calling to them."
[Yes.]
Pulses traveled through the cables—ones and zeros, yes or no, AND gates and NOT gates toggling in rhythm.
Logic, the most beautiful language of the physical world, ran at full speed, rapidly constructing something vast and intricate.
[?]
This was the first character it produced upon awakening.
[Hello, Experimental Type-21 Personality Chimera. I am Raibo XS874. I will now answer your questions.]
Hades folded his arms, silently watching the screen. These dialogues did not need to appear—two simulated personalities could easily converse through electrical currents and binary. But his code required them to display their entire running process.
For simulated personalities, this carried a kind of useless beauty.
In the next moment, lines of text, symbols, numbers, even raw code filled a screen the size of an entire wall. Characters flashed—within an instant, they had flowed through one hundred and fifty-six screens' worth of information.
Hades remained expressionless, motionless, staring at the exchange. Their iteration speed accelerated rapidly; by the 368th second, the chimera had caught up to Raibo.
They were sharing the same machine for computation—meaning that with identical hardware, the chimera's algorithms had already surpassed Raibo's.
Behind him, the Magos attempting to follow the screen let out several miserable wails. A moment later, Hades smelled something burning. He said nothing, but green lightning flashed behind him.
The shifting lights flickered across Hades's face.
In truth, Hades had pondered one question before.
Was the current, living Korklan truly the same Korklan he once knew?
Was the real Korklan already dead, and the one who survived merely a crude imitation produced by the thought engine?
But later, Hades realized that Korklan still felt pain under the Black Domain—Korklan's soul remained. That meant he had not, in truth, died.
But now… Hades breathed steadily.
He was creating a being without a soul.
To avoid the Warp entirely, he had even brought in Raibo, who's a blank. Furthermore, this new entity flesh has been changed to that of cold metal.
So then, this awakening entity—
Would it still count as life?
Or merely the inertia of an engine?
Hades watched as it shifted from confusion to rapture, proclaiming the name of the Omnissiah, praising the Machine-God.
Even in the bloodless, tearless lines of text, Hades could see tremors—gratitude.
This awakened synthetic mind would merge the will and knowledge of the sacrificed Magos. In a sense, Hades was creating a new Belisarius—but unlike the legendary Archmagos of the future, Hades's ambition went far beyond "a remarkable Tech-Priest."
After three hours and forty-seven minutes, their communication reached its final stage.
Hades slowed his breathing. Pale green lightning crackled behind the screens, wrapping around the humming computational behemoth.
He watched the text shudder—melting, dissolving. Characters drifted from their original positions, crowding together, merging into a single mass. Words stacked atop words.
In a cramped corner of the overwhelmed display, Hades caught a glimpse of a small line:
[Lord Hades, may your battles be victorious. Humanity shall prevail.]
Then even that little line was swallowed by the rising tide of corrupted data.
"…Miss Raibo, humanity shall prevail," Hades murmured softly.
He waited patiently. After seven hours, the chaotic storm of symbols finally collapsed into the silence of a dead-black screen.
A cursor blinked.
Then, one by one, words appeared:
[Hello, Lord Hades.]
"Hello, Twenty-Two Personality Chimera—Raibo, Delis, T5-Ze…"
[:)]
Hades scratched his head.
"What name do you want? You have the right to name yourself."
[Rebirth. (Raiborn)]
"…Good."
Rebirth. A good name indeed.
They would be the first—but they would not be the last.
<+>
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