Note: I will Try to update everyday so I hope you support the story on Patreon.com/flokixy
Memories are like icebergs in the deep sea.
They are shattered, cold, sharp, capable of easily slicing through the false veil of reality, allowing the most merciless, terrifying, and bloody truths to clearly surface in a mind desperate to escape, whispering desperate, chilling last words with bone-chilling cold.
And from another perspective, when a pathetic individual is drowning in the coldest ocean composed of reality and self-deception, all he can do is desperately cling to this iceberg, which feels like living torture, preserving his clear consciousness amidst torment and pain, yearning for salvation and miracles from the heavens.
But miracles are rare, so people often have to endure extremely long periods of pain concerning memories and the past: enduring the ridiculous mistakes made in their youth, remembering the pathetic predicaments encountered in their down-and-out times, repeating over and over again how they wasted the best time and years, and then continuing to embrace a mediocre future filled with regret.
Of course, these are not the most desperate.
In the deepest part of cold memories, lies the terrifying joke brought by fate: even if one struggles with all their might, even if one spares no effort, irresistible external forces whimsically erase all efforts, snatching away what might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, leaving behind only a "not lucky enough" failure.
Failure is not necessarily due to a lack of ability. Perhaps it was just not the right time, or perhaps due to insufficient preparation. But calamity just happens to strike at this moment, effortlessly destroying everything that should have been intact.
This is the most merciless and despicable aspect of fate, and in this regard, it treats all individuals equally.
Even Primarchs.
Especially Primarchs.
——————
Cold.
Morgana felt cold.
She knew clearly that this was not a real temperature, but that didn't stop her from feeling the maliciousness emanating from the biting cold that enveloped her. It was striking her skin and will, eager for a good meal.
She felt herself in a rather peculiar environment: she experienced everything happening before her from the first-person perspective of the subject, but on the other hand, she was clearly aware that everything before her was not reality, but a part of her dusty, shattered memories.
The soul she had usurped from Magnus was like a newly found key, inadvertently unlocking a previously sealed part of Morgana's mental world. For someone incomplete, this was, of course, a good thing, as it meant she had taken a visible step closer to truly mastering herself.
However, not everything was within Morgana's expectations and control.
It was like opening a long-sealed room; while it could bring more space and some unexpected surprises, at the same time, the dust and haze that had also been sealed for a long time in the room would uncontrollably float out, causing minor troubles.
And now, Morgana was in a bit of trouble.
As Magnus's psychic fragments loosened the three suppressed beasts in her mind, countless tiny fragments began to surge from the cracks. Most of them were parts of Morgana's erased memories, scattered everywhere like leaves torn by a strong wind.
And when the silver-haired female officer slightly gathered and assembled these memory fragments, she was immediately drawn into this segment of memory.
When she opened her eyes, she saw a rather confined room, extremely dim lighting, and gigantic, glowing cultivation tanks. A tall golden figure walked among them, like a king inspecting his territory, and behind him was a hunched black shadow.
They were talking, and the topic of their conversation might be Morgana.
[Do you think this is a success, Malcador?]
Faced with the Emperor's question, the Sigillite's posture was a bit strange. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he hesitated, as if pondering something.
"With all due respect, my Lord, it is difficult to determine, because we have no relevant experience or lessons, so we cannot judge whether we did well this time."
[...You are right, my Sigillite, but as things stand, we can only choose such a method, just as we do everything now, just as we will face every trial in the future.]
[We are crossing the river by feeling for stones, walking in a swift, cold current, swaying and exhausted. We can only hold tightly to every rock beneath our feet to maintain stability. No matter what the next rock is, whether it is sharp or smooth, an obstacle or a stepping stone, we can only cling to it, even if it makes our palms bleed, or even attracts carrion eaters in the current, we must, and can only do so.]
[Because besides that, we can do nothing.]
[Like now...]
Morgana could feel that they had walked to her front, but through the thick capsule glass, she could only see a blurry golden light, its outline distorted by the light and lenses, covered in chaotic spikes, emitting a ruthless glow.
Like a blazing sun reflected in water.
But even just a blurry shadow was so tall, terrifying, majestic, and unconquerable. The golden light entered Morgana's eyes, yet it cast a towering shadow that could induce despair.
The Emperor spoke, continuing.
[Tell me, what should I do with her?]
"..."
Malcador remained silent, for he had no right to answer this question, nor did he need to. After all, it was just a casual remark from the Emperor, a musing to himself.
[This is not a multiple-choice question, is it?]
[I know I will face failure time and again. After all, our endeavor is not some juggling trick like conquest and dominion. We are dancing with the most furious storms, usurping the sole light; we are gambling with the most insidious deities, conniving for impossible victories.]
[And in our hands, we don't even have any decent bargaining chips. I don't even know how much time is left for the world I inherited, and whether there are unimaginable adversaries at the other end of the distant void.]
[I have no time to be meticulous, no energy to quibble over every trifle, no plan to appease the populace. I don't even have the confidence to claim the possibility of victory in any stage of any phase.]
[I have foreseen the failures I will encounter. Perhaps it will be a setback on the battlefield, or perhaps a forced compromise and showdown, or a rebellion, an unavoidable betrayal. The immense gains and unfair distribution will make even the most fervent and loyal warriors raise the banner of revolt. These are all things that are to be expected.]
[But I never expected it to come so quickly, and so farcically.]
[I forged twenty blades, but on the second one, indelible rust stains appeared. It is destined to be corroded by darkness, no matter how much it struggles, no matter how much it resists, its future is already determined.]
[She has been killed by fate.]
[She has become a difficult-to-use failure.]
——————
Malcador wanted to say something.
But he ultimately said nothing.
——————
Morgana could not speak.
Morgana could not move.
Morgana could not express her displeasure, her anger, her fear, her struggles. She was confined by fragments of memory within this overly small body, futilely listening to her gene-father's cutting pronouncements.
But this did not prevent the venomous seed from taking root and sprouting in her will, growing like a savage hurricane. In this hatred, even the Emperor's shadow seemed less fearsome.
Even within her almost eternally silent heart, a faint, impulsive craving was growing strangely and tenaciously. It was the beacon of anger and rebellion, and one day it would become a raging nightmare.
But not now.
Now, only the Emperor's voice echoed.
[But consider what we've done, Malcador. Failures aren't entirely useless. A rusted blade can also have its wondrous effects.]
[Wounds and bleeding are far too common in this universe. It can't even kill any sufficiently stubborn opponent. But a decaying blade can bring more surprises. It might struggle to carve large fissures and wounds, but every strike will leave indelible poisons, filled with surprising and dramatic unexpectedness.]
[She is like this. We can certainly use her like a rusted blade. We don't even need to deliberately maintain her, no need to feed her with honor and victory like those other troublesome creations.]
"Not all of them need honor, my Lord."
Finally, Malcador spoke.
[Indeed, not all of them need so-called victory and glory. I designed this point into those truly trustworthy individuals, like Number One. But what they want is even more excessive.]
[They desire trust, recognition, and recognition that no one else knows about, recognition and importance from the shadows and shared secrets.]
[They crave something that has never existed in this galaxy.]
[Sometimes, I would rather there be more individuals like Number Two. After all, such creations don't require me to put in more effort. Their destiny is simply to slowly fade away in the desolate starlight.]
[Just like her legion, her scions are reliable and capable. They completed their tasks in the domain I planned, so I allowed their existence.]
[But...]
——————
The Emperor seemed to say something else, but Morgana could no longer hear clearly.
The fragments of memory abruptly ceased here. Her vision gradually blurred, her consciousness gradually fragmented, until she could no longer clearly see the shining light.
She was plunged into darkness, like a frantic drowning person, struggling to adapt to the suddenly changed situation.
The pieced-together memory fragments could no longer withstand Morgana's psychic power. They once again shattered into pieces, slowly merging into Morgana's true consciousness, like a too-hasty snowfall. Countless pure white fragments slowly fell into Morgana's mental kingdom. They took root and became a part of Morgana's thoughts.
This anonymous Primarch began to break free from her thoughts and returned to reality.
And when Morgana opened her eyes, the first thing that met her gaze was the emotionless face of the Lord of Iron—Perturabo.
🚨 Note : Consider to Support this Story on Patreon.com/Flokixy to access +200 advance Chapters and To Support The Daily Update