This is the bonus chapter for reaching 200 Powerstones.
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A heavy silence fell over the grand hall.
It was a long time before Malcador slowly spoke again. "Foresight is a curse, not a blessing."
His ancient voice was laden with an indescribably complex sorrow.
The Emperor nodded. "While we can peer into the mists of tomorrow, every single action we take intrinsically alters the future. The future is infinitely malleable; anyone is capable of treason. A rebellion by Guilliman, a rebellion by Sanguinius, a rebellion by the Lion, a rebellion by Dorn... Even a betrayal by you, Malcador. Absolutely anything is possible."
The Emperor turned around, his golden eyes flashing brilliantly as he looked down at his oldest friend. "Therefore, we cannot reject the emergence of these variables—nor should we. We must guide them from the shadows, ensuring they never evolve into a fatal threat to the human race."
His gaze sharpened to a razor's edge.
"Among those Outworlders, that boy named Stellan... the foundation of his soul is remarkably pure. He genuinely wishes to change the Imperium. He reminds me of who I was when I was still just an ordinary man, back in the distant 2nd Millennium." (TL/N: For those who forget, Vance known name to his teacher and others in warhammer is Stellan)
The Emperor looked at Malcador, a faint, nostalgic smile touching the corners of his mouth. "That kind of absolute purity is rarer on Terra than the light of the Astronomican."
Malcador stood in silence for several seconds before replying. "So, the imposter who masqueraded as an Adeptus Custodes all those years ago... he was also one of these Outworlders?"
The Emperor gave a single nod. "Sanguinius has already departed for that planet once again."
A complicated emotion flickered in Malcador's voice. "I wonder if he will actually find the answers he seeks this time."
Hearing this, the Emperor smiled. It was a smile laced with helpless resignation, and a deep, aching... heartbreak.
"He won't find it," the Emperor said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He will only find an answer that satisfies himself."
At the mention of Sanguinius, the Master of Mankind fell into a brooding silence. For the first time, an emotion that defied description surfaced on his flawless features.
"In the few scarce timelines that were not entirely shrouded by the Ruinous Powers, I saw his body lying broken before the Golden Throne."
His voice sank into a bottomless trench of sorrow.
Malcador's brow furrowed slightly. "Sanguinius is also gifted with foresight. Logically speaking, he should be more than capable of avoiding his own demise."
The Emperor shook his head. "Foresight is not omnipotent. The more powerful the seer, the more chaotic the futures they perceive. Because every time they look ahead, their very act of looking alters the outcome."
He shifted his gaze back out the massive window, staring out at the unseen depths of the cosmic sea. "Furthermore... I fear Sanguinius is..."
He paused, unable to finish the sentence.
He truly didn't know how to describe the crushing weight in his chest.
If he were measured by the emotional standards of a normal human father, his heart should be bleeding for Sanguinius right now.
That was his son.
One of the twenty demigods he had forged with his own hands.
One of his most perfect masterpieces.
But he couldn't afford to be a father.
He was the Emperor of Mankind.
He wasn't permitted to feel heartbreak for anyone.
He had to dedicate every fiber of his being to ensuring the survival of the human species. No individual, no matter how beloved, could supersede the importance of the race as a whole.
Malcador studied the Emperor's profile, a flash of profound empathy passing through his silver-grey eyes.
He had known this man for thousands of years.
He knew exactly what kind of agonizing burdens this man carried.
He knew exactly what this man had sacrificed.
And he knew exactly how much unspeakable agony this man kept locked away behind his golden facade.
But Malcador did not point it out.
Instead, he simply spoke, gently steering the conversation back to the grim matters at hand. "Every Outworlder currently on Terra is already under my complete surveillance," he stated, his voice returning to its usual cold detachment. "However, the sudden emergence of these anomalies has introduced numerous unknown variables. Some of them are engaged in highly dangerous activities."
He looked past the Emperor, out toward the sprawling nightmare of the hive cities. "Through the Warp, I can sense that the underhives of the Eternal City have already undergone significant shifts because of them. Some have pledged themselves to the Immaterium. Some have begun spreading plagues. Some are sacrificing blood for slaughter. Some are propagating profane ecstasies. And some have started weaving conspiracies from the shadows."
He paused, fixing his piercing eyes on the Emperor. "Do I have authorization to initiate a purge?"
The Emperor remained silent for a few seconds before shaking his head.
"In the futures I can currently perceive, the machinations of the Four Gods and this unknown entity do not pose a genuine threat to the Imperium," he replied, his tone perfectly calm and utterly resolute. "Therefore, there is no need to rashly deviate from our established trajectory."
He turned away from the window, fixing his gaze upon Malcador.
"We simply need to prepare with everything we have," the Emperor said. "To cultivate trump cards capable of handling any threat. Every sacrifice is worth it."
The Emperor's gaze grew distant, piercing through the walls of the Hall of Hegemony and staring out into the boundless, infinite sea of stars.
"As long as the single spark of survival for the human race is not extinguished, we will eventually see the day... when humanity becomes the sole, undisputed master of the galaxy."
Malcador looked at his oldest friend's resolute expression and gave a slight nod.
He did not speak another word.
Because he knew this was simply who the Emperor was.
In the face of humanity's continued survival, any individual sacrifice was completely negligible.
Including Sanguinius.
Including himself.
Including the Emperor.
This was the man who had forcefully carved out a single path of survival from amidst countless timelines of absolute despair.
After a long silence, Malcador spoke once more. "So, how exactly do you intend to train this boy named Stellan?"
Hearing this, the smile on the Emperor's lips deepened. He looked at Malcador, a fleeting, mischievous glint flashing in his golden eyes.
"I think that inquisitorial system you pitched to me earlier is quite an excellent concept. What do you think..." His voice carried a trace of profound amusement. "...about handing control of the future Inquisition over to him?"
A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Malcador's weathered, ancient face.
He froze for half a second before chuckling. The laugh was old and raspy, yet it carried a sense of mutual understanding that could only exist between two lifelong friends.
"As he is now, he couldn't even defeat a standard Astartes. He is far too weak to command the Inquisition."
The Emperor looked at him and replied nonchalantly, "Indeed, his current strength is severely lacking. So, why don't we enhance him further?"
He knew Malcador completely understood his implication.
"Do as you wish," Malcador said, waving a dismissive hand, his silver-grey eyes completely unbothered. "So long as you can keep him under control. I am not opposed to this oversight system possessing a powerful... Primarch of the Inquisition."
The smile on the Emperor's face slowly faded, replaced by an incredibly sharp, focused intensity.
He turned around, his gaze piercing through the colossal window, looking out at the desolate landscape of countless hive spires.
Looking directly toward the young man currently enduring brutal conditioning within the Custodian training camps.
"Then it is decided," his voice was perfectly calm, yet filled with absolute certainty. "The Imperium of Man's first Inquisitorial Primarch. Stellan Kowalski. I will need to consider this carefully... what Warp essence traits would best suit him, along with the genetic enhancements required to support his grand purpose."
Malcador stood by his side, gazing out the same window.
The two most powerful psykers in human history stood shoulder to shoulder.
A figure of radiant gold, and a hunched silhouette of deep grey.
One flawless as a god, the other frail as a mortal.
But in this moment, they stood together.
Just as they had during every critical juncture over the past millennia.
Standing side by side.
Facing the endless darkness together.
Guarding that single beacon of light together.
Together... searching for that singular path of survival for the human race.
Outside the window, the sprawling hives of the Eternal City gleamed brilliantly under the Astronomican's light.
The monolithic towers piercing the clouds, the intersecting transit lanes, the densely packed throngs of humanity scurrying like ants.
They were all beneath their feet.
All under their absolute protection.
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Far below, in the lightless depths of the underhive beyond mortal sight.
Within the ramshackle shantytowns cobbled together from scrap steel and rusted pipes.
Hidden within the suffocating darkness shrouded by plague, slaughter, ecstasy, and conspiracy.
Those Outworlders bearing black player IDs above their heads were frantically expanding their territories and influence.
They were completely oblivious that their every move was being scrutinized by those two unfathomable gazes.
They had no idea that their supposedly covert operations were nothing more than childish games in the eyes of those two absolute beings.
And they certainly did not know that, within the grand designs of that golden figure, an existence sharing their exact same origins...
Was about to become their absolute greatest adversary.
Was about to become the first Primarch of the Inquisition.
Was about to become... the Sword of Damocles hanging precariously over their heads.
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Meanwhile, in the even more distant void.
Within the joint fleet currently en route to Aurelian IV.
Aboard the flagship known as the Red Tear.
Sanguinius stood before the observation port, watching the star system rapidly approaching.
He did not know that his name had just been spoken by his father in a grand hall within the Imperial Palace.
He did not know that when his father mentioned him, a fleeting, imperceptible trace of heartbreak had flashed in those golden eyes.
He only knew that on the planet they were approaching, the answers he so desperately sought were waiting.
The golden figure... who had once deceived him.
The unknown entity... who had extended a helping hand during the demonic tide that swallowed the City of the Holy Anthem.
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