"Hogg wants to kill you?"
"That's right! He wants to chop me up and feed me to the dogs!"
The Emperor looked uneasy. He'd never imagined Hogg would betray him, but the unfilial brat hadn't betrayed him at all—he'd just pulled off something huge. He wanted to chop his own father to pieces.
Looking at the Imperial Knight slumped on the ground, Malcador casually glanced over its rather risqué mech design, then looked at the big golden guy in the cockpit. Seeing that his old friend didn't seem to be joking, he dismissed everyone else before asking:
"Is this reliable?"
"Reliable. I found out through that thing. I was going to open a box for a lucky viewer today, but who knew it'd be a Necron? It put me in such a foul mood. And then, you know what he asked me?"
Malcador thought, How would I know what the other guy asked you? The way you keep trailing off, I feel like chopping you myself. But I picked you as my idol, so I'll see it through, even if I have to suffer for it. He could only play along:
"Spit it out already. I've got one rare day off, and I don't have time to waste chatting with a layabout like you. Are you going to tell me or not? If not, I'm leaving! When Hogg comes over with a bunch of Primarchs and chops you into mince, don't expect me to help!"
"Don't, don't! I'll tell you, all right? Old Mal, honestly, you're the one who urged me to build an Imperium and restore humanity in the first place. Why are you acting like you're going through menopause now? I've never heard of a Perpetual getting dementia."
Seeing Malcador's expression darken, the Emperor hurriedly got to the