Angels of Death

"My lady, are you alright?"

Malcador asked softly, rousing Erda. He still appeared as a gentle old man, as if everything that had just transpired had never happened.

Erda's heart was being eroded by darkness, gradually clouded by Chaos. She wanted to tear away Malcador's mask of hypocrisy.

Though her heart churned with surging, violent hatred, her expression remained indifferent, without a single ripple.

Not a muscle on her face twitched from the inner pain; after ten millennia of experience, she masked her emotions almost instinctively.

A plan quietly took shape in her mind, perhaps in accordance with the prophecies she was meant to fulfill.

Thinking of Emperor's ruthlessness and Malcador's coldness, Erda swore to herself; she would save those children and return their true freedom to them. Their future had never belonged to Emperor.

"I am sorry, Malcador." Erda offered him an apologetic smile, lifting her skirt to bow slightly: "I am not in a good state."

"My lady, you need not apologize. You are free to leave at any time." Malcador stepped forward quickly, reaching out to touch her arm with practiced courtesy, signaling that such formalities were unnecessary.

"I am truly sorry." Erda insisted, bowing with great solemnity while clutching her skirt, before slowly backing away to leave the laboratory.

Surprised by her unusual behavior, Malcador remained silent, stepping forward to firmly steady her once more before ordering two Custodes to escort Erda back to her quarters.

Narrowing his eyes as he watched her retreating figure, a psychic transmission echoed in the minds of the Custodes: "You need not return. Continue to monitor her."

The Custodes behind Erda gave an imperceptible nod, returning to normal within microseconds. Without a trace, they tightened their grips on their guardian spears, their eyes beneath their helmets watching the woman before them with vigilance.

At the slightest sign of trouble, execute her on the spot!

Emperor did not pay much attention to Erda's departure, assuming it was natural for an old friend to feel unwell after contributing her genetic material.

His mind was no longer in the laboratory; his will was locked in the Warp, contending with the Dark Gods.

The Four Chaos Gods launched another assault, attempting to shatter the barrier so that Emperor could not spare the focus to watch Erda.

After Erda left, the Four Chaos Gods perhaps lost interest and ceased their probing of the psychic barrier.

Emperor intended to check on his old friend, but saw that Erda had already boarded the elevator and departed the laboratory.

"My Master." The Captain-General of the Custodes, World, raised his right hand, carrying a transparent case containing twenty-one cylindrical glass containers. Inside them lay the blood-red genetic material.

Emperor rarely showed clear expressions, but he frowned upon seeing the genetic material in the containers.

Anything touched by the Warp was twisted, no matter how beautiful.

Even though it contained his own genes, the genetic material extracted from the Primarchs remained warped by the power of the Warp.

"Hm?" As his gaze swept to the end of the case, a flash of bright red drew a soft exclamation of surprise from Emperor. He asked World: "Which Primarch is this?"

"The Twenty-First," World replied in a deep voice.

Emperor was extremely cautious, using his psychic power to gently wrap the container holding the genetic material and bringing it before him for closer inspection.

The genetic material was blood-red and translucent, emitting a faint glow. Emperor saw no signs of Warp corruption; unlike its brothers, it bore no traces of the Warp.

"Incredible. It possesses the essence of the Warp, yet it shows absolutely no characteristics of the Warp."

Emperor spoke after careful observation, once again shocked by the genetic material: "It perfectly fuses the power of the Warp, is perfectly compatible with biotechnology, and even perfectly absorbs the genetic material of myself and Erda."

With a slight exertion, the glass container shattered, and the red essence hovered steadily in Emperor's hand.

"Truly perfect," Emperor smiled at World, a different light in his eyes: "World, compared to the perfection you represent in my heart, this Gene-seed is perfect in an entirely different way."

World felt a sense of confusion. A perfection different from that of the Custodes—what could that possibly be?

When Emperor created the Custodes, he had said they were the interpretation of the perfect human in his heart, the ultimate form of the human species.

In other words, the Custodes were indeed the realization of his ideal, the "perfection" in his heart, an answer existing within his subjective judgment.

Yet this mass of genetic material was a different kind of perfection: the perfection Emperor craved!

"Is it safe? Is it stable?" Malcador pulled down his hood, his bright, dark eyes reflecting the object in Emperor's hand as he raised the crucial, pragmatic question.

Safety and stability were what Emperor and the nascent Imperium of Man needed.

Otherwise, Emperor would not have needed to venture into the Warp to strike shameful bargains with the Four Chaos Gods, replacing the existing Thunder Warriors with new soldiers.

"I do not know, old friend." Emperor shook his head, his expression complex.

He held the genetic material to his chest with his psychic power and turned to look at the child sleeping quietly in the Twenty-First incubation tank: "He may be a gift box, and even the Four Chaos Gods do not know what is inside."

"Oh, then you must make good use of its power." Malcador was gratified, a gentle smile breaking across his thin, stern face like the morning sun illuminating the laboratory as his gaze swept over the twenty-one tanks: "After all, they do not seem very easy to get along with."

"I will."

The three left the laboratory for another, where many more procedures awaited.

It is worth noting that Emperor kept the genetic material cradled in his right hand the entire time, the level of importance he placed upon it making World feel a touch of jealousy.

Genetic material derived from a Primarch could not be implanted directly into a host; it would take time to realize its value.

Emperor arrived at the cultivation chamber, a vast space where the entire mountain core had been hollowed out to establish a massive facility for cultivating Gene-seed.

Using the genetic information contained within the genetic material, they would cultivate "Gene-seed" that possessed the power of the Primarchs.

Through cultivation machines, the Gene-seed could then be used to grow a full set of nineteen supporting superhuman organs.

Through nineteen surgical modifications, combined with the implanted Gene-seed, the time cost of transforming a mortal into a superhuman warrior was greatly reduced.

A common mortal, provided they could endure the nineteen genetic modifications and survive the rejection reactions.

His flesh and soul would undergo a transcendent metamorphosis, becoming a sharp weapon in the hands of Emperor.

These genetically modified warriors could fight at high intensity for extended periods, effortlessly crushing human skulls with their bare hands, their physical reaction speeds reduced to the millisecond level, tearing a mortal limb from limb before they could even react.

The cultivation chamber was bustling with activity as a multitude of genetic scientists surrounded the Gene-seed, beginning the cultivation of brand-new artificial organs.

"What shall these new genetically modified warriors be called?"

Malcador stood at Emperor's side, his heart filled with gratitude for the passionate yet silent dedication of these mortal scientists.

They stood behind Emperor, and they were an indispensable part of the Star Crusade.

"Star Crusade?" World suggested with a hint of interest.

The stage for these new soldiers was the starry sky; Emperor was bound to launch a crusade of unprecedented scale to reclaim the humanity scattered across the galaxy.

Emperor shook his head, his long black hair swaying behind him, his expression solemn and silent.

This phased success did not allow his heart to relax even a fraction; his nerves were pulled even tighter, for the nascent Imperium of Man could not withstand any storm.

His old friend Malcador was full of anticipation for the future, looking forward to everything in the new empire, including these new genetically modified warriors crafted with Warp technology.

Emperor, however, was different; he knew the dangers of the Warp intimately, far more aware of its risks than Malcador.

Emperor maintained a scrutinizing attitude toward these new genetically modified warriors, though it was laced with a sliver of expectation.

"Angels of Death." A low sigh from Emperor echoed through the genetic engineering laboratory.

Malcador and his companion fell silent for a moment, understanding the implication.

Once these new genetically modified warriors stepped forth from Terra, they were destined to bring death and destruction to the stars, while simultaneously bringing salvation to the humanity of the galaxy.

"That is a rather good name." World gripped his spear, rubbing his chin in thought for a long while before his eyes lit up: "At least it's cool!"

Malcador suppressed an awkward twitch of his lips; the Custodes commander's sense of humor was pitifully sparse.

Emperor's gaze shifted away from the golden-armored warrior; the Custodes, with their perfect physiological functions, were... questionable in terms of personality.

Shadows flickered throughout the laboratory, and Emperor caught sight of that selfless, dedicated lady once more: Amar Astarte.

Astarte? Emperor pondered, perhaps that would be a fitting name?

To commemorate those who worked silently behind the scenes, having these new genetically modified warriors carry the hopes of ordinary people as they campaigned across the galaxy would not be without its own form of romance.

The more he thought about it, the more feasible it seemed; Emperor decided that once these new soldiers had accumulated sufficient merit, he would bestow upon them a new name as they ascended the galactic stage.