A Fine Show Begins (I)
"He looks very confident," Konrad Curze Curze said casually.
He was tapping the vermilion railing of the box with the fingers of his right hand; the fingers fell in turn, turning the railing into a dull and monotonous musical instrument.
The monotonous sound echoed throughout the observation deck, and for some reason, it reminded Corax of a mine, of the sound of a pickaxe tormenting stone.
He lowered his head and looked at one of the many entrances to the amphitheater. He saw Sanguinius, Fulgrim, and today's protagonist, the crimson Magnus.
Their guards followed not far behind them. The Blood Angels and the Emperor's Children held their heads high, while the smaller Lion Guard seemed somewhat lacking in confidence, even slightly uneasy.
Corax narrowed his eyes and looked at Magnus again, seeing a hidden pain on the latter's face—clearly, the Crimson King felt betrayed.
"If that's really what you think, it only proves you're too naive, Magnus." The Night Lords murmured beside him, having also caught the gloom on Magnus's face, and his tone was anything but sympathetic.
Corax glanced at him, then casually folded the empty bag of dried sand eel and tucked it into his right sleeve. He gently poked it with his fingertips; the bag, made of a special material, made no sound, only the dented sensation traveling from his fingertips.
The Primarch arrived at the center of the arena, above them stood the golden platform. The Adeptus Custodes, armed with genuine weapons of mass destruction, surrounded the platform in a solemn and silent atmosphere. A gaunt old man in a black robe, holding a scepter, stood in the center of the platform, gazing sternly down below.
A dazzling Radiance awaited him silently. The master of the Radiance sat Throne, with an eagle poised to take flight behind him. His face was blurred; even with the most disrespectful gaze, only a glimpse of it could be discerned from the Radiance.
It could be a pair of golden eyes, lightning, or a sun.
The three Primarch in the arena began to bow silently, while their guards knelt on one knee. Sanguinius spoke first, his voice gentle yet powerful, enough to carry throughout the entire theater without the aid of any amplification equipment.
"Magnus has arrived, Father."
There were no greetings, no honorifics, no haughty titles like "Lord of Prospero" or "Crimson King," only a simple "Magnus has arrived."
The hall was immediately filled with the roar of crashing waves. Everyone present today was no fool; they could all glean something from Sanguinius's attitude. Magnus was no exception; his only remaining eye was now burning with a crimson-orange light.
Half a second later, the Emperor slowly spoke.
"Thank you, my son. Rise, guards. No one needs to kneel today."
Before he could finish speaking, the roar of the waves in the amphitheater ceased. Silence reigned, the scene almost absurd. All eyes were on the Emperor, awaiting his next words. But he said nothing more; instead, Malcador stepped down.
The Sigillites the scepter approached the three Primarch with the slow, deliberate steps of a true old man.
Curze suddenly grinned, a low laugh echoing quietly in the darkness of the observation deck. Corax looked at him, puzzled, but before she could ask a question, the explanation arrived.
"This is going to be good, my dear Raven Guard." The Night Lords laughed gleefully, turning to him and gesturing, a sinister anticipation rising in his face, which paled far more than the dead.
Corax looked at him and, somehow, suddenly saw the true emotions beneath that smiling face.
Are you worried about him?
"Of course not," the Night Lords turned and leaned against the railing. "The most exciting dramas are those that can be seen. Whatever Karyl Lohars is doing, I can't see it right now. So why should I worry about him?"
Corax shook his head and said nothing more.
At this moment, the three Primarch placed their right hands on Malcador's scepter and solemnly and briefly swore an oath. Regardless of their tone or the eloquence of their words, these three oaths could be summarized simply.
They swore to be honest with everyone at the Council of Nikaea and to speak the truth as they knew it under the Emperor's gaze, without any deception or falsehood.
Then came another series of tedious ritualistic steps, enough to make one drowsy, until the last servant of Malcador sealed a vow belonging to Magnus with hot wax, and only then did the matter end.
There were three scrolls in total, recording the oaths of the Primarch, with the Emperor's mark at the top as a testament. Malcador nodded to his servants, who then raised their hands above their heads and slowly left with the scrolls. Only then did the meeting truly begin.
"The Council of Nikaea shall now officially begin."
Malcador raised the scepter and gently placed it on the ground. A powerful tremor immediately reverberated throughout the theater, and in a flash of light, the face of the Sigillites was completely obscured by golden Radiance. At this moment, he was not speaking on his own behalf, but on behalf of the person behind him.
"There's no point in going through the motions, so I'll get straight to the point. This meeting will focus on only one thing: the Librarius. We've traveled across the galaxy to get here specifically to solve this problem."
The Sigillites paused for a moment, giving everyone some time to discuss among themselves.
"For a long time, the discussion within the Imperium regarding Psyker and witchcraft has been clearly divided into two camps. One side believes that the term 'witchcraft' is ignorant and short-sighted, merely another form of persecution in the new era, forged from fear and ignorance."
"The other side believes that psychic energy is extremely dangerous and should never be given complete trust; it should be controlled or even banned outright. Now, gentlemen, you may begin your debate."
Amidst the gasps of astonishment at his words, the Sigillites slowly raised his scepter. Radiance shone in the eyes of the Aquila, and his voice swept away all the noise, resounding in everyone's ears.
Who will speak first?
"I'll go," a voice said. The speaker was from the Space Wolves' box, named Othere Wyrdmake, a Rune Priest.
In the Primarchs' Primarch room, Leman Russ Russ grinned. He tilted his head back and finally took his first sip of wine since arriving in Nikaea, but he didn't drink it all at once; he only took a small sip.
Mortarion gave a curt snort, "You owe me one, Russ."
"What?" the Fenrisian looked at him. "What do I owe you?"
Mortarion stared at him, a few seconds of silence followed, then Russ burst into laughter, patted him on the back, causing the glass jars to clink together.
"Okay, okay, I owe you one—thank you for giving Othere Wyrdmake the opportunity to speak."
"So, what does he want to say?" the Lord of Death asked again, watching as Othere Wyrdmake passed through the steps, the boxes, and the recorders sitting on the sidelines, arriving at the foot of the Emperor's platform.
There was a wooden pulpit there, large enough to even accommodate the Primarch, more than enough for him. The Rune Priest rudely raised his hands, yanked open the sliding door of the pulpit, and went inside.
He raised his head and began to speak, his voice anything but friendly—while the Fenris wolves were hardly known for their friendliness, it was rare to see them as ferocious as the Rune Priest was at this moment.
He didn't seem to be there to make accusations; he seemed more like he was there to kill someone.
"You'll see when you hear it." Russ swirled his glass and took another sip.
"I am Othere Wyrdmake of the Space Wolves." The Rune Priest stood on the pulpit, raising his hands to show everyone the tattoos on his arms.
"I fought alongside the Thousand Sons of Magnus the Red, Shrike or Aghoru —you can look them up yourselves, I'm too lazy to repeat myself. What I want to say is that every single member of the Thousand Sons is an evil wizard. They recklessly abuse witchcraft and magic, and with the Emperor and Leman Russ Russ as witnesses, I swear that what I say is true."
The theater was once again in an uproar. Othere Wyrdmake's accusations were simply appalling, but this was only the beginning, far from the end.
Magnus's Lion Guard stared at the Rune Priest in shock and anger, seemingly having a past grudge against him. They never expected that Othere Wyrdmake would be standing here today, accusing them.
"Does anyone support him?" Malcador sternly raised his scepter, striking it to the ground again to silence the clamor. "Is there anyone who supports Othere Wyrdmake's accusations against the Thousand Sons?"
"Your turn, brother." Russ stopped smiling and instead shoved the glass into Mortarion. "How about it? Want a sip?"
The Fenris, a premium spirit exclusively for the Wolf King, rippled in the wooden glass. The Lord of Death looked down at the glass, then up at him, and surprisingly reached out and removed the respirator.
"Oh?" Russ looked at him with surprise.
"I'll only have one sip," Mortarion said indifferently, and as he said, he tilted his head back and took a sip, then handed the glass and respirator to Russ for safekeeping.
He walked toward the observation deck, where Curze and Corax made way for him. Immediately afterwards, the voice of the Lord of Death resounded throughout the entire theater.
"I support Othere Wyrdmake's statement," he said, unsurprisingly seeing Magnus glare at him. A smile slowly rose on his pale face, devoid of any malice, yet startlingly cold.
"Let me make this clear from the outset, Magnus. What I'm about to say contains no prejudice or targeting against you, so you can be prepared."
The Crimson King gave a cold snort, which was taken as an answer to that question.
--
What happened?
A man with an eight-pointed star etched on his forehead timidly waved his arms. In front of him was an open stone coffin containing a giant whose hands and feet were pierced and immobilized, and whose face was as pale as Ghost.
"Why is he vomiting blood?" the man cried out in alarm.
"Never mind!" Another woman shoved him aside fiercely and slammed the stone coffin shut. "Go and inform the master! The newborn's life is slipping away!"
Yes, there is a code.