Interlude 65: A Father's Confession

A man slowly and wearily bent over and sat down in a chair.

He wore a dark black robe, his face was calm, and his dark skin was covered with some brownish-black powder, as if he had just finished a day's work. He placed his hands on the armrests of the chair, gradually sinking deeper into the chair, and his expression became sad.

"Horus is dead," said an old man sitting opposite him.

The man nodded slightly, without saying anything more.

The room they were in had stone walls and a mud roof, and the furniture and decorations inside were mostly unpolished and primitive, either made of wood or stones that had been hammered and nailed into the required shapes.

There were no windows in the walls, nor any torches or other lighting. Nevertheless, there was a gentle light that did not scorch the eyes, as if it were meant to be that way.

A moment later, the door to the room was pushed open. The heavy stone door scraped against the ground, and with a heavy thud, Karyl Lohars entered. The Auramite hue unique to the Adeptus Custodes flashed briefly outside the door.

"How is it?" Karyl asked.

He wasn't wearing armor, only the mask, with two beams of psionic light shining from the skull's eye sockets.

Malcador looked up at him, shook his head, and the scepter leaning against the wall slowly flew up and reached the Sigillites. He reached out and grasped it, Aquila at the tip of the scepter began to emit a blazing Radiance.

Scenes unfolded, shrouded in thick fog, seemingly a passageway. The walls were a strange gray, with dust from a past civilization scattered everywhere—statues, paintings, or withered plants reduced to ash.

Karyl nodded without saying anything more. He found a chair for himself and sat down, still choosing not to remove the mask.

Malcador was forced to speak up, "Aren't you going to take off your mask?"

"I'm afraid I'll frighten you, old man," Karyl said. "The face under that mask is rather frightening."

The Sigillites snorted and shoved the scepter in his hand forward. The action was not very friendly; the scepter even looked like it was about to hit Karyl, but it stopped abruptly just before it actually touched him.

The skeleton reached out and slowly grasped the scepter. Instantly, a blinding Radiance illuminated the room. In the Radiance, the mask on Karyl's face finally began to slowly dissolve.

His pale face still looked handsome, but it was already showing signs of wear and tear at the edges, and his eyes burned with an inextinguishable rage that had replaced his original eyes.

Malcador held out his hand impatiently, but Karyl smiled, pushed the scepter back, and shook his head.

"The longer you wear this mask, the harder it is to take it off. It's terrifying," he said, seemingly sighing.

"This is your own choice," the Sigillites rebuked sternly. "Who told you to manifest yourself on the Vengeful Spirit?"

"A miracle? That's a bit too superstitious, my friend." Karyl shrugged. "Don't you think we should replace it with a term more in line with the Imperial Truth?"

"To hell with Imperial Truth," Malcador said.

The man, who had been silent all along, finally turned his gaze. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but swallowed the words back. Judging from his expression, those words probably didn't taste good.

Karyl and Malcador watched him silently, choosing to wait in silence. Several minutes later, the man named Neos finally spoke.

Unfortunately, by the time he spoke, he was already the Emperor.

"They've already revealed their hand," he said very seriously. "On my way here, I had a premonition that the thing in the form of Lorgar is burning planets as sacrifices in Roboute Guilliman's Five Hundred Worlds. I can guess his purpose; he probably wants to summon a Warp Storm that can manifest in the physical universe."

"Countermeasures?" Karyl asked.

The Emperor gave a negative answer.

"It's not that we have no solutions, but the price we'd pay for them is too high," Malcador said. "Their ultimate goal is obvious, and in this situation, there's only one thing we can do."

He didn't say what it was, but they all knew the answer. Karyl sighed regretfully, "Perhaps I should have come to Terra later."

"And then you're forced to sit in that seat halfway through the journey?" Malcador mocked mercilessly. "That's not a solution, Karyl."

"To be honest," Karyl paused, "I'm not particularly interested in 'solutions'."

He slowly raised his hands, his fingers long and strong, the pads, sides, and second joints of his fingers covered in calluses, not to mention his palms.

"The more you kill, the faster your humanity will disappear," Malcador said. "If you really do that, the final outcome will likely be an unprecedented catastrophe."

Karyl fell silent—in fact, this wasn't the first time they'd discussed the topic, but he kept bringing it up again and again.

Malcador would veto it, and sometimes even the Emperor would intervene to reject the idea. Karyl himself knew perfectly well how foolish this method was. If he actually did it, he would be playing right into their hands.

Those four false gods could not accept a fellow human being who could freely roam the human world. They needed to expend great effort to interfere with reality, let alone act like Karyl.

They desire it, but they have no chance of doing so. Therefore, they will do everything in their power to pull Karyl into that filthy seat and force him to become one of them.

After a while, he brought up another topic.

Have you thought about how this war will be described in the future?

"I'd rather not think about it," Malcador said. "Although my duty includes the pursuit and preservation of history, if we can win, I hope this part of history will disappear into the annals of history."

"And you?" Karyl looked at the Emperor and asked softly. "What do you think, my friend?"

The Emperor did not answer; he leaned back in his chair, his expression slowly changing.

That indestructible determination and unparalleled will slowly sank from this person, replaced by a fragile humanity.

His lips were trembling, and his hands gripped the armrests tightly. His vulnerability in that instant was so striking that even Malcador's expression changed.

Karyl remained unmoved, his hands clasped together, elbows resting on the armrests, observing Neos through the spires formed by his fingers.

Much, much later, he received two answers.

"If we win, I will declare them heroes," Neos said.

"What if we can't?" Karyl asked.

"Then they are nothing but traitors," The Emperor said.

Karyl sighed, understanding his meaning.

If they win, then the fabricated lie of Imperial Truth will no longer need to be used. Webway Project can be officially completed and put into use. Humanity will no longer need the Warp to travel between galaxies, and revival will be within reach.

History will no longer need to be concealed, and the truth will be revealed.

But if they don't win, the traitors are just traitors, and war is just war. The Emperor's dream was destroyed by his son, and everyone will despise the name of the traitor. Until they ignite the flame, break free from the darkness, or are completely swallowed by it.

It's a cruel approach, and what's even crueler is that there might not be a better solution.

He fell silent and began playing chess with Malcador via psychic communication, speculating about the future. The Emperor almost never participated in such mentally and physically demanding games; he had more important things to do. He always was.

"Time is too short," The Emperor suddenly spoke. "I have too little time, and too much I need to do."

Karyl and Malcador interrupted their game and looked up at him. The Master of Mankind, with his eyes closed, spoke to them with his usual calm expression, uttering words that should never have come from his mouth—words too fragile, and sounding nothing less than a confession.

But what right does he have to repent? He has no reason to feel guilty towards anyone. Humanity owes him a great deal, while he owes humanity nothing. If it weren't for him, Terra might still be in a dark age of warlordism and widespread suffering, and expanding its territory as it is now would be nothing but a pipe dream.

But that's just how it is.

The Emperor is repenting, confessing, and revealing his true feelings.

"I can only hastily fabricate lie after lie to achieve my goals. Take this crude system, the Imperium, for example. Its laws need to be updated daily, sentencing is not precise or fair, and it is full of judges' own biases. Two neighboring planets might even issue completely opposite judgments on the same case."

"And then there's the Imperial Truth. I told them it was the only way we could understand the world. This statement is neither materialistic nor rational; there's never been a single, definitive method. I've told so many lies that sometimes I even wonder if they're false or true."

"In some people's eyes, I am a tyrant with ambitions that could blot out the sky. In others' eyes, I am the only wise ruler in the world. To my sons, I am a father with many facets. I can be gentle, or I can be cold, or I can be talkative, or I can be silent. I have too many faces, too many unforgettable memories."

He spoke incoherently, without any rhyme or purpose, sounding almost like a mentally unstable old man talking to himself. He seemed to realize this himself and abruptly ended the sudden confession.

"I'm going to work." He stood up and walked towards the door.

"Need me some advice, my friend?" Karyl asked from behind him. "A father's advice, the kind given to another father."

Neos stopped in his tracks.

"Leave these words behind," Karyl said softly. "Someone will need them after we win."

The Sigillites smiled and moved the chess piece four spaces forward on the board with a backhand motion. Karyl glared at him, while the Emperor turned his head and nodded.

"I will," he said.

Besides.