12: The Limits of Hatred (III)

Sometimes, I went mad.

When I said mad—you should understand, better than anyone else in this world, what exactly I meant—I would briefly become someone even I did not recognize.

I meant madness.

Losing my reason? No, worse than that.

Ironically, most of the time, I was almost excessively rational. If you did not believe me, allow me to tell you how I reacted when I learned that Ahzek Ahriman had damned nearly all of us, along with all of Prospero, with his idiotic bargain.

I did not scream, fly into a rage, weep, or do anything else unnecessary. All I did was verify it.

First, I investigated. Extensively. Then I realized that I could no longer use psychic power, because this absolutely had something to do with the psychic power we depended on to survive. So, during that time, I completely abandoned my former habits and became an entirely different person. I forcibly made my body adapt to the sensation of keeping my feet on the ground, even though it caused me unbearable pain.

I was still the same now.

Back to the subject—we were talking about madness, were we not? My one imaginary listener?

Well then, you should understand that I, Iskandar Khayon, was absolutely one of the few people in this galaxy qualified to say the following.

"I really should have gone mad or died. I deserved either ending."

The truth was, sometimes, I really did go mad.

I had yet to experience what death felt like. I had come close to dying many times, but I had never truly died. Madness, though? Ha. It was an old friend of mine.

I went mad once when I learned of the Primarch's death, and again later when I returned to Prospero and was captured by the Space Wolves