Malcador's Dining Table

They might already have been dead.

All because of the Underking's towering fury.

The Imperial Navy's Overlord Admiral, the Ecclesiarchy's Pontiff, the representative of the Cult of the Underworld's merchant fleet, the Minister of the Interior, the Lord Commander of the Astra Militarum, the Inquisition's representative, the Chief Justiciar...

And Kirkland-584, Mars's current acting Forge General, who had just stepped off the battlefield with scorch marks still searing the hems of his robes.

The once-arrogant Overlords either shrank back or straightened their spines as they stood together before the tightly shut doors of the dining hall.

Custodian Guard and Silent Sisters stood in formation along both sides of the corridor, but the ones guarding the doors were two Ultramarines.

Samuel swallowed instinctively. The old man straightened his back, hoping to die with at least a little dignity.

Silence.

"Why aren't they letting us in yet?"

Samuel could not help muttering under his breath. He nudged Meslin, the Ecclesiarchy archbishop beside him, with his elbow. The two archbishops were of similar age, but the Ecclesiarchy archbishop had long, well-maintained white hair and beard.

Meslin coughed, quietly edging away from Samuel at the same time.

"Not everyone is here yet."

A synthetic voice sounded. A Tech-priest that seemed hastily assembled wheezed as he spoke, his mechanical body bending forward with a hint of delight as he extended a hand to Samuel.

"Pleased to meet you, Samuel. I am the newly appointed Forge General. From now on, we shall serve the Underking together."

A religious lunatic, Samuel thought. But perhaps this meant he would not die just yet. He put on a smile and allowed Kirkland to squeeze his hand until it crackled.

"Not everyone is here?" he said casually. "The Astropathic Choir, the Navigators, and the Astronomican—"

Heavy footsteps sounded from