Which was harder to deal with, Chaos or the Necrons?
The answer to that question might be somewhat debatable, but at least for Hades right now, being countered outweighed everything else.
Unfortunately, the Necrons were the ones who countered him.
That ancient, dead race had crawled out from between their tombs, faint glimmers of absolute physical laws flickering in their hollow eyes. Tens of thousands of years ago, it had been this childless race that shattered dozens of C'tan across the galaxy, imprisoning them as ever-burning lamps before their tombs.
If it were only Hades, dealing with this ancient race would have been somewhat difficult.
But the good news was that Hades was never alone.
The entire Imperium of Man, along with the returned Primarchs, would take the field beside him.
He had forged it with his own hands and cultivated it with all his heart—compared to a certain golden old man whose sons had drawn swords against him, the Underking was clearly treated far better.
"I do not advise you to do anything unrelated to work."
Malcador said in relief. He had finally shaken off Neos. When the Emperor rushed over again and tried to drag him into defying Guilliman together, Malcador performed a forward slide tackle, using an extremely undignified method to put distance between himself and Neos.
"I merely wanted you to testify that I was indeed wounded by a Necron assassination attempt."
The Emperor spoke calmly. This was a lie; the Necrons who had come to assassinate the Emperor were an entire tier weaker than those on Hades's side.
Malcador scrambled toward the exit, terrified that the Emperor would latch onto him again. Malcador was simply hopeless—after realizing something was wrong on Neos's end, he had still teleported over at once.
Then Neos had latched