Hades opened the book and looked inside. It was filled with lines upon lines, crisscrossing every which way, impossible to understand no matter how he read it. He read it forward, then backward, and at last Hades made out the words amid those twisted, little-crawler-like spells—the entire book was filled with "eat people"!
It had always been "eat"! One word: "eat"! It had always been this way, and always would be.
"Still won't wake up..."
The old man took a deep breath. His gaze was heavy as he slowly rose from beside the Underking. His outstretched hand remained suspended in the air, still glowing with Psychic Power, though the light had dimmed considerably from the Underworld Domain's devouring.
Did he really have what it took to deal with the Outsider?
Mortarion, leaning against a pillar nearby, spoke dully. The Primarch kept his head lowered, strands of hair hanging down in disarray. The Traitor Primarch merely pressed the ghostly mask over his face, black smoke drifting from the gap between mask and cheek. His voice was muffled as well.
"He does."
Malcador's face darkened.
"He has to, even if he doesn't. He's the only one left in this galaxy. Are we supposed to count on the Silent King?"
Szarekh was already dead.
Death Mortarion, standing nearby with his arms folded, spoke. He frowned at Malcador as wisps of white mist churned around him, his enormous scythe propped diagonally against the pillar behind him.
Malcador let out a loud breath, then turned his face aside and continued examining Hades's condition, ignoring Mortarion.
"The armies are retreating, but most of them can't get away—the Outsider is too fast. If they travel through the High Heavens, the Warp near the Outsider will fall into chaos too, making further navigation impossible."
"Heh... Pluto has