Although he was taking Lox to meet the Emperor, the Sigillite was in no hurry. He even had time to take Lox and Dorn wandering around the Imperial Palace.
They rode in some ancient-looking anti-gravity skimmer. Otherwise, given the Palace's sheer size and complexity, even a year would not have been enough to find their way out.
Lox had his doubts. Did they really have so much time to waste?
Rogal Dorn still had to hand over command to Lion El'Jonson, a process involving tens of millions of complicated details and the reassignment of billions of personnel.
"Do not worry. I altered the flow of time here," Malcador said calmly.
"Though we have been wandering for quite some time, from an outside observer's temporal reference point, only a few seconds have passed."
"We may not have much time, but we can spare a few seconds."
Lox could not help curling his lip, envious of Malcador's extravagant display of power.
Ordinary Psykers all treated psychic power like a raging flood or savage beast, forced to wield and draw upon it with the utmost care. A single mistake could bring the Warp's power crashing back upon them.
Even Librarians had to painstakingly hone their minds, restraining their hearts with elevated mental discipline and doctrine, binding the power of the psychic ether with sincere faith in the Emperor.
But Malcador? He had teleported the three of them to Terra as casually as if taking a stroll, then rewritten the flow of time here with equal ease.
Honestly, an ageless, immortal human possessing such psychic power was no different from a god. A Greater Daemon of Chaos on Samus's level would probably be nothing more than a toy in Malcador's hands.
Yet the Emperor's designation for Malcador was merely that of an Imperial civil