"If you're worried about wasting time, rest assured. I've altered the flow of time in this room. This difference will be enough for you to take a little vacation and adjust your state of mind."
The Imperial Sigillite was still dozing in his overly ordinary wicker rocking chair. Malcador had unusually removed his gray-green hood, revealing his silver hair and somewhat pale face.
Malcador looked utterly exhausted. His face was filled with a deadened disgust for life and a longing for release.
As the Imperial Sigillite and Regent, he had been managing this vast Imperium ever since the Emperor ascended the Golden Throne and stopped concerning himself with trivial matters.
The Space Marines openly questioned his authority, the primarchs resisted his orders, and the Adeptus Mechanicus refugees who had fled to Terra were even more unsettled, sending him new requests every day.
The Imperium's enormous, bloated bureaucracy repeated the same mistakes time and again. All of this was work he had to deal with.
"This isn't just my decision. It is also your father's wish. He hopes you can wash away the shadows and exhaustion of Beta-Garmon, and face greater challenges in a new state."
The Sigillite continued rambling on, his grievances against Neoth nearly overflowing the limits of his patience.
The Emperor always said that he needed to devote himself wholeheartedly, concentrating all his will and strength on resisting the uprising brewing beneath the Golden Throne. Malcador had once believed him.
Until the Emperor sensed Leman Russ driving the Spear of Dionysus into Horus, as well as the interference of Vashtorr, the Lord of the Soul Forge. He directly summoned Lox and stuffed the portion of authority in his soul related to the Adeptus Mechanicus faith into his old friend.
From then on, Malcador realized that no matter how