"Yes, Sergeant."
Celeres's voice sounded like the friction of precisely calibrated gears, steady, with a metallic texture.
But on closer listening, there seemed to be an almost imperceptible trace of "bitterness" that was not usually there.
His optical sensors, which had replaced his eyes, glowed a steady red as he looked straight into Cassius's deep blue eyes.
"Perhaps," Celeres paused for half a second, a pause that seemed unusually long for him.
"You should consider abandoning this mission."
Beneath his helmet, Cassius's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
He was just about to ask why.
"The great Machine God has revealed this to me at the intersection of data and faith."
Magos Celeres interrupted him.
His flat mechanical voice sounded as though he were reading out a cold diagnostic report.
"If you take part in this purge operation against the 'Abyssal Spawning Pool'-the target's designation."
The trembling in his augmetic arm seemed to intensify by an imperceptible degree.
"The probability of death is..."
An exceedingly rare, faint crackle of static entered Magos Celeres's voice.
It was as though even his own logic circuits resisted the conclusion he was voicing.
"100%!"
In the cramped workshop, all that remained for an instant was the low hum of the Cogitator array's cooling fans.
And the faint metallic clatter of equipment checks drifting from elsewhere in the stronghold.
One hundred percent.
Absolute, unquestionable death.
Cassius's deep blue pupils contracted slightly at that instant.
But only for that instant.
He showed no shock, voiced no doubts, and did not even ask for the prophecy's precise details or whether there were other variables.
He simply stood there in silence, his green Power Armour casting a towering, silent shadow beneath the dim lights.
Cassius spoke, his voice emerging through his helmet's amplifier.
Steady, firm, without a trace of a tremor, as though stating an objective fact that had nothing to do with him:
"Celeres, I am the Emperor's angel, and his weapon."
"I know, Cassius."
Magos Celeres's mechanical voice seemed to try to take on a persuasive note.
That was exceedingly rare for someone as extensively augmented as he was.
"We can wait.
For support from the Chapter, the Planetary Defense Force's heavy artillery, or even apply to the Inquisition for Exterminatus.
There may still be time. There is no need..."
"Duty is my fate;"
Cassius interrupted him.
"Failure is my fear;"
His voice was not loud, yet every word struck heavily against the air like forged steel.
"Salvation is my reward;"
The red glow of Magos Celeres's optical sensors flickered slightly.
"Death is my function;"
Cassius recited the final line of the prayer, as though it were his answer.
"Loyalty unto death is my oath."
With that, he did not look at Celeres again.
He turned and walked out of the workshop with the heavy, precise strides peculiar to Power Armour, never looking back.
The heavy iron door closed silently behind him, separating the inside from the outside.
A long, deathly silence settled over the workshop.
Magos Celeres Guhat remained seated there, motionless.
At some point, his augmetic arm had stopped trembling and closed tightly around his staff of the Machine God.
His grip was so strong that it almost left fingerprints in the sturdy metal staff.
Then, with an almost "sluggish" motion, he slowly loosened his hand.
Then came an extremely faint "sigh," one that seemed to hold countless tangled emotions.
It escaped from the vocalizer beneath his faceplate.
The sigh was so human, so out of place amid the cold machinery around him, that even he seemed a little surprised.
He "laughed" at himself.
If that short "heh," edged with the sound of scraping metal, could be called a laugh.
This body of mine was already more than seventy percent mechanized, most of its neural synapses replaced by data streams and logic circuits.
My emotional modules had been suppressed to the bare minimum, yet I could actually still sigh.
Truly illogical.
But there was nothing to be done.
He had known Cassius Erato for a long time.
For so long that, back when he was merely a technical apprentice struggling to survive at the bottom of a Forge World, with much more of his flesh still intact.
He had already heard of this Sons of Medusa sergeant's "deeds," or rather, his "peculiarities."
It was not that Cassius disagreed with the Iron Hands' creed.
He fought bravely, commanded efficiently, and was beyond reproach in his use of machinery and understanding of tactics.
But he was also the greatest "outsider."
He "deeply loved humanity."
Not the broad sort of loyalty to the concept of the "Imperium of Man."
But a concrete respect for and protection of every "individual mortal."
Whether they were lofty Hive City nobles or Astra Militarum soldiers fighting alongside him.
Even the wretches struggling to survive in the filth at the very bottom of the Hive City, whom most Astartes regarded as ants or tools.
He would not casually sacrifice mortal soldiers as bait or cannon fodder for the sake of "efficiency," as other Iron Hands warriors did.
In the eyes of the other Sons of Medusa, this was "weakness," "inefficiency," and "impurity."
Because of this, Cassius was not "favored," and had even undergone internal scrutiny and reprimands.
Yet it was precisely because of this that he, Celeres Guhat, had been given the chance to survive.
And become a Magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
That was why Celeres had later disregarded the possible criticism within the Adeptus Mechanicus.
And volunteered, despite his exalted standing as a Magos, to become the accompanying priest of this ordinary Devastator squad.
With his technical skills, knowledge, and connections to Mars, he quietly supported Cassius, maintaining equipment and analyzing data.
Even providing him with a degree of cushioning on "technical grounds" when he disagreed with certain senior figures in the Chapter.
Even this Tyranid infiltration was something Cassius had volunteered to take on.
In his eyes, Cassius Erato was not merely a powerful Astartes warrior and a competent sergeant.
He was also a "human" of noble character, a true "angel."
So, when he learned of the existence of that strange mortal, Lynn.
It was not as though Celeres had never considered urging Cassius to kill Lynn and eat his brain.
That would let him learn the whole truth.
But he had not voiced it, because he knew Cassius would certainly reject his proposal.
It was not as though he had never tried making such suggestions before; they had all ended in failure.
Celeres was also surprised that Lynn had survived that "private Dialogue."
But he respected Cassius's choice, merely intensifying his monitoring and data recording in silence.
Until now, when the prophecy came.
One hundred percent certain death.
Deep within Magos Celeres's extensively augmented brain, which should have held nothing but logic and calculation.
Some emotional circuit inherited from ancient genes seemed to have been forcibly activated.
Sending out a suppressed ripple of something close to "sorrow."
He could not stop an Astartes from going to meet his duty and fate.
He could only sit in this workshop filled with the smell of machine oil, gripping his staff of the Machine God.
And with a sigh that surprised even himself, see off that true "angel" who might soon fall.