Morgan, my daughter.
You are a failure.
A thief, a harbinger of disaster.
A nightmare, an inquisition.
One who feeds on pain for a lifetime.
You will hate pain.
Depend on pain.
Dominate pain.
And finally… become pain.
"Since he is unwilling to pledge loyalty to the Emperor, then let him remain silent."
"Yes, everything, his descendants and family, must remain silent. Do I still need to teach this personally?"
The ancient voice carried dissatisfaction with incompetence and weakness.
Macador slowly walked along the sparse gravel path, his steps slow and steady. He gripped his staff tightly, burying his head under his worn hood, looking down at the path.
The Seal Bearer of the Imperium, people always used this title to refer to him.
Their tone always carried fear and hatred, because this seemingly dying old man had signed countless fatal decrees. Every time his lips parted, tens of thousands of lives would disappear from the land of Terra.
The survivors whispered in the corners of the royal court, completely unaware that Macador’s power allowed him to clearly know every evaluation and slander he received.
But he never cared about any of it, especially when the Supreme Heaven’s voice called to him.
At the end of the path was a bunker buried beneath the rocks, with gold-armored warriors standing on either side, their gaze fixed straight ahead.
He pushed open the door and walked in, and the whispers of gods and demons assailed him.
"Emperor… My Lord."
Macador bowed deeply.
His status as the Seal Bearer of the Imperium, his power, arrogance, and responsibility, at this moment, were all worthless.
The Emperor, Lord of Terra, was currently frowning deeply.
Before him were two colossal, specially designed cultivation chambers, incomprehensible to mortal minds. The Emperor’s tall figure was clearly reflected on them, vaguely obscuring the contents within.
Macador was already 6500 years old; even among the immortals, this was a qualification worthy of pride. And naturally, many of his emotions and memories had slowly eroded with the passage of time.
But when he truly saw the indescribable “thing” inside the chamber…
He felt… fear, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time.
“All repair efforts for experimental subject number two can now be declared a failure, Macador.”
The Emperor was now dressed as a scientist. He wore a brand-new, excessively wide white protective suit, and with a face full of exhaustion and irritation, he took off his gloves and casually threw them at his feet.
After a long while, his eyes, which had been fixed on the cultivation chamber marked with “Ⅱ”, finally moved away. The Emperor ultimately shook his head, his voice filled only with regret and annoyance at the loss of a precious creation.
The Seal Bearer did not speak. After working with the Lord of Terra for a rather long time, he had a general understanding of the Emperor’s character and nature.
The ruler of Terra, the Emperor of Mankind, and also Macador’s Lord, he was never a good person or a gentleman in the common sense. Countless years had long since washed away almost all his emotions as a flesh-and-blood mortal.
Although his will remained unshakeable, unlike some of his immortal counterparts who became irredeemable degenerates, when he took firm steps towards his goal, he would never care about so-called casualties or morality.
When he put on a masterful performance, becoming a weary father and confidant, he would never allow his thoughts to be swayed by such ridiculous emotions.
Life to him was merely fallen leaves in the forest. He would cherish the lushness and future development of the entire forest, but he would also not hesitate to cut down any ancient towering tree.
How could one who could gaze upon the Four Gods be a benevolent being?
“I must consider how to compensate for my losses. The problem with individual number two cannot be solved by any current means. It will be very difficult for it to achieve my predetermined goals.”
“I originally intended for number one to be the Imperium’s keeper of secrets and general, a guardian who would die by my sword, and number two would become another you, Macador.”
“I granted it the ability to explore and collect the unknown, bestowed upon it talents in psychic powers and governance, and those even more formidable powers.”
“It should have been more worthy of my trust and reliance, becoming the most greedy and hypocritical assistant, to soothe the roars and wildness of these distorted monsters I created.”
“But now, I miscalculated. Everything concerning number two needs to be started over.”
The Emperor walked around the room somewhat irritably, his gaze cycling through the empty cultivation chambers.
In that transaction on the planet Moro, the power he gained was enough to create twenty of the most powerful assistants. Although he knew not every one of them would succeed, the failure certainly came too quickly.
He began to plot how to cut his losses in time, how to maximize the value of a failure in a short period: even a phantom must serve the Emperor’s great cause and goals.
The failed second Primarch was not alone, because the first Primarch had been completed even before it. That was a powerful, valiant, and perfect creation; any other existence paled in comparison to it.
Macador looked up, and with just one glance at the second Primarch, he instantly understood what reason had caused the Emperor to abandon a Gene-Seed Primarch with limitless potential.
Power, the power of the chaos gods, was swirling around this Primarch, so dense that even the most humble psychic could clearly feel it.
And as one of the greatest psychic venerables in the reality universe, the Seal Bearer Macador went a step further; he could feel with absolute clarity that the power belonged to Tzeentch, and to Slaanesh.
If there was any entity in the Supreme Heaven that all challengers least wished to face, it was undoubtedly Tzeentch: the Lord of Change, master of the Crystal Labyrinth, the grand architect of all convoluted destinies in the world.
How It formed, and how It cast an ominous shadow over the histories of countless races, these no longer mattered.
It was there, and It was full of malice, which was enough to make all challengers feel a pressure from the depths of their hearts.
Countless powerful civilizations had already fallen into oblivion with Its laughter, and innumerable heroes of their time had perished due to Its casual whims. This master of distortion and schemes cared not for the past, nor the future, nor even victory; Its only desire was the shared wails that arose when the destinies of heroes and mortals fluctuated.
Now, It had clearly set Its sights on the Emperor’s plan, plotting malicious schemes amidst a long string of cackles, and It was not the only one doing so.
In the Supreme Heaven, the scent of the youngest god, Slaanesh, also wantonly permeated the air before the Emperor's eyes. It was a blatant provocation, a declaration, and an admonition. The Prince of Pleasure was using this method to tell the Lord of Terra which one It desired in this transaction.
Although compared to the three ancient deities, this one, who arose from the great cataclysm of the Eldar, was still too young and weak, no one doubted that the master of pleasure and all extreme emotions would become an unshakeable part of the Supreme Heaven. It was seizing power by any means necessary from all things in the world, causing the Silver Palace of Pleasure to expand day by day.
Now, the oldest and youngest gods in the Warp had simultaneously set their sights on this unborn child of the Emperor, warning the Emperor to fulfill the terms of their initial transaction:
Twenty Gene-Seed Primarchs, half of which were to belong to the Supreme Heaven, to the Warp, to the chaos gods.
However, the Emperor did not want to fulfill it.
He would become an unfaithful trading partner, a malicious deceiver, a ruthless crisis manager.
He was skilled at this.
The Lord of Terra narrowed his eyes, beginning to ponder how to more cost-effectively deal with this child he had long since abandoned. Three equally wicked great minds thus circled this unborn life, scheming against each other.
Meanwhile, the Seal Bearer continued his observation.
This second Primarch, its physiology had been twisted by the Warp’s great power into an absolute female.
Compared to her robust brother in the other cultivation chamber, she appeared slender, pale, and delicate, yet excessive nutrients promoted her development and growth. Macador could see her silvery-white hair and faintly visible blue pupils.
But from another perspective, in the ocean of psychic energy and spirit, the Seal Bearer saw an incredibly terrifying, indescribable, boundless behemoth.
The powers of the Lord of Change and the Prince of Pleasure swirled around this unborn child. Their whispers and temptations were ceaseless, like sharp daggers, eroding her spirit and mind.
In the void's ocean, the shrieks of the Lord of Change already echoed. The Seal Bearer saw the eerie blue light continuously appearing on the distant horizon. Eagles covered in Fangs and sharp feathers flocked towards the sleeping Gene-Seed Primarch, only to be instantly reduced to ash by the Emperor's cold light.
The Warp's tides, stirred by the will of the Lord of Change, caused ripples. From the deepest void to the dome of Holy Terra, Tzeentch's will was omnipresent.
Macador withdrew his consciousness; even he had to be careful in such an environment.
For the reality universe, the gods of the Warp were the most terrifying plague. Even a slight contamination was enough to leave the most seasoned survivor with bone-deep pain.
The Emperor was still busy, his thoughts racing like meteors. Countless plans and proposals were brought up in an instant, only to be abandoned in the blink of an eye. Macador glimpsed fragments of them, and felt a chill throughout his body; the words on them tortured the last vestiges of his conscience and morality.
So, the Seal Bearer raised his head again. This time, his will shifted its angle in the void, preparing to discern the Prince of Pleasure's attitude and offensive here.
If Tzeentch's corruption of this Primarch was so deep that it reached a point where the Seal Bearer's spiritual gaze dared not linger for too long, then Slaanesh's possessiveness over this daughter of the Emperor could be shown by a more obvious and direct outcome:
The Seal Bearer Macador—perhaps the second most powerful psychic in the Galaxy, second only to the Emperor—extended his consciousness, intending to glimpse the mark left by the Prince of Pleasure on the second Primarch.
Then, he was knocked unconscious.
Even the Emperor's cold gaze could not dispel the mists left here by the Prince of Pleasure. Seductive smiles and whispers were deeply etched into the second Primarch's body. Her distance from Slaanesh seemed to be just one genuflection, one revelry, or perhaps one true desecration.
The Emperor remained silent. His work number two still belonged to him in the reality universe, but in the Supreme Heaven, the Prince of Pleasure already laughed as he held her tightly; only the sharp beak of the Lord of Change might be able to tear through this grasp.
But provoking a war with the Supreme Heaven too early for this would be too uneconomical. He still needed time to create more armies and facilities, to perfect his hidden cards, to complete a gamble spanning the Galaxy.
The Emperor began to think again, his thoughts as cold as a hibernating snake.
As time passed, the Lord of Terra's gaze swung back and forth between the two completed works. After a long period of contemplation, he finally made a decision that was not too difficult.
“Macador.”
He roused his most trusted tool.
“Look here.”
The Emperor tapped the chamber of the first Primarch. Through a psychic perspective, they could see that this almost perfect creation actually had its own problems.
Paranoia, reclusiveness, wildness, and stubborn arrogance were gifts bestowed by the Warp's power. They clung tightly to the soul of the first Primarch, like maggots on bone.
“We should weaken it, remove these unstable Warp elements, or at least a portion of them. I don't like my successful creations having such hidden dangers.”
Macador rubbed his shoulder, his brain still throbbing from the divine impact.
"My Lord, this is a very risky plan."
"Most importantly, how should we deal with these excised Warp components?"
"They must be placed in a suitable environment, otherwise these unique powers will one day backlash against them again."
“No need to clear them all, just weaken them. I believe in their will. I will instill loyalty and obedience into the genes of these creations until the day I no longer need them.”
Saying this, the Emperor continuously rubbed his fingers. Then, his gaze turned to the failed work, his second child, the color in his pupils like a tyrant looking at a scapegoat.
“And as for where to dispose of these evil thoughts, haven't we just acquired a ready-made place?”
The Emperor stroked the cold chamber, looking at his failed daughter with a peculiar sense of satisfaction.
“Since she is already an irredeemable failure…”
“Then let us make the most of this waste.”
“My daughter, my number two, my first failure.”
“Morgan.”