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Kaelen was still reeling from the Yellow Emperor's banana-tier emotional intelligence.
He sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the [Mysterious Wonder Speaker] he'd pre-ordered from the System Shop.
The steps were long. Kaelen walked down to the base of the throne and looked at the withered husk up close.
God, what a miserable sight.
Being this close made it worse. The tal tubes and cables piercing into the torso were slicked with disgusting dark residue, and the gears beneath the base let out a grinding noise that set his teeth on edge.
Kaelen didn't linger. He lowered his head, found an interface beside the throne's main control panel, and clicked the speaker device into place.
A green light blinked on.
"Installation complete." He stepped back two paces and clapped his hands. "Test the mic? Say sothing so we can check the frequency."
A brief silence.
"BZZZT—"
A shriek of electric feedback tore through the vast emptiness of the throne hall.
Then a voice exploded from the speaker. Hoarse and gravelly, like a broken brass bell, but with enough force behind it to rattle the walls.
"Oh, WHAT THE HELL! Sitting on this broken toilet for so long, I can FINALLY speak!"
The voice cracked with agitation.
"Ten thousand years! A full ten thousand years! Every single day on this damned chair, I don't even have the freedom to fart!"
"I have a MOUNTAIN of things to complain about!"
Kaelen's neck instinctively turtled into his shoulders.
"Holy shit..." he blurted. "Jesus Christ."
The voice in the speaker locked onto him instantly. The volu spiked an octave.
"Why are you calling ? Jesus was just one of the many alt accounts I pruned back in the day!"
The corner of Kaelen's mouth twitched.
This old bastard...
Ten thousand years of pent-up resentnt, finally vented. The static in the speaker softened a little.
"But I must thank you, honored... Outsider. You are practically my hero."
"Those stupid dogshit Golden Corn! And those Tech-Priests who spend every day welding iron plates onto themselves!" The Emperor cursed his own people without a shred of restraint. "Ten thousand years, and not one of them could install a speaker for !"
"Has the Imperium's technology really degenerated to the point where they can't manufacture a basic loudspeaker?!"
Kaelen listened to the machine-gun barrage of complaints, drifting into a brief daze. The contrast was simply too imnse.
If Guilliman and Horus ever heard that the father they revered as great, sacred, and eternally infallible was actually a foul-mouthed, zero-class troll, the worldviews of both Primarchs, plus the old knight, would probably shatter into dust on the spot.
Kaelen stepped closer and looked up at the throne.
"Say, Old Yellow. Why did you have to say those words just now? 'Creations, not sons'?" He gestured at Horus and Guilliman, collapsed nearby, tear stains still drying at the corners of their eyes. "Look how badly you wrecked them."
"Horus ca back carrying ten thousand years of guilt to atone for, and you shattered him with one sentence."
A long pause. When the Emperor's voice returned, the irascibility was gone. What replaced it was sothing deeper. A profound, bone-tired helplessness.
"If not that way, then how?"
He sighed. "They are too emotional. Guilliman is manageable; he has a politician's rationality, at least. Lupercal? He's a pitiful fool completely shackled by glory and the need for a father's love."
"Back then, I concealed the truth of the Warp precisely because I didn't want them anywhere near those disgusting gutter-dwelling bastards. And what did that prove? That in the face of Chaos, their ntal fortitude is no different from wet paper."
"Except for Dorn. Though Lupercal's performance was also not bad."
The Emperor's voice drifted through the empty chamber.
"Now they've awakened, and the situation they face is even worse than the Great Heresy. If I put on the benevolent father act again, showering them with warmth and concern, they will keep depending on ."
"I cannot leave this chair, Outsider." A pause, then the emphasis landed harder. "As long as I sit here holding down that damned Webway breach, I can't help them much. Do you know what it feels like on the Golden Throne? I cannot leave this awesoly magnificent, glittering golden seat that makes feel like soone is constantly jabbing needles into my nethers, because if I do, a horde of freakish abominations will pour into realspace. Think of it like flying cockroaches erupting out of every drain in your ho, all at once."
"So. Better to shatter their illusions completely."
"Let them understand there is no omnipotent father to catch their fall. If humanity is going to survive, they have to abandon that cheap self-pity and beco two cold, ruthless blades."
Kaelen was quiet for a mont after that.
He looked at the three unconscious figures on the floor, then back at the throne.
"They crave your approval. Just a little bit, and they'll work like nuclear-powered oxen. You don't need to burden them with guilt." He tilted his head. "Even one kind word? Compared to watching the stock market freefall, this is basically a zero-risk, high-yield investnt."
"Honestly, when it cos to family bonds, I'd rather go gambling or trade stocks." The Emperor considered this for a mont, then added, "But you're right. A few words, and they'll work harder. The returns are good."
[Awaken.]
An invisible wave of psychic force rippled through the hall.
The three figures on the ground spasd. Then, groggily, they began to stir.
Kaelen hurried down the steps and helped them up one by one.
"What just happened to us, my friend?"
Horus pressed a hand to his still-throbbing temple, voice rough.
That soul-deep rejection was still gnawing at his nerves.
"Nothing much. The Emperor probably got a bit too worked up during his heart-to-heart with you, and his psychic energy overflowed and knocked you out." Kaelen delivered this without a blush or a flicker of guilt. "But it's fine now. I just repaired the throne's communication module. No more torturous soul whispers; you can talk to him directly, face to face."
He reached out and pointed upward.
Guilliman followed the gesture. His superhuman eyesight imdiately caught it: a small, dusty device attached beneath the throne's main control panel, where nothing had been before.
Then the speaker crackled.
No majestic echo. No soul-crushing pressure.
Just a casual, almost streetwise opening line.
"Oh, look who's here. A Macragge blueberry hamster and a Cthonian white Samoyed."
"Father?"
The Lord of Ultramar and the Lupercal spoke in unison. Pure, unfiltered disbelief.
They could not believe those words had co from that sacred corpse.
And beyond that.
What was a blueberry hamster? What in the warp was a Samoyed?
"Of course it's ! Your super-invincible, awesoly badass daddy who led you all to conquer the galaxy back in the day!"
"Co on! Don't just stand there! Good sons, call Super Old Dad, let's hear it!"
The two Primarchs stood frozen. Jaws slightly open. Not a single word between them.
The speaker waited two seconds, then turned sharp.
"Why aren't you two answering ?!"
"Did that traitorous son Magnus pump your heads full of psychic mush and turn you into little sissies? Why are you standing there dithering like a pair of girls!"
Guilliman's vision went black at the edges.
Horus stumbled half a step back. His massive fra swayed. A flicker of genuine, undisguised terror passed through eyes that had never shown fear.
Their father.
The perfect being who had led humanity to the stars. Majestic. Inviolable. Beyond reproach.
How had he beco a foul-mouthed, raving old lunatic?
(This is already the most unhinged version of the old man the author could possibly imagine.)
➤ Next: I Wait for You, I Forgive You
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