Chapter 123 - Contradictions and Resolutions
"If it's about destruction by percentage, consider this: if 99% of 10,000 humans are destroyed, only 100 will be left. But if we have trillions of humans and 99% are destroyed, we will still have trillions left. Let it be known right now, each person must have at least ten children!" Perturabo leaned back in his chair, seemingly telling an incredibly dark joke.
Sanguinius took over the conversation, his face expressionless.
For a moment, he pondered who, exactly, was a traitor here. "Great idea, but let's think of other methods. Father's power continues to grow even as we speak, and I'm afraid a second culling is imminent."
Leman Russ lowered his head in thought. "The plan to invade the Webway and annihilate the Aeldari is not without risk. The Webway is too vast, and finding all the Aeldari fortresses will not be easy."
Magnus spoke in a deep voice. "I saw Father summon Constantin Valdor. He seemed to be asking him to find something. Did Father foresee the current situation and have a contingency plan?"
A silence fell over the room. Many had their own thoughts, but no one voiced them.
Finally, Guilliman gently tapped the table. "I think Father is simply afflicted. If we're afflicted, we can seek treatment, right?"
Afflicted? Seek treatment?
All eyes naturally turned to Francis, waiting for his response.
But at that moment, Francis was looking down intently, his finger conducting an "exploration" inside his nostril.
Leman Russ's eyes widened, his lips twitching.
Sanguinius shifted his gaze slightly, trying to avoid looking directly at Francis, as if striving to maintain his dignified image.
Magnus, completely absorbed in his own thoughts, was rendered speechless for a moment.
Malcador's previously resolute expression froze. He coughed, trying to bring the focus back to the main topic, but his voice carried an undisguised hint of helplessness. "Uh, Francis, what's your opinion?"
Francis realized that everyone was staring at him. He froze, looked away from his nose, paused for a moment, and then quickly removed his finger from the "battlefield," pretending to be nonchalant as he put his hands behind his back. He tried to make his expression look serious and coughed lightly.
"Cough..cough"
"Hmm... I think the discussion we just had makes a lot of sense. We need to act decisively and destroy the Aeldari."
Everyone: "..."
Francis had no choice but to think about it seriously for a moment. In a flash, he suddenly understood.
"Oh! Isn't this actually good news? Father is troubled by his ever-expanding power; he ascended the Throne to extract psychic energy! So how about we just make him continuously consume psychic energy at high output?"
"As for what I mentioned earlier, that Father might not be able to suppress the ritual of destruction, how about we just create a few sacrificial worlds? For every time Father culls, we sow new seeds! We can use Father's psychic powers to accelerate the growth of humanity on those worlds!"
"In this way, Father's psychic energy can be perpetually activated, becoming a super energy source for the Imperium's development! When that time comes, we'll—mmph mmph..."
Francis's eyes grew brighter as he spoke. Sanguinius and Guilliman covered his mouth together, looking at him with horrified expressions.
This was absolutely outrageous! He actually wanted to use their own father as a perpetual machine!
'Inconceivable,' thought everyone.
Even Malcador's gaze towards Francis held newfound scrutiny, and a wisp of immaterial energy emanated from his body.
Lion El'Jonson felt the same way. He even thought that as the First, he should teach Francis a lesson.
Only Perturabo's eyes were full of admiration. He truly was his brother; the design was simply flawless in its efficiency.
The room descended into chaos.
Then the Emperor's voice reached their ears. "Good. Francis, continue."
The previously noisy Primarchs instantly fell silent.
Malcador nodded to Francis.
Ferrus raised his hand. "I can craft wraithbone here..."
Francis decisively interrupted him. "Understood, understood! The psychic bomb was developed by you and Perturabo together. You two are the best!"
Perturabo's face clearly showed immense satisfaction.
Francis continued, "Father can use His psychic energy to help us mass-produce psychic bombs. He can also consume large amounts of excess psychic energy. In addition, we need to collect more blackstone to build a blackstone palace for Father, to suppress the ascension speed as much as possible."
"If I could have some of the Sisters of Silence, I might have a better chance of success. After all, this kind of severe affliction is unprecedented and will likely never be seen again! I need to conduct more experiments!"
The others felt a chill run down their spines.
...
After the meeting, the Primarch war council chamber on Terra gradually quieted down. The Primarchs left with their respective missions, leaving only Francis standing alone by the conference table.
He took a deep breath, stepped out of the chamber, and walked along the magnificent yet cold corridors of the Palace, heading straight for the Throne room.
The massive doors to the Throne room slowly opened. Francis stepped inside. The surrounding blackstone steps emitted a faint, cold light, and the hall was silent save for the echoing sound of his footsteps.
He looked up to see the colossal Golden Throne standing majestically before him, radiating dazzling psychic luminescence. The Emperor's figure was shrouded in dazzling golden light, like an immortal deity.
Francis didn't waste any words. He retrieved Aeldari blood and consumed it all, transforming into the Aeldari's appearance. He then quickly used his psychic energy to craft wraithbone. His hands moved rapidly, and his psychic energy outlined complex runes in the air. The wraithbone was gradually shaped into shimmering projectiles.
"Alright! Father, you can just channel the excess psychic energy into the projectiles."
The Emperor glanced sideways at the results in Francis's hands. He raised one hand, and pure, burning psychic light appeared in His palm. A dazzling golden light instantly filled the entire hall.
He casually hurled the shell into the immaterium.
Deep in the Warp, a crimson daemon world floated silently, its surface covered with cracks flowing with lava and rocks shimmering with eerie runes. Countless daemons lay under the scorching artificial sun, their bodies basking lazily on the panels.
"Phew! Finally off shift! I wonder who offended the Blood God?"
"Getting that angry? Terrifying!"
"Who says otherwise! I thought I'd just go out for a quick raid and come back, but I never expected that I'd never return."
"..."
Suddenly, a dazzling light fell from the sky, accompanied by violent spatial tremors. A psychic bomb streaked across the sky like a meteor.
"What's that?"
"I don't know! Maybe it's fireworks!"
"So bright!"
The daemons were lazily watching the scene. At the very moment the projectile impacted, a blazing column of psychic energy shot straight into the sky.
Boom!
The daemon basking in the sun didn't even have time to scream before it was instantly reduced to ashes. The earth churned in the psychic storm, lava surged like a raging sea, and a bottomless crater formed at the epicenter of the explosion.
...
The Emperor turned His somewhat surprised gaze back from the Warp and saw Francis rummaging around in the Throne room.
"You're going to build something here?"
Francis nodded at the Emperor's gaze, continuing his work without pausing. "Yes! I want to build a small manufactory here to produce wraithbone projectiles, and then let the Soul Drinkers manufacture the munitions here."
"Father, you can just keep loading shells every day. You're just sitting around anyway. When you get tired of bombarding the immaterium, you can come down here to reload occasionally. Look, look, we have medium, large, and extra-large ammunition here."
Francis pointed to the three projectile models in front of him. The smallest was one meter long, and the largest was more than ten meters long.
"..."
Although the Emperor had lost some of His humanity, He still felt a trace of indignation.
Inside the High Lords' Council Hall, the atmosphere was oppressive, like leaden clouds looming overhead. The golden reliefs inlaid on the towering ceiling appeared gloomy and cold in the dim light. A massive obsidian table occupied the center, with the High Lords seated in order on either side, their faces shrouded in ornate masks symbolizing their status, their gazes cold and sharp.
Their heated debate echoed through the hall. All eyes were fixed on the figure encased in a suspensor throne at the far end of the long table, the Imperial Regent, Malcador.
A High Lord dressed in ivory robes spoke first, his voice as harsh as a cold wind. "This rebellion was undoubtedly triggered by the Primarchs' massive Legions. Their armies are so large that almost every Primarch is a monarch above us, High Lords. This concentration of power is hazardous to the stability of the Imperium."
Another High Lord, clad in a purple-gold cloak, chimed in with even sharper words. "Even if these Primarchs do not rebel, they are susceptible to corruption. Horus serves as prime evidence."
"Their Legions are not only numerous and well-equipped, but also loyal to individuals rather than the Imperium itself. This situation cannot persist."
The voices grew louder and more insistent. Another lord, thin and with mechanical augmentations all over his face, tapped the table.
His vox-synthesized voice carried a hint of coldness. "To ensure the stability of the Imperium's future, we recommend that the Primarchs relinquish direct command of the Legions. If necessary, the number of each Legion should be reduced to prevent a recurrence of a large-scale catastrophe like the Horus Heresy."
[End of Chapter]
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