"It's pretty good, actually. You handle external affairs, expanding the Imperium's borders with the Indomitus Crusade, and Malcador can handle internal affairs. The two of you—one outside, one inside."
Zeke and Guilliman chatted casually. The crowd around them grew larger and larger; many had caught wind of the news, anticipating that something major was about to happen, and hurried over.
"Guilliman, how far along is the Indomitus Crusade right now?"
"The march of the Indomitus Crusade has never stopped. The lost territories near the Segmentum Pacificus have all been reclaimed." Guilliman pulled out a dataslate. "Some forces have reached the outermost layers of the galaxy and encountered the T'au from the Farsight Enclaves. They believe in the Greater Good, and compared to other xenos, they are considered friendly. Then there's the warning from the Necrons: the main fleet of the Tyranids has already covered two-thirds of their journey and will soon approach the galactic fringe."
The air seemed to turn several degrees colder at the mention of the Great Devourer.
"Additionally, the Greenskin forces have been growing restless lately. An Ork Warlord named Ghazghkull seems to be brewing something."
Zeke nodded. Once the Imperium of Man had more or less digested its internal affairs, they would have the opportunity to free up their hands and settle the score with these xenos races.
"Look, it's Captain-General Trajann Valoris!" a gasp came from nearby.
Malcador arrived before the Eternity Gate and met the Adeptus Custodes stationed on both sides of the Imperial Palace.
"Trajann, is it? Your appearance reminds me of that child, Valdor." Malcador leaned his body on his eagle-headed staff, his eyes gleaming beneath his hood.
The Constantin Valdor that Malcador spoke of was the first Captain-General of the Custodes, known as the Shield of the Emperor. His strength could be said to be second only to the Primarchs, and he and Malcador served as the Emperor's left and right hands.
Seeing Malcador, Captain-General Trajann snapped to solemn attention. Following his movement, the Custodians behind him uniformly drew back their guardian spears in perfect unison.
Together, they offered Malcador a shallow bow.
To call it a bow was generous; they merely leaned their bodies forward slightly. That was just how the Custodes were—other than the Emperor Himself, not even Malcador could command their absolute, complete reverence.
"Lord Malcador," Captain-General Trajann said. He did not lower his voice, and as it traveled down the kilometer-long steps, it could still be faintly heard by the people below.
In an instant, the noisy plaza fell into a deathly silence.
This name, which should have only existed in myths and mottled frescoes, was now truly echoing in the air of Terra.
"What did he say his name was? Malca-what?"
"Malcador. I heard it clearly," the person who answered was trembling, the name making his mind buzz.
"What-cador?"
"Malcador! The long-deceased Imperial Regent, Malcador the Sigillite! He's returned! Emperor, am I dreaming?"
"Malca-who?"
"Forget it, get out of here and go cool off somewhere."
The crowd of pilgrims gathered beneath the monumental steps passed the word along. What started as uncertain, astonished whispers quickly escalated into a wave of sound powerful enough to pierce the thick clouds.
Regent Malcador! Regent Malcador has returned!
In less than half a heartbeat, the news spread across the entire Imperium, and it continued to ripple outward—from Macragge to Cadia, from Baal to the entire Segmentum Pacificus.
In the indescribable depths of the Warp, the cultists of the Chaos Gods also felt a certain unease.
Zeke felt the crush as more and more people frantically surged into the Imperial Palace plaza.
The situation in the plaza was rapidly spiraling out of control, with the Inquisition, the Officio Assassinorum, and high-ranking officials from various organizations pressing in.
Zeke calmly pulled out a few pieces of Rotten Flesh. The people around him immediately took a step back, distancing themselves from this foul-smelling human.
"Who is so bold as to take a shit on the outskirts of the Imperial Palace?! Have you no sense of decency?!"
Soon, a blue tide of steel cut through the chaos; the Ultramarines arrived to pacify the agitated crowd.
Amidst this expanse of azure, Zeke sharply caught a few afterimages of deep green and crimson—they were the vanguard of the Dark Angels and Blood Angels.
"The Lion and Sanguinius are here too? Looks like it's going to be very lively later."
Zeke walked over to his spot, pillared up with some stone blocks to get a higher vantage point, and found a good place to continue watching the spectacle.
Malcador finally stood before the towering Eternity Gate. His thin, frail figure seemed so incredibly small before it.
"Old friend, I have returned."
As Malcador's words fell, before the Custodes beside him even had time to make a motion to push, the massive Eternity Gate slowly swung inward on its own.
Then, there were footsteps.
Step, step, step.
Due to the obstructed angle, the masses below could only see a golden light flaring up within the profound darkness inside the gate.
But they saw the reaction of the Custodes. Those loyal golden corn-boys were now like children witnessing a miracle, falling to their knees in fanatical and devout reverence.
Inside the gate.
"You've got to be kidding me! Emperor, don't tell me you actually stood up?!" Zeke shakily pulled out a Spyglass and stared at the figure.
A figure was still sitting upright on the Golden Throne. Zeke relaxed; it seemed to be an avatar, a psychic projection, or something of that sort.
Zeke speculated on the Emperor's intentions in doing this. He figured some major move was about to happen.
"How can there be footsteps coming from the Eternity Gate? Could it be..." A believer shrieked and immediately fainted dead away.
Everyone present scrambled to crane their necks. Countless hands formed the sign of the Aquila over their chests, and countless voices roared out oaths of loyalty.
The footsteps drew nearer.
"Ah, Malcador." A golden figure walked out of the Eternity Gate. The light was not blinding, but it made everyone who looked directly at it feel a baptismal sensation, as if their souls were being scorched.
"Long time no see." Malcador's lips trembled slightly as he suppressed his emotions.
He also knew that the figure before him was not the true Emperor, but the ability to use psychic power like this already spoke volumes about the Emperor's condition.
"Seeing that you are well, I am relieved."
Down in the plaza, the stunned silence of the masses finally shattered. A hysterical voice shrieked from the crush of bodies,
"To be able to lay eyes on the Emperor, even if I die right now, it would be worth it! Ah!"
"The Master of Mankind! It is the Master of Mankind!"
A tsunami-like cheer erupted. Tears of joy flowed freely down countless faces.
The shouts spread through the streets and alleys of Terra. The civilians on the streets were taken aback at first, but then expressions of sheer fanaticism surfaced on their faces.
The streets, which had been somewhat sparse, became tightly packed with people desperate to move forward. Everyone was resorting to any means necessary to push their way toward the inner Imperial Palace.
The defensive line formed by the Ultramarines was on the verge of collapsing. Men, women, youths, the elderly—countless people drawn by the reverence swarmed forward, breaking through the quarantine lines.
Zeke squatted on top of his stone pillar. Below him was a shoving, shouting crowd. Looking out, it was a dense, unending sea of people.
The excited murmurs of the believers gradually turned into fanatical prayers.
Pilgrims prostrated themselves, doing everything in their power to offer up whatever meager tributes they possessed alongside countless words of extravagant praise.
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Next Goal = 400 Powerstones (Not Completed)