"The rest of you, leave as well."
His wrath undiminished, the Emperor motioned with a hand to dismiss Sanguinius and Russ, signaling Fulgrim and the others to depart at once.
The three acted as though granted a grand reprieve, quickening their pace to escape the blast radius of their father's anger.
Blazkowicz prepared to leave as well, intending to catch up with Selene to offer a few words of comfort and say a final farewell.
"Blazkowicz, remain."
The majestic voice brought the departing Primarchs to a halt. Turning back toward their brother, their eyes flickered between the Emperor and him.
Sanguinius cast a look of quiet concern, anxiety rising within his sapphire-blue eyes. Being left behind alone in such an oppressive atmosphere was hardly a fortunate turn of events.
Fulgrim's footsteps faltered slightly. His eyes narrowed to suppress a flicker of jealousy, masking it behind a look of attentive care. For a brother to be kept behind for a private audience with their father, whether for good or ill, signaled a deeper intimacy. To Fulgrim, who worshipped the Emperor above all else, watching his father and brother hold a private conversation brought a small, bitter pang of envy to his heart.
"It is fine," Blazkowicz offered a faint smile, shaking his head reassuringly at the two before gesturing toward Selene's receding back.
"We shall say your farewells on your behalf."
The corners of Fulgrim's lips curled into a flawless arc, his smile radiant and peerless, completely burying his inner emotions.
"You need not concern yourself with these matters," Sanguinius added softly, placing a pristine white hand over his chest in a simple warrior's salute, pledging to deliver the farewell.
One possessed peerless brilliance, the other sublime magnificence. The two were striking in their exquisite beauty, distinct in their tempers, and flawless in their courtly grace—a dazzling display that forced even Blazkowicz to narrow his eyes in quiet appreciation.
As for Russ, clutching a bath towel around his waist with one hand, he strode rapidly in pursuit of Selene. He harbored zero concern for Blazkowicz, wishing only to leave this thoroughly unpleasant place as quickly as possible.
---
As his sons departed one after another, the Emperor raised a golden barrier, enclosing Blazkowicz and himself within it.
Blazkowicz folded his arms across his chest, his face devoid of expression, assuming an attitude of quiet expectation.
Once the host had completely filed out, the Emperor turned his gaze toward the fortress gates and spoke: "Do you know why I spared the Eleventh Legion?"
Hearing the query, Blazkowicz simply shook his shoulders and shook his head. He knew full well that given the Emperor's nature, He would never lightly tolerate genetic defects; preserving the Eleventh Legion undoubtedly carried a deeper motive. Yet as for the exact reasoning, he could not guess at all.
Every one of the twenty-one Legions created by the Emperor carried a primal directive, occupying a crucial node within His grand design.
"Selene is unfit for grand responsibilities!" Beneath the golden barrier, the Emperor spoke up once more in stern censure: "He possesses the finest gift—mastery over fire, making him a natural bane to the foul entities of the Warp."
"In my grand design, Selene and his genetic scions were meant to stand before the Webway, repelling the covetous gaze of daemons!"
The Emperor's authoritative voice grew hurried, His breathing picking up its cadence. Beneath the golden radiance, His fists clenched tightly, suppressing the inner fury. Never since the dawn of the Imperium's Great Crusade had He been driven to such anger.
The objective of the Great Crusade was simple: absorb resources in the shortest time possible and funnel them entirely into the Webway Project. The Four Gods would not stand idly by while the Webway was constructed; to feed upon souls, They would never permit humanity to slip beyond Their reach.
Selene, alongside the Eleventh Legion that inherited his fiery power, were meant to serve as an indispensable force guarding the Webway's threshold to hold back the daemonic tide. That was the original design—and the most secure route prior to His alliance with Blazkowicz.
The Emperor had long been aware of the Eleventh Legion's condition. Their terrifying physical manifestations were merely the external expression of inheriting a demigod's flame; without it, they would lack the strength to withstand daemonic assault. Yet Selene was cursed with an absolute revulsion toward impurity, unable to tolerate his own Eleventh Legion.
The Emperor had once considered holding a private council with Selene to reveal certain hidden truths, urging him to learn endurance and understanding for the sake of the grand endeavor. But observing his recent conduct, had Selene been informed of the true origin of the Primarchs, he would undoubtedly have found it impossible to accept, collapsing mentally beneath a wave of self-loathing.
Upon thorough consideration, the Emperor abandoned the idea of revealing the truth to Selene.
"What shall be done moving forward?" Blazkowicz's brows furrowed as he grasped the gravity of the situation: "The Webway Project can under no circumstances be abandoned."
Blazkowicz understood with absolute clarity just how vital the Emperor's Webway Project was to the future of humanity. If a flaw arose at a critical node, all the achievements of the Great Crusade would be rendered meaningless, leaving the Webway Project as nothing more than a castle in the sky.
"Initiate the contingency plan." A golden light coalesced within the Emperor's palm, its shifting threads weaving a radiant tapestry. "The Webway Project remains an absolute imperative; I hold multiple contingency measures."
The golden tapestry glowed with blinding brilliance. With a light flick of His finger, He crossed out an 'X' symbol and ignited another spark of flame.
"Lacking a Primarch to guide them, the Eleventh Legion cannot unleash the full potential of their fiery gift. Thus, I require another flame—one that will set the Legion's warriors ablaze to hold the line against daemons."
The tapestry dissolved. Golden light gathered within the Emperor's palm, condensing into a faintly flickering golden flame.
"I require a flame," the Emperor placed the spectral projection of the fire before Blazkowicz. The flame flickered restlessly, teetering on the edge of extinction under the weight of psychic suppression.
"How is it to be obtained?" Reflecting the flame in his dark eyes, Blazkowicz asked in a deep voice: "Time, location, and what is my role?"
He bypassed unnecessary specifics, cutting straight to the heart of the matter to ask what was required of him.
The Emperor offered a rigid smile. He appreciated Blazkowicz's directness, the lingering anger from moments ago dissipating slightly.
"I originally intended to steal it." His smile bore no shame.
"Steal it?" Blazkowicz's brows knitted tightly, unable to comprehend.
"Indeed," the Emperor nodded with absolute conviction. The smile vanished from His face, replaced by a stern gaze and a grave countenance: "The flame resides within the Warp, held in the grasp of the Chaos Gods."
"It is the Primordial Fire of the Sea of Souls. The Gods and Their daemonic thralls fear it, concealing it deep within the furthest reaches of the Warp. Beyond the Gods Themselves, not even I can locate its position."
"Without precise coordinates, how do You intend to steal fire?" Blazkowicz shook his head in warning: "The Gods will never surrender the Primordial Fire—after all, They fear it."
"You need not concern yourself with that," the Emperor spoke with absolute confidence: "They will hand the flame over."
The Emperor held absolute certainty that the Four Gods would be unable to resist the temptation, surrendering the Primordial Fire with both hands.
"Then how do You intend to pull off the theft?" Seeing His unshakeable certainty, Blazkowicz did not dwell on the matter, raising another critical question instead: "Once the flame is in hand, how do You propose to escape the wrath of the Four Gods?"
To Blazkowicz's understanding, "stealing" implied acquiring an object and making a complete, clean escape. If any sacrifice was incurred during the execution, the act could hardly be deemed a theft.
"I originally intended to steal it," the Emperor stepped beside Blazkowicz, clapping a hand warmly onto his shoulder: "Yet with you present, we can alter the plan from a theft into a raid!"
Blazkowicz glanced sideways at the Emperor, catching a hint of a suppressed, wicked grin.
"I do not follow," he pushed the Emperor's arm off his shoulder, unable to grasp the exact details: "Nor do I care to learn how You intend to deceive the Four Gods. Whether by stealth or by force, simply inform me when it is time to execute."
Blazkowicz held no desire to dive into the intricate nuances of the scheme.
Between the Emperor and the Four Gods, some dark bargain undoubtedly existed; as to how it operated, he had no wish to pry. If the Emperor truly possessed the capability to swindle the flame from the Ruinous Powers, he was willing to lend his aid. Should this flame prove capable of repelling daemons and deities, employing it for humanity would immensely bolster their strength against the Warp.
To weaken the foe while empowering one's own species—why ever not?
No matter what dark schemes or deceptions were employed, could they truly prove filthier than the Gods Themselves?
"I am leaving." Blazkowicz turned on his heel, passing through the golden barrier without a hint of resistance as he strode toward the main gates.
The Emperor watched his departing back, falling into deep contemplation.
The Primordial Fire was an absolute necessity—it was a vital asset against the Warp and a key link in the Webway Project. Standing beneath the golden radiance, He began counting the number of Primarchs on His fingers, a deep, calculated light gleaming in the depths of His eyes.
Back in the Warp, the Emperor had struck a pact with the Four Gods of Chaos, promising that half of the Primarchs would belong to Chaos. If He were to increase that number by four and deliver them in advance, the Ruinous Powers would prove utterly incapable of refusing such a monumental temptation—and would surely yield the Primordial Fire in exchange.
"Thirteen..."
The Emperor murmured the tally of Primarchs, shaking His head in helpless resignation.
Counting Blazkowicz and Alpharius, the number of returned Primarchs stood at a mere thirteen—far from enough to execute the fire-stealing scheme at this stage.
To deceive the Four Gods, four Primarchs had to be surrendered as payment. Blazkowicz and Alpharius were strictly excluded from the calculations; they were far too vital. The former was a paramount force against Chaos, while the latter served as the Imperium's secret shadow.
"Lion, Horus..."
Three names left His lips. The Emperor pondered for a long while, yet could not settle on the final candidates.
Among the currently returned Primarchs, there was no suitable choice. It was not a matter of a gap in capability, but rather that the bait had to carry monumental significance to move the Gods and pry open Their divine greed.
Lion was the de facto First Primarch—the beginning of all things—bearing a profound symbolic weight that the Ruinous Powers held in exceptionally high regard.
Horus was the recognized First-Found Son, bearing enlightenment and expectation; how could the Four Gods ever refuse him? Furthermore, keeping Horus by His side to personally mentor him had poured vast devotion into the son, granting him an unimaginably elevated stature.
The Emperor let out a silent, cold laugh, feeling that simply dangling these two sons as bait would drive the Chaos Gods into a frenzy, eager to strike the trade without delay.
Yet the Primordial Fire was shared equally among the Four Gods of Chaos; if the remaining two deities received no profit, They would never permit an extra transaction to occur.
Pondering the matter back and forth, there remained no suitable candidates after all. Shaking His head, the Emperor stepped slowly out from behind the golden barrier.
The time was not yet ripe.