“I never found it again.
That Daemon hid its traces carefully, and I was never able to pursue it.” Aboard the command ship, the Master of Mankind sat on a couch, his expression unreadable as he worked the holographic command console before him.
“You did what you could.” The old man beside him said, a stack of parchment in his arms.
They had been reviewing their plans when the Emperor suddenly rose, left a brief instruction, and teleported away.
The Emperor had been acting this way for the past few days, always leaving abruptly whenever he sensed something.
Malcador knew he was searching for the Primarch.
But the Emperor would no longer disappear without warning.
Half a day earlier, Number Eleven had already set out for the star system where the XII Legion, the World Eaters, were stationed.
The Emperor had not entirely given up on Zelo.
He clearly acknowledged one part of Number Eleven’s nature, but the rest remained far too dangerous.
Over the past few days, the Emperor had been trying to excise the part of Zelo’s soul that did not belong to him, but he had failed.
So the Emperor changed his approach.
He began hunting for the Daemon that had corrupted Zelo, but after being seared by the Emperor’s Golden Flame, that entity had not shown itself again.
The Emperor took a deep breath and gently shook his head.
“There is no need to delay any longer,” he said.
“Prepare to set out.
The Great Crusade will not be delayed by anyone or anything.
I regret it, but this is a necessary sacrifice.
Number Eleven has already departed for the XII Legion as well.” “A necessary sacrifice.” Malcador repeated the phrase thoughtfully.
“Necessary…” Then the old man, as if suddenly remembering something, looked at the Emperor.
“As I recall, when Number Eleven was created, we granted him more than just calmness.” Malcador remembered the expectations the Emperor had held for Number Eleven back then, for Number Eleven’s role had been unique.
Like the other Primarchs, the Lion had been granted absolute loyalty and a feral nature; Mortarion, endurance and defiance.
The Emperor had bestowed on them primal aspects of the Warp, along with facets of his own human brilliance.
“What other trait did you grant Number Eleven at that time?” The Emperor suddenly fell silent.
Then he lifted his eyes from the command console and met Malcador’s gaze.
For a fleeting moment, a strange shared realization passed between them.
“The Necessary Evil.” When a ruler says, “This is a necessary sacrifice,” that is Necessary Evil.
As the Emperor spoke, Malcador’s voice suddenly sharpened.
“I do not think handing Number Eleven over to the XII Legion is wise.” The old man became agitated.
Originally, he had only feared that Angron would lead Zelo astray, or that Zelo would become disheartened with the Imperium.
Then Malcador suddenly realized the matter could be viewed the other way around: what if Zelo did something to the XII Legion?
They already knew that Zelo could manipulate emotions.
After days of observing Zelo and the Stollians, Malcador had realized that although Zelo appeared easygoing on the surface…
In reality, Zelo exerted immense dominance and control over the Stollians.
His mood alone could influence the group’s choices and emotions.
It appeared that the Stollians had chosen Zelo, but behind the scenes, Malcador believed this was also the result of Zelo’s covert manipulation.
Zelo had the ability to manipulate groups, especially suffering and lost masses.
That, by itself, was not necessarily a problem.
But if this Primarch had been designed as Necessary Evil, then Zelo would not remain passive.
“The Lord of the XII Legion has always been an empty title.
Angron does not govern his Legion.
If the Imperium sent a Primarch without a Legion of his own to the XII now, what would happen among the World Eaters?” Malcador voiced his concerns rapidly, but the Emperor before him merely fell silent for a moment before speaking calmly.
“The loss could hardly be greater than it already is.” Under Angron’s leadership, the World Eaters were already teetering on the brink, their combat effectiveness at its lowest.
The Emperor said, “Besides, one of my Custodians is watching over Number Eleven.” “So you are the one sent by the Master of Mankind to watch over me.” Aboard the heavy cruiser, the Primarch stood on his desk on tiptoe, holding a chunk of torn metal paneling in both hands.
In the hole in the wall above his head, a sliver of golden light flickered.
“I wanted to talk to you before, but you kept avoiding me,” Zelo said.
“Did he send only you to watch me?” “…” A faint sound of breathing came from the hole in the wall, followed by the scrape of metal.
The patch of gold shifted, then quickly vanished into the wall cavity.
A minute later, a knock came at the Primarch’s door.
Zelo opened it to find an Adeptus Custodian standing at his threshold.
“I think we need to talk.
I will allow you to watch me, but please stop hiding under my bed.
It is unsettling.” “But you do not sleep, and you do not use the bed.” The Custodian, Xynis, spoke.
In the week and a half he had monitored the Primarch, Zelo had never once lain down to rest.
The closest he came to sleep was sitting at his desk three times a day with his eyes closed, for anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour.
“Then you can lie on my bed to watch me, instead of under it.” “…” The Custodian fell silent.
He merely stood in place.
Because of his helmet, Zelo could not see his eyes, but he could feel his speechless frustration.
“Are you thinking, ‘So this is a Primarch’?” “I was contemplating no such blasphemy.
Please do not mock me.” “I just thought you could stand openly by my side to watch me.
On Stoll Star, you hung outside my office window to watch me talk to my commanders, and my staff saw you.
You terrified them.” “…” “I can sense your soul.
I simply don’t want to be constantly distracted by you shifting positions around me.
But I must admit, your stealth is exceptional most of the time.” Xynis found the Primarch before him difficult to read, and a wave of shame washed over him.
The Emperor had originally sent him to watch Zelo, but the Eleventh Primarch had discovered him long ago.
“There is no need to take the failure so hard.
Since he sent you, that means he knew you would be found, doesn’t it?
The Master of Mankind understands both you and me.” The words relieved the Custodian for a moment, then irritated him.
He felt as though he had been seen through.
The Custodian knew that the Primarchs could read human emotions, but even so, being read so easily irritated him.
“Then, now that you have found me, what do you intend to do?” “Nothing much,” Zelo said, pulling the door wider to let the Custodian in.
He tilted his head toward two tall sofas facing each other inside the room, both built to Primarch scale, and motioned for him to sit.
“Just talk with me.
Everyone else on this ship is too afraid of me.
Also, I have an idea.
I will simply say he assigned you as my personal guard.
That way, you can follow me openly and watch over me.” Zelo gave what he thought was a considerate smile.
To the Custodian, it looked deeply sinister.