Aboard the Phalanx,
At a massive dining table, two giants sat across from each other. The bright yellow candlelight lent a touch of warmth to the room, shielding it from the raucous beastmen gorging themselves in front of the Custodes outside.
Beneath this cozy ambiance lay an unsettling silence. Only the sound of food sliding down throats broke the stillness, reminding one that this wasn't a deathly tomb but the first banquet between father and son.
As the last morsel of food vanished, Diedrech Torismund, now fully restored by ample nutrition, looked at the still-silent Emperor and spoke up.
"Let's have an open and honest talk, shall we? How about we start with why I became a Primarch, my dear biological dad—Neos?"
"Of course, you have the right to know this secret."
When he heard the word "secret," Diedrech's eyes widened, an eager impulse urging him to lean forward. The Emperor's voice began to resonate.
"Outrealm Wanderer—that's what we call your kind. For our world, an Outrealm Wanderer is, without a doubt, a disaster.
Whenever one of you appears, your illogical, twisted forms pollute the world like cancer cells, gnawing at the barriers of reality while leaving behind a host of grotesque, aberrant monstrosities.
Be it the physical universe or the Warp, the moment you're detected, the first instinct is to eradicate you. Even those four wastes would do the same.
After all, who knows what kind of terrifying monster an unchecked Outrealm Wanderer might become? But…"
"But what?" Driven by his thirst for secrets, Diedrech leaned in closer.
"But I'm not like those wastes. Rules are meant to be broken. Why should humanity be toyed with like pawns? I must make humanity great again, and your arrival has tipped the scales of victory irrevocably in my favor."
As if all that came before was a facade, the Emperor, removing his sunglasses, transformed instantly from a stoic statue into a passionate orator straight out of an art school. He grabbed Diedrech's wrist and began expounding his grand vision.
Undoubtedly, the Emperor's speech could inspire any human to pledge their life to his cause. But to Diedrech, it was just noise—his head buzzed, and the golden giant before him began to blur, morphing into a dark-skinned, voluptuous woman with a fluffy tail.
Then he saw a pair of eyes glowing with an eerie light.
"Eyes? A tail? No—you damned dog, you dare try to seduce me? You blasted yellow-skin, I'll tear you apart!"
Snapping back to reality, Diedrech grabbed the dining table and hurled it forward. Before the Custodes could burst through the door, he pounced on the Emperor, heedless of probing or suspicion, yanking his hair and pummeling that big face with frenzied punches.
In mere breaths, Diedrech threw a hundred fists, shamelessly targeting the eyes with no regard for martial honor.
His tangible fury scorched the deck, painting the surroundings in crimson. Faintly, slithering, slimy tendrils writhed around the enraged golden-haired giant.
But the Emperor, Master of Mankind, was no ordinary foe. He was in the middle of expounding his grand vision, and this rebellious son not only refused to bow but dared to attack him? This wasn't mere defiance—it demanded a heavy fist.
Golden psychic energy flared, a slap sending Diedrech crashing to the ground. But an immediate elbow strike smashed into the Emperor's nose, drawing twin streams of blood.
Looking at the son clinging to him like an octopus, tearing at his hair like a rabid dog, the Emperor finally lost it, shouting, "I'm your father!"
"Pfft, nonsense! My dad's long dead. You just see me as a tool. Is this how a father acts? If you've got the guts, don't use your psyker powers!"
The Emperor fell silent. While he had created the Primarchs to serve the Great Crusade, that didn't mean he didn't love his sons. But the golden giant's first instinct wasn't to explain—he opted to speak with his fists, as he had with Ferrus Manus before.
Pure violence erupted. After a brief brawl, both giants were fully enraged. The Emperor was ferocious and swift; Diedrech was swift and ferocious. Like street thugs, they grappled and tussled on the floor, turning the once-warm dining room into a wasteland of rubble.
The scene stunned the Custodes who'd rushed to protect their lord, but then a few barks sounded from behind. As the situation veered toward an irreversible mess, a thunderous shout came from the doorway:
"Stand down! What are you doing? In the name of the Imperial Regent, I order you to get back!"
"Retreat! I'm fine, Boss!"
Receiving simultaneous orders, the Custodes and beastmen withdrew. A gaunt old man appeared at the door, exchanged a glance with the Emperor, and promptly shut it.
Looking at the battered Emperor beside him, sporting panda eyes from his elbow, Diedrech mumbled through his half-broken teeth, "Let me go. You snapped my spine. I'm your son!"
"Didn't you say you don't recognize me as your father?" The Emperor released his grip on the rebellious son, retorting immediately.
"Can't I take it back? Come help me up!"
"Your moral standards are remarkably… flexible."
"No thanks to you, old yellow man!"
With a sickening crack, the Emperor used his psychic powers to mend Diedrech's spine, then employed molecular reconstruction to instantly restore his own miserable wounds.
Unable to run, unable to win a fight, and facing an opponent who could both fight and heal, Diedrech was out of options. He slumped into his seat like a pile of mud, ready to give up. Then he noticed the Emperor's hesitant, almost bashful demeanor.
Honestly, seeing a five-meter-tall, psychic-inflated giant whose arms could double as racetracks make such an expression was unbearable to look at.
"Come on, big guy, what do you want? I've already called you my father—what more do you need?"
"No, you haven't truly accepted me. You think I'm an irredeemable madman, no different from those four wastes. That disdain on your face never fades.
To you, everything around you seems irrelevant. You scorn everyone equally. The only things you seem to care about are those giant beastmen. You…"
The Emperor paused, not continuing his accusations. Instead, he abandoned his earlier arrogance and sat beside Diedrech.
A drink was placed on the table. Diedrech didn't refuse, picking it up and drinking. As the bubbles burst in his mouth, he fell silent.
"Cola?"
"Indeed. The flavor from the 3rd millennium, the taste from your memories. I didn't delve too deeply into them.
As I said, your memories are toxic. Just the bit of corruption I encountered took immense effort to purge, burning half the Alps in the process. But I believe it was worth it, because it was a necessary sacrifi—"
The Emperor paused again.
Another drink was placed on the table. Diedrech downed it. This time it was orange juice with pulp, its fresh taste stirring an indescribable loneliness in the giant who'd been away from it for twelve years.
"So why didn't you just erase me back then? Maybe if I died, I could've gone home."
"Perhaps. But as far as I know, you're just a remnant husk from a higher dimension. Descending is easy; going back is nearly impossible."
The Emperor continued, "When your wreckage streaked across the stars and crashed through the Warp onto Terra, you were nearly dead. To prevent contamination, I prepared to end you myself.
But do you know what I found when I touched you?"
"A kindred spirit who could understand me. A partner who could help me make humanity great again."
Since their meeting, Diedrech had never seen such a genuine smile on the Emperor's face. He could feel, with absolute clarity, that this wasn't some damned charm ability.
"Diedrech, my son, from the day you were born, the Himalayas echoed with your name. You will come to embrace my vision and lead humanity to glory."
After finishing, the Emperor fell silent, staring expectantly at Diedrech.
At first, Diedrech brushed it off, but soon he couldn't take it anymore. What were you doing earlier? Can't you talk properly? Why were you acting like an idiot before?
"Then say something nice. Beg me."
"What? You want me to beg you? I…"
The Emperor's fist clenched again, his mouth twitching as if cursing an invisible foe. But he soon sighed, reluctantly saying, "Help me, my son. I need you."
"Ugh, fine, what am I supposed to do with you?"
Hearing this response, Malcador, who'd been acting as an external brain outside the door, decisively severed his psychic link, muttering to himself, "This really isn't a job for humans."
"The burden of the Imperium, it seems, still rests on my shoulders."