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Chapter 53: The Wager of Fates
"Is this some manner of jest?"
The Emperor's voice carried the weight of ten thousand years as He perused the report regarding the Imperium's first Celestial Computer.
Twice, He read the document, His golden eyes scanning each line with divine precision.
The hardware facilities for the inaugural Celestial Computer had been completed with extensive resource allocation. B
asic code compilation proceeded according to Imperial specifications. All had progressed without impediment, save for a singular aberration in nomenclature.
The intended Terra Celestial Computer had been designated the "Terra Bar Celestial Computer."
"This error stems from your imprecise articulation," the Raven observed, its voice carrying an echo of remembrance as it replayed the Emperor's previous words.
"All of humanity's glory began upon Terra, therefore the first-generation Celestial Computer shall bear the designation Terra... Bar."
"One cannot expect those whose neural matter has been replaced with sacred diodes and blessed cogitators to comprehend the interjections employed in mortal discourse."
Subsequent communications validated the Raven's assessment.
Malcador bore countless burdens upon his ancient shoulders, the procurement of supplies for expeditionary fleets, the appointment and dismissal of personnel across a thousand worlds.
Ā The nascent Human Empire rested upon his wisdom, rendering personal oversight of every matter impossible.
Many responsibilities had been delegated to specialized departments. The Astropathic Choir fell under the purview of the Unified Association, recently established for such purposes.
Ā Mechanicus Sage Mendel served as its chief, a servant of the Omnissiah whose loyalty remained absolute and whose expertise spanned multiple disciplines.
His rank stood second only to the Fabricator-General himself.
Mendel's competence remained beyond question, yet he had failed to discern the Emperor's casual interjection.
Ā His subsequent communication indicated that altering the designation would require complete formatting and recompilation of the underlying code matrix.
The programming-adepts of the Adeptus Mechanicus had already embedded the nomenclature into the sacred algorithms, integrating it seamlessly into the system's blessed architecture.
To format, discard, and recompile would necessitate extended construction periods and additional resource expenditure.
"Let it stand. The designation matters not."
The Emperor dismissed the concern with Imperial finality. It remained merely a name, unworthy of further consideration.
He transmitted new directives to Malcador, demanding acceleration of the construction schedule to establish the Imperium's first-generation Astropathic Choir with all haste.
"Perhaps our subsequent Astropathic Choir might bear the designation 'Retard,'" the Raven suggested with its characteristic irreverence.
The Emperor's gaze fixed upon the creature. "Absolutely not. 'Terra' constituted merely a minor aberration. Such errors shall not be repeated."
The Emperor processed matters of state with divine efficiency, approving documents transmitted from Terra and distant star systems.
He maintained regular audiences with each recovered Primarch, monitoring their progress and dispositions.
Horus and Lion continued their rivalry for the position of First Son.
Currently, Lion held an advantage through the First Legion's unwavering support, though Horus commanded considerable respect through battlefield prowess and natural charisma.
Russ remained with his Sixth Legion warriors, sharing their ales and engaging in ritual combat. Angron, as ever, dominated the gladiatorial arenas, maintaining his undefeated record.
His experiences upon Nuceria had forged him into a passionate advocate against the institution of slavery.
He proclaimed his convictions publicly, declaring that the Imperium should reject any world that maintained such practices, regardless of their rulers' willingness to submit.
The fleet translated from the Warp into real space, emerging within a new star system.
Multiple colonies maintained respectable technological advancement, their orbital infrastructure gleaming with communication satellites and transport vessels.
The unexpected arrival of the expeditionary fleet initially caused alarm, though the local populations quickly recognized their isolation's end.
They conducted grand welcoming ceremonies and readily affixed their signatures to Imperial compliance treaties.
At that moment, a warship breached the Mandeville point and entered real space. Three recovered Primarchs returned to the Imperium aboard the vessel.
Following the compliance ceremonies, the Emperor, accompanied by Primarchs Lion, Russ, Angron, and Horus, proceeded to welcome their newly returned brothers.
Upon the landing deck of the Emperor's Grand Design, a transport shuttle descended with ceremonial precision. High-pressure gases hissed as the heavy hatch cycled open, revealing three towering figures.
The first possessed a resolute countenance, cold and indifferent, his platinum hair cropped in military fashion. Rogal Dorn of Inwit stood immovable as ancient stone.
Behind him emerged a pale figure with melancholic eyes, obsidian-black hair falling to his shoulders.
An aura of menace emanated from his presence; those who approached experienced instinctive dread. Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter of perpetually shrouded Nostramo, had returned.
Last to emerge was Sanguinius of the Baal system. His appearance caused a visible reaction among the assembled throng.
This Primarch bore not only features of perfect nobility but also magnificent white wings, a distinction none of his brothers possessed. Sanguinius's unique nature inspired both awe and envy.
The reunion proceeded with appropriate formality. Following introductions, Dorn and Sanguinius adapted quickly to their circumstances, engaging in discourse with their recovered brothers.
Ā Curze, however, displayed no interest, as though nothing could pierce his melancholic contemplation.
"You appear troubled, little bat."
The Raven alighted upon Curze's shoulder, tilting its head with curious regard. Curze turned his obsidian gaze upon the creature, eyes narrowing slightly.
His gift of foresight revealed all futures save one, upon the Raven, he perceived only void. Complete emptiness.
After prolonged silence, Curze replied, "Because all endeavors prove meaningless. The future remains immutable."
"You strike me as a pessimist," the Raven observed with dark amusement.
"I merely state observable fact. Fate has been inscribed since time immemorial." Curze hesitated, ultimately withholding his visions.
All present radiated contentment and purpose, yet he had witnessed their futures, brother turning against brother, the galaxy transformed into an ash-strewn battlefield of mutual slaughter.
To speak such truths would invite only hatred and rejection.
"Fate proves no more complex than combining sustenance," the Raven declared. "You should embrace optimism."
"I possess no desire to debate such matters with you, Raven."
"Debate indeed lacks purpose. How about a wager of skill?" the Raven suggested. "Perhaps the outcome might alter your perspective."
"A wager? What manner of contest?" Curze had never encountered such a proposition.
"A simple card game," the Raven explained. "You may be unfamiliar with it, but instruction can be provided."
"You wish to challenge me directly?" Curze's tone carried its characteristic gloom.
"No, no. You may select any opponent present, a Custodian, an Astartes, even a mortal," the Raven clarified. "I shall explain the rules, then you shall play. One game to determine victory."
Curze lowered his head, displaying continued disinterest. "Selecting random opposition renders such contests meaningless. Victory remains assured."
"Play once," the Raven proposed. "Should you emerge victorious, you may claim any position of authority, Warmaster, Regent, any title you desire."
"Such terms lack equity." Horus approached, having overheard the exchange. "Raven, your favoritism proves excessive."
The other Primarchs gathered, clearly sharing Horus's sentiment regarding the arrangement's fairness.
The Raven surveyed all assembled Primarchs. "The offer extends to all present. Whoever defeats Curze's chosen opponent may claim any position within the Imperium."
These words successfully ignited enthusiasm among all the Primarchs.
A single victory in this "Gwent" would grant them their heart's desire. Even Sanguinius, who had maintained reserved dignity since his return, displayed unmistakable interest.
"You speak without jest?" Curze regarded the Raven with evident doubt.
"Jest has no place in this offer. Win a single game, and your wishes shall be fulfilled."
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