This earth-shattering upheaval caused Abaddon to feel a despair far deeper than mere defeat.
The Warmaster lowered his proud head. Every crisp clank of his chains dragging across the marble floor seemed to mock his long-shattered ambitions.
When Abaddon's terrifying, hideous face—complete with his signature topknot—appeared on the streets, the originally bustling city seemed to be struck by a freezing spell.
The citizens of the streets had heard the name of Abaddon, but very few had ever truly seen the true face of the Warmaster.
It wasn't until someone who recognized him fearfully cried out Abaddon's name that the majority of people lowered their heads, not even daring to look directly into the eyes of the man whose name had once made the galaxy burn.
Soon, they saw Abaddon's bound hands and feet.
Whispers spread through the crowd. Meanwhile, another group of Ecclesiarchy propagandists—acting under Guilliman's instructions—seized every opportunity to spread the news of the Warmaster's arrest by the Imperium through the masses.
The adults did not dare to openly discuss Warmaster Abaddon, but the children, speaking with the innocence of youth, directly voiced their thoughts.
"The bad man has been caught, Mommy! Just like you said, evil will eventually be defeated by justice."
More and more onlookers gathered. Sure enough, the desire to watch a spectacle was engraved in the hearts of every citizen.
Zeke locked Abaddon away layer by layer in a dungeon guarded by the Adeptus Custodes. Once the news had sufficiently brewed and spread, Abaddon would welcome his day of execution.
The dungeon holding Abaddon was only a stone's throw away from the core sector of the Imperial Palace.
Zeke then entered the inner sanctum of the Palace and hastily gave a report regarding the Lion, deliberately concealing the fact that he had pocketed the Emperor's Shield. The entity upon the throne did not press the issue.
Just as Zeke was preparing to take his leave, the Emperor called out to him.
Zeke stopped in his tracks. He had come to realize that the Emperor was now essentially acting like an NPC in a video game: all He had to do every day was sit on the Golden Throne and hand out quests.
Zeke turned his head slightly, harboring a bit of resentment. "What is your esteemed business? My time is very precious, you know."
With a wave of the Emperor's hand, a pile of powder appeared in His palm, which He then extended outward.
Zeke leaned in closer. It was a pile of ashes, looking like the remnants left behind after something had completely burned out.
"Malcador... my old friend." Within the Emperor's ethereal voice, a rare ripple of sorrow surfaced.
Zeke looked at the pile of ashes. It was hard to imagine that this lifeless pile of powder was actually Malcador the Sigillite, the Imperium's illustrious Regent.
"During the Horus Heresy, in order to allow me to step away from the Golden Throne, Malcador took my place upon it."
Following the Emperor's narration, a story that caused even Him immense heartbreak was slowly recounted.
"The Golden Throne drains the psychic energy of whoever sits upon it. Even as one of the Imperium's most powerful psykers, Malcador still could not endure it for long. By the time I returned after slaying Horus, he had already withered into a husk. After giving His very last sliver of power to me, He vanished like sand in the wind. Aside from this pile of dust, He left no other trace behind."
Malcador was the Emperor's only true friend, the founder of the Inquisition, and the first Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum.
Many of the administrative facilities currently present in the Imperium, including the Assassinorum, were established entirely by His hands.
He had once prophesied the disease of concentrated power, and warned the Emperor of the poison of religious worship. And everything He had said—in the years that followed—became reality.
Zeke looked at this pile of ash. His inventory interface displayed it as Malcador's Embers, indicating it could be used to craft many items.
For example, it could be brewed into a psychic potion that greatly increased a person's psychic abilities.
Or, it could simply be used like Bone Meal to instantly ripen crops... though that felt a little too disrespectful to old Malcador.
Using another person's ashes to make medicine? Everything Malcador had done qualified Him as a hero. Zeke felt he shouldn't stoop to such a beastly level.
"Emperor, aren't you overestimating me a little too much?"
Zeke didn't immediately accept the quest. Sanguinius, at the very least, still had a body, and his soul still existed within this universe.
The Malcador before him was reduced to nothing but a pile of ash. His soul had been completely absorbed by the Golden Throne and dissipated into the universe. How do you save something that no longer exists?
"Creating something out of nothing... I don't think I'm capable of doing such a thing."
"I believe you can," the Emperor voiced a rare objection, "provided you actually want to do it."
The Emperor's gaze saw straight through Zeke's heart. Zeke coughed lightly. Worthy of the Emperor, He's already seen through my motives.
"Malcador is my closest friend. As long as you can bring Him back, I promise you: I will do one thing for you within the scope of my power."
Within the Emperor's power. That didn't seem much different from Aladdin's magic lamp granting any wish.
But Aladdin's lamp could grant three wishes at once. How come it was reduced to just one when it came to the Emperor?
Zeke looked heartbroken and indignant. "Emperor, without me, this little family of yours would have fallen apart long ago. Look at how much effort I put into resurrecting Guilliman and Sanguinius! One thing is not enough. It has to be at least three."
"One." The Emperor slowly shook His head, the psychic turbulence around Him pulsing.
"The Chaos Gods of the Warp are still eyeing the Imperium. You have brought back their Warmaster, Abaddon. They will no longer allow you to continue your arrogant rampage as they did before. I need to conserve my strength."
"You are truly too stingy, Emperor. But... deal."
Zeke walked to the base of the Golden Throne, extended both hands, and accepted the pile of ashes the Emperor personally handed to him, storing it inside a Shulker Box.
"Let me put the ugly words up front: turning a pile of ash back into a Regent with a complete soul... don't hold out one hundred percent hope."
A moment before stepping out the gates of the Imperial Palace, Zeke suddenly stopped and looked back at the throne buried deep within the shadows.
"In today's Imperium, having Malcador might just be icing on the cake, and lacking him wouldn't be a major hindrance either. Emperor, could it be that you're just getting lonely sitting on the Throne all by yourself, and you want Malcador to come sit with you?"
The Emperor did not answer, merely waving a hand.
The gates of the Imperial Palace slowly closed behind him. The final rays of the setting sun pierced through the towering spires, shining down upon the prosperous, vibrant Imperial City of Terra.
Within that vast, desolate throne room, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh could be heard, like a whispered confidence to an old friend:
"Malcador... is the Imperium today truly as you envisioned it all those years ago? I think... you should come back and see it for yourself."
--
Goal = 500 Powerstones (only 80 remaining)