Hera Fortress.
Apart from the key figures of the two Legions, most others had no idea what had just transpired. All they knew was that the Ultramarines had been attacked by Dark Angels who appeared out of nowhere. The details remained unclear to them.
The rumor circulating was that due to some joint scheming between Alpha and the Calibanite traitors, a certain misunderstanding had arisen between both sides — and that the great Guilliman had already resolved it, with all parties now deliberating inside Hera Fortress.
"Regent Malcador!"
"Did you come on Father's orders?"
"I suppose so. Perhaps Father really has been watching everything we do all along. Seeing me and Guilliman come to blows, he probably rushed to drag you out."
The Lion crossed his arms over his small chest, looking thoroughly smug.
As far as this conflict was concerned, he considered it entirely unrelated to himself. It was purely Guilliman's fault for having a bad signal — if he'd only been able to hear clearly what Father had instructed, none of this would have happened.
On the other side, Azrael and Calgar still wore expressions of barely-contained hostility. Even though both Primarchs had called a ceasefire, it was impossible to just let it go — one second they were raising thunder hammers ready to crack each other's skulls, and the next their Primarchs were telling them to stand down. Deeply unsatisfying.
Guilliman, meanwhile, had fallen into a state of troubled confusion. Though his mind had already formed certain answers and suspicions, he was not the type to accept anything so mystical and intangible at face value.
"Wait, Lion — you're saying you can hear Father's commands inside your head? How could you possibly prove those voices are Father's? That doesn't seem rational. I think you're being idealistic."
The moment Guilliman finished speaking, the Lion shot him a withering sideways glance.
Noticing that his Walk in the Woods ability had come off cooldown, a ring of vines suddenly sprouted in front of Guilliman — and then a pair of small, dainty hands reached out and pinched Guilliman directly on the face.
"Oh yes, yes, yes! I'm the one being idealistic — I've already used my ability and you haven't even got one! Right now I can cross star systems with a single Walk in the Woods — can you do that, Guilliman? Go on, say something!"
Truth be told, the Lion had no wish to let too many people see him in his current form. If it weren't for the gravity of the situation and Father's mission, he might well have killed Calgar and every Ultramarine in the room.
He couldn't help it. Having people see him looking like this — a beautiful young girl — was genuinely embarrassing.
In the Lion's mind, Guilliman had no shame. But he did.
"Ow ow ow, Sis, let go, let go — stop pinching, it hurts, it hurts!"
"Malcador is watching! Stop fooling around!"
"Hmph!"
With the short distance involved, the Lion simply teleported back.
The ability left the red-faced Guilliman completely stunned. Arguing materialism with the Lion in his current state was genuinely unreasonable — because right now, the Lion was simply too absurd to argue against.
[Malcador: This is hilarious. Absolutely hilarious. These two are such a pair of clowns — it'd be a real waste if they didn't go into showbiz.]
Malcador cleared his throat twice, then teased: "The two of you, the way you're carrying on — it'd be a shame not to become pop idols!"
"In my estimation, the sheer adoration of your fans might genuinely be enough to manifest you both as real entities within the Warp!"
"My Lord used to do similar things when he dressed as a girl, you know! At the time he took the form of a blue-haired little loli and performed on stage — and he was quite good!"
[The Emperor: DAMN IT ALL — some wretched dog is digging up my secrets!]
[Damn you, Malcador — just wait until you come back, and we'll settle this!]
[I made it very clear: while I'm alive, these secrets are NEVER to be revealed!]
[I knew it. I should have kept you on the Golden Throne first. Dead, you were my most loyal confidant — alive, you're my greatest liability!]
Even while the Emperor raged, Malcador could faintly hear snatches of it — and his attitude couldn't have been simpler.
Go ahead and yell. Yell all you like.
Malcador had indeed made a promise: as long as the Emperor lived, certain secrets would never be spoken. But the Emperor's current state was half-dead at best. Technically speaking, that didn't quite count as living.
"Lord Regent, please stop teasing us — it's not funny in the least!"
"We're already embarrassed enough about looking like this without any dignity. If you add singing and dancing on top of it—"
"How am I supposed to command a Legion after that?"
The Lion said this — but was already quietly jotting it down in a small notebook.
[Inner Circle Secret: The Emperor once turned into a girl. Was a celebrity. Was an idol.]
Guilliman, for his part, was already cheerfully putting his foot in it.
He had actually begun listing the advantages of their current bodies.
At worst, just be their mother.
Guilliman patted the Lion on the shoulder, in the most gentle and soothing of tones: "Lion-sis, even though you never had a mother — this is a good opportunity to practice! As long as you cherish these children sincerely, they'll be more than willing to fight for you!"
The tone was gentle enough, but the content was almost asking for a beating.
The Lion's fists clenched. He desperately wanted to drag Guilliman off somewhere and beat the living daylights out of him.
"Guilliman!"
"Are you tired of living? Looking for a beating?"
"Sure, sure, you're the one with a mother — you'd know how to do it, wouldn't you?!"
"You've already thrown all shame to the wind — your sons literally call you the Gene-Mother!"
"I'm not as shameless as you. At the very least, my title needs to sound imposing."
"For the Lioness!"
"Pfft—!"
At that battle cry, Guilliman didn't laugh — but all three of his champions behind him absolutely lost it.
They suddenly felt that calling their Primarch "Mom" wasn't so awkward after all. The other side was going with Lioness — wasn't that even more spectacular?
"Guilliman, your brats are laughing?! That's it, I've had enough!"
"Azrael — muster the men and fall in! I'm finishing him off today!"
Guilliman, though suppressing the urge to laugh himself, retorted indignantly: "Lion — even if you are my elder sister, your temper really is something!"
"Sicarius, have the Honour Guard follow me!"
"If it comes to it, we'll just have another round with my sister. Some things really do need to be settled by force!"
[Calgar: Why is it never me?]
"Enough!" Malcador looked at these two daughters of the Emperor and couldn't hold back any longer. "I came because the Emperor gave me a mission — and that mission is to make the two of you stop fighting."
"As for what comes after, he didn't say. Perhaps many things will need to be discussed after returning to the Palace on Terra."
"I can sense that the shadow the Tyranids have constructed here can block part of the Warp's influence. My psychic power can still reach Terra, but I don't know the Emperor's exact condition."
"I can't even be certain right now whether your Father is still the Master of Mankind — or whether he has become the Anathema Psykana's nightmare."
"But judging by the state of the two of you right now... perhaps the Emperor can still be saved."
"Still... saved?"
At those words, the tempers of both parties — moments ago ready to boil over — suddenly subsided.
Both the Ultramarines' champions and the Dark Angels' Inner Circle stood in stunned silence.
If the Emperor could truly rise again... every one of these seasoned veterans had heard the legends of the Great Crusade's glory. Every Space Marine yearned for that kind of honourable warfare. To march at the Emperor's side on Crusade — that was every Astartes' highest aspiration. The veterans who had survived those campaigns were without exception extraordinary warriors. Even the Traitors sometimes found themselves longing for those days.
Malcador did not respond immediately. His own information was limited. He would need to use his abilities to assess the situation properly.
Overall though, it seemed things were not as dire as feared — particularly because he could sense that one corner of the Warp appeared to have been cleansed.
"I had believed there was no hope. But I can already sense a place in the Warp that seems to have been washed clean by something."
"Perhaps the Master of Mankind can receive such a cleansing as well."
"I don't know who did it — but at the very least, there is now a sliver of hope."
To the eyes of the Primarchs, Malcador was still that ancient elder — his skin inscribed with runes from the Dark Age of Technology, each one radiating an aura of profound danger. Even the most powerful Librarians gave him a wide berth, for beside him they were as a single drop of water before a rushing river.
Watching the two little Primarch girls bicker back and forth, Malcador felt, inexplicably, that he found them far more agreeable than their former selves. Whenever he had previously examined their Warp-nature with his psychic senses, he had felt a vague but persistent disgust and unease. But now, whatever force had been at work, even their Warp-nature had taken on a quality of warmth — even a certain... charm.
"Ah... if only the Emperor had made you girls from the very beginning," he mused.
"Perhaps far fewer of your fraternal conflicts would ever have happened."
"Absolutely not!" the Lion huffed, indignant.
Guilliman buried his face in his hands in mortified silence.
Both had inwardly accepted their current state — but in terms of dignity and temperament, they still very much wished they could change back.
[Caleb: Alright — let's deal with the Tyranids first before anything else.]
[Finish this battle, then we'll talk.]
Caleb had no patience left for their little theatre. He could see the strategic board — and the Tyranids were massing again, preparing the next wave.
Don't assume the Tyranid fleet has only one Hive Ship. In a full Tendril fleet, the number of Hive Ships is beyond counting. Right now, apart from the first Hive Ship already present, four more were slowly converging — and they were larger and more powerful than the first, bringing an even greater and more ferocious swarm.
The Tyranids would pour everything they had into taking Macragge. They were willing to burn through their elite organisms as cannon fodder if it meant claiming this Agri-world.
Once Caleb issued the order, Malcador was finally able to transmit the Emperor's commands clearly into Guilliman's mind — and with the Lion's joint endorsement, Guilliman could no longer bring himself to doubt the voice's identity.
"Wait—" Guilliman's mind was still working rapidly, already thinking ahead to the aftermath of this battle.
And then it hit him — he had hung up on Father. His cheek began to throb for no apparent reason.
"What is it, Guilliman?!"
"This is Father's will — and Malcador agrees there's no problem. Don't tell me you're going to start dithering again!"
"If you won't fight, the Dark Angels will hold the line. Once my Rock and Caliban arrive—"
"I can complete Father's mission all on my own!"
The Lion had no more patience for Guilliman's long-windedness. That measured, deliberate manner of speaking drove him absolutely mad. Decisions already made were delivered as if they were grand pronouncements or royal favours. Hearing it too often made the Lion want to be sick. Guilliman clearly had no awareness of this.
"That's not it," Guilliman said, and his expression shifted to one of genuine concern — which immediately drew worried looks from his Ultramarines.
Calgar dropped to one knee before his Primarch, power sword planted point-down beside him, and asked respectfully:
"My Lord — do you have further concerns? If so, command us. We will fight to the last breath for you."
At those words, the Dark Angels too steeled themselves to keep fighting. If Guilliman's head continued to malfunction, they weren't above the idea of knocking him out and carrying him home. As for their relationship with the Ultramarines afterward — well, they'd already dragged the woman back, hadn't they? Surely the Ultramarines wouldn't actually do anything to the Dark Angels over it.
The atmosphere, under Guilliman's prolonged pause, had grown strange again.
The Lion's temper was about to snap.
"Guilliman!"
"Too big for your boots, are you? Don't tell me you've gotten so ambitious you've stopped listening to Father?"
"If you don't trust me, surely you're not going to question Malcador?"
"If you keep making trouble, I'm tying you up and dragging you back to grovel before Father myself!"
The moment the Lion unleashed that threat, both sides snapped back to full alert — blades half-drawn, the tension of a hundred warriors pressing back toward the edge of violence.
"ENOUGH!"
Malcador sent out a single psychic shockwave — and effortlessly sent both Nulls into overload. They crumpled to the ground writhing, while several Librarians collapsed outright, convulsing.
With a great enemy at the gates, this was no time for infighting.
For Malcador, right now, one thing mattered above all: eliminate the Tyranids and return to Terra. He needed to know the Emperor's true condition — and how far down the road toward becoming the Anathema Psykana the Emperor had already walked.
"Alright, alright," Guilliman said finally, his expression settling.
"It's nothing. I just — I really was wondering. If I hung up on Father... would he actually kill me over it?"
"As for this battle: the Ultramarines will give everything we have. Ultramar is my home. How could I stand by and watch it fall?"
Malcador said nothing. He could already sense that the tension between the two sides had largely run its course.
His real worry now was the Emperor — specifically, how far gone he was.
"Fine then!" The Lion dismissed his greatsword, looking mildly satisfied.
If Guilliman had kept talking nonsense, she genuinely would have swung it.
But the answer was acceptable. Sure enough, Guilliman still cared deeply about what Father thought.
The Lion planted both fists on her hips and grinned. "Relax — he won't kill you. At worst, he smacks you around a bit. As long as you complete the mission Father gave you, that's all that matters!"
"Wasn't that how the Great Crusade worked? Don't tell me you've already forgotten what that felt like?"
Guilliman's shoulders finally dropped with relief.
After all, the Primarchs knew what the Emperor was like during the Great Crusade. The occasional imperfect mission result wouldn't earn his wrath. He might offer a pointed remark or two — some guidance — but that was all.
Unless, of course, the mission went truly catastrophically wrong — like a certain unlucky primarch whose endless campaign delays resulted in a Perfect City reduced to ash.
Guilliman was not going to let Macragge be reduced to ash. To prevent any such outcome, his mind was made up: the Tyranids would be eliminated first. Everything else could wait.
"Very well."
"You and I were once brothers. I suppose now we are something like sisters."
"I can't stand you — truly — but for the sake of that old bond... I'll lend you a hand."
"Doraemon left me this onigiri before he went."
"You and your warriors find a way to get the Norn Queens in the swarm to eat this. If it works, we may be able to reverse-control the entire Hive Mind."
With that, the Lion split the Momotaro Onigiri in half and tossed it to Guilliman.
Guilliman caught it obediently. It seemed absurd — but given how little he understood about the current situation, he had no choice but to take it on faith. If his sister said it would work, it probably would. She'd been back longer than him, after all — she must have some experience dealing with Tyranids.
What Guilliman didn't know, of course, was that the Dark Angels had almost no anti-Tyranid experience whatsoever. The Lion's arrogance had never led him to develop anything like a dedicated Tyranid-hunting doctrine.
Which meant they were going to be learning this one the hard way.
Bam-bam-ka-bam!
"Lion-sis, come play a game with me!"
"I found a new one — it's called Gothic Fleet 2! It's like a naval battle! It's very fun!"
"...Alice?!"
Both Primarchs stared. Neither had expected Alice to appear here.
"In a situation like this, asking Lion to play games? With her temper, she's definitely going to get an earful—"
Guilliman was confident he understood the Lion well enough to model her reactions to about seventy or eighty percent accuracy.
"Ha ha!"
And then — to the absolute astonishment of everyone present — the Lion gently pinched Alice's cheek and laughed warmly:
"Alright, alright! But you'll have to wait until Sis has finished off these bugs!"
"If Alice can help, that'd be even better!"
"After all, for Alice right now — isn't this just playing a real-life version of Gothic Fleet?"
"Oh, right!" Alice's face lit up with a pure, slightly vacant smile.
"I almost forgot — lots of children are still out there facing these horrible things! The children really hate them — they say the bugs want to eat them!"
"I'm going to kill every last one of these disgusting cockroaches!"
"And then have the children play janken po with me!"
The sight of the Lion — gentle, warm, indulgent — left Guilliman completely speechless.
Why? WHY? They both had a little sister. How could the treatment be this different?