"You're a psyker?"

The Pale King's gaze averted from the gleaming golden floor, and Motarian squinted slightly, looking at his brother, Magnus.

He was tall, taller than Motarian, taller than Vulcan he had ever seen.

He was tall and strong.

Furloughed red bronze hair resembled the sideburns of a real beast, unusually red skin, dressed in a silk robe of ivory white and sandalwood green, a golden feathered cloak hanging behind him, some incense burners, and parchment paper fixed with wax seals.

The huge ebony horns bent towards the sky, and the large book held in place by a gold chain hung at his side.

However, what disturbed and confused Motarian the most was the smooth skin on Magnus's face, where his right eye should have grown.

Was their creator, the Emperor, a king who loved to create the broken?

No, it can't be.

If Motarian could understand the birdman's flashy wings with a sneer, he couldn't understand Magnus's crippled left eye.

Of course, there is another possibility.

Even though Motarian rebuked witchcraft, as a child, in the eyes of his adoptive father, Motarian was aware of the blasphemous knowledge.

If the emperor hadn't designed a half-blind man, there was only one possibility, and neither war nor pain could create such a smooth defect, destined to leave scars.

Magnus used witchcraft, and he traded a part of himself for something.

He's a wizard.

He, is, a, sorcerer, teacher.

Motarian casually lowered his hand and approached the alien pistol at his waist, this banquet did not welcome the primordials to bring large weapons, except for the primordial guards, the primordials only brought small arms.

He wanted to go back and check Hades' status, but it was too obvious, so Motarian had to give up on it.

He should have trusted his archons, Hades was far more cautious in matters of psionic powers than he had shown.

He held his position, waiting for Magnus's answer.

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so cautious, Motarian thought, and he realized that the meeting had not been a disaster so far, and that Angel and Killiman had shown him another possibility.

Maybe he should be optimistic.

"Yes, I'm a psyker."

Magnus laughed, with unparalleled pride and pride,

"I'm lucky that our father gave me this gift to have it, to use it, to study it, so that I could see the light and see the wonderful light that those miracles radiate."

The Emperor had created a sorcerer's son, and Motarian thought to himself that if there was no Machado already, why was he obsessed with letting his son be tainted with this misfortune?

Thankfully, he didn't have the whims to give Motarian a pair of chicken wings, or that death-threatening talent.

But now it seems that his brother was proud of this incompleteness.

Motarian thought, O poor, ignorant fool, wouldn't he know that psionic energy would ultimately bring only destruction?

Didn't anyone remind him? The emperor watched his son slide into the abyss?

In the face of Magnus's words, Motarian replied vaguely, and waited cautiously.

"Psionic energy sometimes shines beautifully, but in nature, the more beautiful things are, the more dangerous they are, Magnus, we shouldn't be so optimistic when we face psionic energy."

The angel took a sip of the wine in his glass and said unhurriedly.

Of the several primordials present, only the angel noticed Motarian's tense nerves just now—Motarian didn't like psionics.

"Angels, are they dangerous when you are admiring the sunset over Barr, those magnificent natural wonders? This is a miracle that nature has given to mankind, and the miracle of the Aether space is far more intoxicating than the sky of Baal, it is a miracle, a treasure that the Aether space has given to the wise. ”

"You shouldn't use miracles to describe subspace, there are no gods in the world."

Dorne interjected in time, he frowned, the original body of the Fist of the Empire had never liked psionic power, which was full of variables and threats.

"That's just a metaphor, Dorne, not everyone is like you, giving a precise definition to every word, and knowledge is emotional, not just cold, when it comes to describing psionic abilities."

"Actually,"

The angel said slowly,

"Baal's sunset is deadly, and it is Baal's toxic radiation field that creates the scenery in Baal's sky that is far richer and more layered than other planets."

Magnus let out an exasperated voice,

"Maybe I should change the example of a sunset on a other, harmless planet besides Baal, like the sunset in Maculag."

Killiman blinked in surprise, and he spread his hands to the angel to show that he had no ill intentions at all, that he was just an innocent victim.

"The sunset in Makullag is beautiful, I admit it, but I prefer the dawn in Makullag."

"I agree with Killiman, and I also like the dawn in Makurag, where people get up and work at the call of the sun, in order."

Dorn spoke, he had been to Maculag, in fact, Killiman and him, both of whom preferred the order side, had a lot in common, and working with Killyman was always simple and easy.

In the same way, Makulag under Gilliman's rule, like Gilliman himself, was full of vigor and hope, and everything was in order.

That's just an inappropriate analogy! We don't need to dwell too much on whether the sunset on whose home planet is beautiful or not—"

Magnus realized that this was getting farther and farther away from the psionic topic he hoped for, unlike the Khan or Perturabo, and his other brothers always seemed to ignore his subject, with a dull malice towards the psykers, embodied in Magnus himself.

"Barbaros is dirty."

"Because of psionic powers."

Motarian, who had been silent, suddenly spoke, interrupting Magnus's words, startling all the primordials present.

Magnus opened his eyes wide and looked at Motarian,

"The psionic energy had polluted her, and she was dying. The psionic overlord unleashes sorcery on her, and the people are the currency of the overlords to please the filthy subspace. ”

"One of the most common and lowest-level forms of sorcery in Barbaros is the Resurrection Charm, where the Overlords take strong humans, then chop off their strongest parts, sew them together with twine, and then communicate with the subspace to give life to these corpse pieces and make them puppets."

The smile on the corners of Killiman and the angel's lips froze, but Mortarian still spoke calmly,

"Witchcraft is evil, psionic energy is ugly."

"The lords of Barbarus, except for those who died in the war, without exception, will sacrifice themselves to the subspace in madness and go to the destruction of blasphemy."

"Until you're consumed by psionic and sorcery, stay away from it."

Motarian calmly looked at Magnus's one-eyed, some shattered shards of dark gold shining in Magnus's eyes, while his eyes were pale gold.

He repeated,

"Until you are consumed by psionic powers and sorcery, stay away from him, Magnus."

"I don't know—" Why would the Emperor inflict such misery on his son, he may be a tyrant, but you can disobey him.

But before Mortarian could finish his words, Magnus suddenly stood up and looked at Mortarian angrily.

His red-haired sideburns flew through the air, and he seemed to grow larger, two ebony horns angrily pointing at Motarion.

"What did you say?"

"A man who has only seen a foolish tyrant rule over you with spiritual powers, and you have chosen to deny everything one-sidedly?"

Magnus walked up to Motarian and looked down on him condescendingly.

One of Magnus's red hair fell into the bean soup in front of Motarian, and the bean toad let out a scream and sank back into the swamp.

Motarian took a deep, deep breath, his breath mask letting out a dying moan.

Magnus is taller and stronger than him, and he uses psionic energy.

Motarian wasn't sure he could defeat him, maybe the other brothers had nasty psionic abilities and they could fight together.

Motarian rose from his seat in silence, he was also tall, although not as tall as Magnus, but the oppression of the Lord of Death should not be underestimated.

Fortunately, he was at the very edge of the long table, and it only took one big stride to make it impossible for anything to stand in the way between the two.

Someone was screaming, but it didn't matter, the surrounding cacophony was muffled and muffled, private communication channels rattled and Motarian stared at Magnus.

Dorne seemed to be roaring to stop them, and Killiman's calm voice became flustered for the first time.

Motarian didn't hear the birdman's voice, but it didn't matter, he didn't care.

The angel shook his glass and looked over there, and now the seat was empty.

"Apologize to me, for insulting psionics and psionics, apologize."

A dull roar came from Magnus's throat,

"I shouldn't expect anything from you, and I'm a primitive at the end of evolution."

"Nope."

Motarian whispered.

"I stand by my point that psionics deserve to be gallows, and even now we and the Empire still have to need them."

In response to him was the fluctuation of Magnus's arm in the arc of psionic energy.

Motarian spread his hands.

Yes, yards

(End of chapter)