Mars, present day.
How much turmoil can one's words stir in the future? The unpredictable waves of the future, the life-and-death gladiatorial battles, the low growls of warhounds echoing over the blood pools of Nuserya, the booming of Anggron's Butcher's Nails—fate has been irrevocably altered.
But for now, at this very moment, none of this concerns Hades.
He's eating porridge.
Even if his life is destined to witness the rise and fall of a civilization, a race, eating porridge remains an undeniable part of Hades' existence.
Hades picks up his spoon, scoops up some Mars-specific algae, and drips some vinegar-colored seasoning into the white porridge. He stirs it casually and continues eating.
It's lunchtime. Warhound Perez has left. Lately, he's been sitting with the Wild Wolf. Ever since that unpleasant wild game experience, Wild Wolf Manning's curiosity about him has increased significantly.
As for the matters of Mortarion and Macado, after waiting a week without any news, Hades decisively relegated these concerns to the "don't bother thinking about it without notification" category.
However, it turned out that the notification did come, albeit a tad late.
The cafeteria door bursts open. A group of servitors carrying incense and crimson silk flood in, and hymns start to envelop Hades' ears.
The entire hall instantly feels sacred, except for the warriors inside, still holding their bowls.
"Huh?"
Magos Jordan rushes in, his massive frame moving unusually fast.
"Stop eating! The Son of Omnissiah is coming to visit the Techmarine base!"
The Astartes, like the Emperor's Fist, immediately put down their bowls, assisting the servitors in clearing the table.
Other Techmarines do the same, some even adjusting their attire, while others prepare to leave, changing out of their usual work clothes.
In contrast, Hades hurries to finish his meal.
Almost done, just a bit more!
It's just a few seconds!
"Stop eating!"
Magos Jordan reaches out to grab Hades' bowl, his elongated mechadendrites adorned with a clearly Martian-styled ceremonial robe, with golden threads woven into the crimson fabric.
"Your Primarch is here, stop eating!"
"Stop and change into your ceremonial attire!"
Time was of the essence. Jordan's superiors had suddenly informed him of this visit, and that the Primarchs were already on their way.
By the Omnissiah!
Hades was still in his regular Techmarine attire, smeared with engine oil, and he didn't even wear the Mechanicum insignia!
However, compared to the anxious others, Hades' passive trait was triggered—
No wasting food!
Just one more bite, it's not good to waste!
Let him finish it, just one more bite!
It's no big deal!
"Stop eating!"
In his panic, Magos Jordan reaches out to snatch Hades' bowl, obstructing Hades' movement—
"Let him eat."
A familiar voice echoes in the hall.
Hades, who had just managed to get the last bite of porridge, nearly spits it out through his nostrils.
Everyone stands up in salute. Magos Jordan, seemingly frozen, turns around slowly.
He discreetly lowers his mechadendrite.
"Lord, welcome to the Techmarine base."
For the first time, Hades realizes that even electronic voices can tremble.
Magos Jordan, shaking, greets the visitor.
"Lord, I am Magos Jordan, responsible for training the Legion's Techmarines. It's an honor to have you visit."
"I offer the most comprehensive..."
Jordan's nervous words are drowned out by the hymns of the servitors.
The towering figure of the Primarch is surrounded by a group of ornate red-robed Magi, covered in metal and cables. Some hunched historians and Imperial officials also follow the entourage.
Without his power armor, Mortarion wears a ceremonial dress, a mix of Barbarus and Imperial styles. The Barbarus style successfully suppresses the Imperial grandeur, the plain colors contrasting sharply with the crimson, just like Mortarion himself.
Mortarion nods, signaling everyone to relax.
The Primarch patiently listens to Magos Jordan's ramblings.
"Thank you for your dedication in training the Techmarines. I look forward to entrusting the next batch of the Fourteenth Legion's Techmarines to you."
Hearing the affirmation from the Son of the Omnissiah he revered, Magos Jordan feels so elated he almost malfunctions, a faint smell of smoke emerging.
"It's no problem, no problem."
The Magos mutters, extending some small mechadendrites to adjust the smoking parts.
Mortarion's raspy voice rises again,
"So, I apologize for my sudden visit. I was curious about the state of our Legion's first Techmarine."
"If you don't mind, I'd like to take my Techmarine to review the affairs between the Legion and Mars."
"Does the base agree?"
"Agreed! Yes!"
"Techmarine Hades can leave now!"
Mortarion gives a barely perceptible nod, as a gesture of gratitude.
Then he looks at Hades, who's still holding his spoon.
He approaches, and the Magi in front of the Primarch make way.
As Mortarion enters the hall from the doorway, his inherent aura begins to dominate the room.
Inside the hall, the other Techmarines are affected—
This aura is entirely different from most other Primarchs!
The poisonous atmosphere from Barbarus slowly suffocates the room. His tall, tree-like stature, gaunt face, and plain mourning attire stand out.
Unlike the glorious Guilliman or Sanguinius, and different from the stern and silent Dorn or Ferrus, when most Primarchs project a positive image, the Death Lord from Barbarus shatters their perceptions.
Silence. Death.
The poisonous atmosphere slowly chokes everyone present.
Wild Wolf Manning instinctively holds his breath.
This is the same poisonous scent that Hades had.
Do all of you Death Guard have a scent?!
And wasn't the previous intel about him being people-friendly?
Is this being friendly?!
Weren't Starborn supposed to resemble their Primarchs closely?
Unconcerned with others, Mortarion looks at Hades, still holding his spoon,
"Did I interrupt you?"
"Huh?! What?"
"No, no!"
Hades mentally complains, "Bro, be more discreet, or at least give a heads-up. Look at the Magi behind you; they seem ready to kill!"
In reality, the Martian Magi who had arranged the Primarch's itinerary now wish they could tear Hades apart.
Who knew why this Primarch suddenly insisted on visiting the Techmarine base en route?
The Primarch's Martian trajectory is recalculated, and the segments escorted by different Mechanicum sects are altered.
"So, are you still eating?"
"No, I'm done!"
Hades jumps up, quickly setting down his bowl.
Mortarion gives him a puzzled look, remembering Hades having a larger appetite.
"Let's go."
Hades gets up, eager to leave!
He feels the piercing glares of others, as if being scraped by daggers.
If he doesn't leave
now, he'll be torn apart!
Not far away, the Emperor's Fist, Iron Warrior, and others are wide-eyed.
He feels he can hear Wild Wolf Manning's snoring, even though the Wolf hasn't made a sound.
Mortarion blinks in confusion, clearly not understanding what Hades is thinking.
But with his objective achieved, he doesn't linger.
Hades stands beside the Primarch, and the massive entourage slowly departs.
Emerging from Mortarion's overwhelming presence, the Techmarines remain silent for a long time.
They've just had a close encounter with a Primarch.
"That is... a unique Lord."