Calas-Typhon had been observing Morgan for quite some time.
Perhaps even the Spider Lady herself hadn't realized how resounding the name "Soul-Drinker" was among the Astartes Legions, or rather, among those Astartes Legions who had participated in the Randan War.
At this time, eight years had passed since the outbreak of the Second Randan War, and six or seven years had passed since the reinforcements of the Fifteenth Legion arrived at the front lines against the Randan.
During this neither long nor short period, countless Astartes warriors and mortals marched to the front lines against the Randan. Most of them never returned, and those who fortunately survived often chose not to mention more details about the war. They completely avoided or even forgot everything about the Randan, only retaining clear memories of a few shining moments on the Human side.
Among these memories, the "Soul-Drinker," who had fought through the entire Randan War from beginning to end, was one of the most frequently mentioned figures. Almost everyone who had fought alongside the main force of the First Legion would mention this incredibly powerful psyker. Even those frontline commanders who had not participated in the campaigns orchestrated by the Dark Angels could, through countless rumors and boasts, paint a terrifying picture of her.
And of all this, Morgan knew absolutely nothing.
For the Pale Lady, her war experiences were different from most: whether as an advisor to the First Legion or as a hidden blood relative of the Lion King, Morgan had always stayed close to the Dark Angels' Primarch, either rushing to the most brutal battlefields or remaining deep within the Gloriana. Her social circle was temporarily limited to the Dark Angels and a few sparse pen pals, and these reserved individuals naturally wouldn't mention outside gossip too much.
In a sense, Lion El'Jonson had kept his blood relative well confined.
As a Primarch, Morgan also almost instinctively overlooked one point: what seemed to her to be only slightly strenuous tasks were miracles in the eyes of others. Especially after the events on Sisyphus III, accompanied by a certain slackness and laziness, this unintentional great power was increasingly displayed before others.
Although most of the Dark Angels' campaigns were meant to be hidden and sealed, there were always some that could be remembered by outsiders and allied forces. As one of the First Legion's top models, Morgan didn't miss a single one.
Thus, Typhon, who was keen to collect this information, accumulated a truly shocking report and summary. Whenever he evaded everyone and perused these stories, his neck would be drenched in cold sweat, and a peculiar sense of absurdity would strike his heart, making him confirm the authenticity of these messages again and again.
But they were all true, at least those who spread them swore to it.
These seemingly absurd stories might all be true, or they might just be pure rumors and lies, but even so, even if only one of them was true, it would be enough to make the First Captain of the Death Guard feel a deep sense of dread and hesitation in his heart.
That "Soul-Drinker," or rather, Lady Morgan.
In the Gradon System, relying on the local unstable star and special environment, she twisted the system's sun into a pure storm of destruction with her will. The rampant electromagnetic forces and high temperatures instantly annihilated an entire Randan fleet.
Using the deaths of millions of these Xenos as an opportunity, she infiltrated the Randan's psychic network deployed in this sector. When the Imperial fleet launched its general offensive, the Randan Sector Warmaster and the one hundred and twenty-nine most important senior officers ended their lives at the same instant. The Dark Angels sounded the horn of victory amidst the chaos of the Xenos army.
Above the barbaric Xenos world of Kustira, with the ancient instruments provided by the Dark Angels, her mind reigned over this formidable Xenos nation with six colony worlds. Accompanied by her whispered words and invisible threads, the Kustira Xenos fleet fell silent. Their legions and people were plunged into an endless dream.
Billions of savage creatures succumbed to her whispers, from kings to soldiers, without exception. The weapons and warships that could destroy star systems and worlds were abandoned, and the palaces that embodied wisdom and pride were left unguarded. This tenacious foe, which had caused countless Imperial generals to frown, passively abandoned its resistance until the Dark Angels' bullets killed the last member of this ancient race, and they never woke up.
And in the Titan System, oh, things became even more bizarre and mysterious: the First Legion annihilated the largest Randan fleet since the war began there, with casualties of less than a thousand. No one knew how they accomplished all this,
but one thing hinted at the secret of this war: after the fighting in the Titan System ended, all the navigators, psykers, and even anyone with psychic potential in the surrounding star systems began to have nightmares. They heard a scream, the most enchanting and coldest scream, a scream that echoed over millions of bones, reverberating eternally in the endless void, and even now, it has not completely disappeared.
Compared to these almost mythical legends, her more "ordinary" achievements seemed insignificant: whether it was incinerating Xenos fortresses and hive cities like toppling sandcastles, or effortlessly turning dozens of meters tall war engines into dust,
or saving thousands of veteran soldiers who had served since the Terra Unification Wars and even more new recruits in battle after battle. These tangible achievements alone were enough to make her praised by countless Astartes and psykers.
Truth and rumor intertwined, forming a towering mist that concealed the true legend and greatness. When outsiders witnessed all this, they could only gaze from afar at the magnificent figure in the mist, vaguely guessing whether it was a blusterous illusion or the tip of a truly terrifying existence.
Typhon favored the latter.
And now, such a figure was right before his eyes.
A person so powerful, so terrifying, so formidable, a psychic master capable of controlling even Alphas, or even higher-level psykers, an existence cherished throughout the galaxy.
If he could guide her to the truly correct path, make her believe in that great existence as his junior...
Such an achievement should be enough to attract some attention from that greatest and most benevolent deity. If he did well enough, in time, he might truly be able to step into that sacred garden and meet the great god.
By then, he would be able to...
No, now was not the time to think about the future. He needed to focus on the present, on the current situation.
He should be careful, after all, this "Soul-Drinker" came from the First Legion, that incredibly mysterious and, supposedly, fanatically loyal, mad group of the False Emperor. Although she was previously a member of the more moderate Fifteenth Legion, no one could guarantee which side influenced her more.
If she had also become one of the False Emperor's fanatics, then his mission would be a failure before it even began. Conversely, if she still maintained her rationality and true wisdom of independent thought, then he would have full confidence in bringing her to the correct side.
But before that...
Deep down, Calas-Typhon tirelessly reminded himself.
He had to be cautious, extremely cautious and careful. He couldn't let anyone know what he was truly thinking.
This caution stemmed from an experience long ago: Typhon clearly remembered how he came into contact with the great existence. It was on Galaspar, the first opponent Mortarion chose after becoming the Legion's Primarch. The Legion ultimately crushed the world's resistance, eliminating the tyrannical rulers and replacing them with even more tyrannical Imperial tax collectors.
And as Typhon walked alone through the ruins of Galaspar, he couldn't help but feel a faint resonance with this pathetic world. He began to recall his own past and hardships: whether it was being discriminated against as a half-human, half-Xenos bastard, or later being overshadowed by Mortarion, unable to even freely use his innate psychic abilities. These things were like rotting bile, simmering in what he considered his resolute heart.
It was in this decay that he saw the rampant green mold in the shadows, and he heard that most familiar whisper.
A "being" that could not be described in normal human language thus appeared before him, extending an invitation and a notification.
On that day, Typhon understood the true meaning of the galaxy. He was no longer deceived or kept in the dark. His life and cognition from then on were superior to that of his Gene-Father.
And now, he was no longer satisfied with this.
He wanted to go further.
This was not difficult, after all, no matter what, the person in front of him was merely a mortal.
She was no nobler than him.
Thinking thus, Typhon extended his hand.
"Calas-Typhon."
"It's a pleasure to serve you, my Lady."
——————
Morgan quietly watched the hand extended to her. She could feel that it was a warm, moist palm, brimming with confidence and calculation.
She didn't react immediately, but blinked, carefully savoring every thought deep within Typhon's mind.
Unfortunately, the moment this First Captain of the Death Guard stepped into the corridor, the Spider Lady's mind-web invisibly enveloped the visitor's thoughts.
And so, she, like an ordinary traveler, listened as the thoughts of "scheming," "coaxing," and "secrecy" transformed into a waterfall in a hidden valley, cascading mightily into her mind. Even every nuanced turn in Typhon's thoughts was vividly replayed in her consciousness.
Morgan's lips curved upwards. The third instant she saw Typhon, she roughly understood the true nature of the person before her.
He was a First Captain of a Legion, and all the First Captains Morgan had seen so far were superior to him.
He was a psyker, yet any Dark Angel Librarian Morgan had ever met would at least give him a headache.
He was a covert schemer, and now, his inner machinations were echoing in Morgan's sea of thoughts, like an echo in a valley, over and over again.
Morgan narrowed her eyes, her brows slightly arched, and the corners of her mouth lifted into the faintest of smiles: an expression that would have made Corswain or Alajos's hair stand on end, for they knew what it meant.
But unfortunately, Typhon didn't know.
"Morgan."
She slowly smiled, extending her finger. This cooperative attitude even brought a sense of delight to the First Captain.
Then, two hands clasped together.
"Bang!"
A violent impact resonated in the corridor. The moment they shook hands, Typhon crashed to the ground. He gritted his teeth, using all his strength to prevent himself from crying out.
Damn it, three of his fingers were broken, and several bones in his right arm were also fractured!
Typhon lowered his head, knowing how distorted his expression was now: he only felt a twisted sensation, the feeling of bones being twisted alive.
"Are you alright, Lord Typhon?"
He heard the woman's voice, and it was indeed concerned: even if he analyzed it with the greatest malice, the voice was truly filled with concern and urgency.
Damn it...
Typhon struggled to compose his distorted face. He looked up, carefully examining Morgan's pupils: they truly held complete concern, and he couldn't detect the slightest hint of falsehood.
Was this a disguise?
No, impossible. He was Typhon, he was the one who grasped the truth: he couldn't possibly fail to see through a mortal's disguise, even if she was a psyker.
Damn it, what on earth was going on?
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to put on a smile, a smile that conveyed everything was under control.
"No, I'm fine, nothing at all, Lady Morgan, everything's good."
He looked at Morgan's outstretched finger, hesitated for a moment, and took it.
"Snap!"
This time, the sound of finger joints breaking was heard throughout the corridor. Typhon clearly felt his fingers being trapped in a steel gauntlet, then breaking one by one and becoming immobile.
...He... bloody hell...
He looked up at Morgan, who seemed to be staring blankly. He saw that this powerful psyker also seemed shocked by the scene before her. She pondered for a while before hurriedly using her psychic power to heal Typhon's broken bones.
But there was no doubt that this intense pain would stay with him for a while.
"What on earth happened?"
He gasped, looking up, but he only saw Morgan standing tall, with an apologetic smile on her face mixed with pity and other inexplicable emotions.
"Ah... I remember now, Lord Typhon. I just guided the ship to forcefully jump through the storms of the Immaterium, so I still have some residual power on me. I didn't expect it to injure you like this, my Lord..."
She seemed to say something else, but Typhon was no longer listening. He just looked at her pupils and face, listened to her tone, and watched the illusion that she now seemed taller than him. In a certain psychic whisper and suggestion, these elements blended together, forming a familiar image for Typhon.
In the next second, he suddenly understood.
Wasn't this the scene that happened on Barbarus?
Mortarion, his former comrade-in-arms, now his so-called "Gene-Father," was exactly like this, coming to him time and again when he was exhausted from fighting, and asking "concerned" questions with a relaxed expression.
He was always the stronger one, the noble Son of God by birth, possessing stronger bloodline, power, and even physique than him. He could always overshadow Typhon, and Typhon could never break free, no matter what.
That guy... just because he was born with a good fate, he could condescendingly look down on him and spread his so-called benevolence.
How was he stronger than himself? He, Typhon, was the one who held the truth.
At this moment, neither his purpose nor Morgan's words mattered anymore. This specific situation and the whispered suggestion seemed to seize the darkest and most secret corner of Typhon's heart, releasing what he had painstakingly concealed.
Typhon only felt the humiliation he had suffered under that very guise.
It all came from Mortarion.
Originally, he didn't like this so-called Gene-Father.
Now, he disliked him even more.
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