Chapter 19 – The Chapter Master Did It Too
The sound exploded through the cramped dining chamber, shattering crystal goblets and making Cato Sicarius's enhanced eardrums ring.
"I—hate—this—thing!!"
"Take—this—damn—green—filth!!"
Boom!
Even the glorious Captain of the Second Company—whose very gene-forged bones embodied the discipline of the Ultramarines—could not withstand the absolute suppression pouring forth from that overwhelming source, so reminiscent of the Primarch's own lineage.
His knees crashed into the marble floor, leaving two deep craters in the stone.
He caught himself with both gauntleted hands, breathing heavily. Cold sweat soaked the bodysuit beneath his ceramite. It was not fear.
It was reverence—an irresistible, crushing instinct to kneel before divinity.
"Th-this… what kind of power is this…?" Sicarius forced his head up, staring at the radiant figure. Shock warred with disbelief.
All this… just to avoid eating broccoli?
Was it truly worth unleashing a psychic force on par with the presence of a Primarch?
At that moment—
The heavy oak doors of the dining hall swung open.
"Sicarius, regarding the Second Company's resupply allocation, I require—"
Marneus Calgar, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar, strode in like a walking bastion. A data-slate rested in one massive gauntlet; he had clearly come straight from the strategium, intending to discuss logistics—and perhaps sample the Primarch's private kitchen.
Then he stopped.
His words died in his throat.
Before him, he saw Cato Sicarius—proud, indomitable, vainglorious Sicarius—kneeling like a chastened neophyte, trembling and unable to lift his head.
He saw the little girl who had unsettled Hera Fortress now hovering near the ceiling, halo blazing, golden psychic fire cascading from her small frame like the descent of an avenging saint.
The pressure in the air was suffocating.
Calgar's twin hearts skipped in unison.
As a son of Guilliman's gene-seed, as one who had stood at the Primarch's side upon his resurrection, Calgar knew that aura.
That suffocating majesty.
That overwhelming authority.
It was terrifyingly close to the presence of the Master of Mankind Himself.
Unaware of the newcomer, Eileen floated midair, eyes blazing gold, gaze fixed upon the plate below. Her final decree rolled forth in layered, echoing voices:
"I—want—pudding—!!"
The psychic detonation shook the chamber again. Calgar's ancient suit of Terminator armor vibrated under the force.
His mind blanked.
Even the absurdity of the Emperor of Humanity demanding pudding failed to register.
Before divinity, logic meant nothing.
Boom!
Marneus Calgar—who had stood unbowed against Tyranid horrors and the Black Legion alike—made his decision within three seconds.
He dropped to his knees.
The impact cracked the marble floor; fragments scattered outward as the immense weight of his Tactical Dreadnought Armor struck stone. He lowered his head and crossed the Gauntlets of Ultramar over his chest in a perfect Aquila salute.
"Your Majesty, please temper Your wrath!"
His voice rumbled, reverent and fervent.
"Your will is our command. Whatever You desire—even pudding—if it displeases You, then it is our failing!"
Thus unfolded a scene no chronicler would dare record.
Two of the Imperium's most celebrated Astartes knelt before a small floating girl—and a plate of broccoli.
Only the crackle of psychic flame filled the chamber.
---
Eileen's consciousness, even in her "divine" state, remained startlingly clear.
She could see every scratch on Sicarius's armor, every hairline fracture in the marble beneath Calgar's knees. She saw "Rice Ball Leader" Uncle Calgar staring up at her in stunned devotion.
And then—
She heard him mention pudding.
The towering tide of righteous fury deflated instantly, like a punctured balloon.
In its place came something far more dangerous.
Utter embarrassment.
[Oh ho… this is bad,] I teased within her mind. [Even the Chapter Master is kneeling for your broccoli rebellion. How exactly are you planning to fix this?]
Eileen blinked—golden eyes flickering like twin stars.
She turned slowly toward Calgar. The divine chorus in her voice remained, but now it carried unmistakable awkwardness.
"Uh—Calgar—Uncle?"
"I—I didn't do anything wrong."
"Um… are you alright? Does your knee… hurt?"
The sacred atmosphere shattered instantly.
Calgar froze.
Though the light still burned bright and the psychic pressure lingered, her tone was unmistakably that of a child asking for candy.
"I am… unharmed, my lady," Calgar answered carefully, still kneeling. "It is merely… the matter of the pudding…"
[Alright. Power down.]
"Ah!" Eileen seemed to realize she was still floating.
Buzz—
Like a void-shield collapsing.
The golden radiance vanished. The halo dissolved. Gravity reclaimed her.
She dropped back into her chair with a solid thud, silver knife clattering against porcelain.
Once more, she was simply a girl in an elegant dress—hair disheveled, posture crooked.
Seeing the two greatest heroes of the Chapter kneeling before her, her face flushed crimson to the tips of her ears.
"I'm sorry…" she mumbled, shrinking into her seat. "I didn't mean to. I was just… really angry."
Sicarius finally felt the mountain pressing upon his spine lift. With grinding servo motors, he rose.
Calgar followed.
Their eyes met.
A silent exchange passed between them—one only shared by warriors who had just survived something profoundly absurd.
Sicarius: Chapter Master… that felt like the Emperor Himself demanded pudding.
Calgar: I am aware.
Sicarius: Over broccoli.
Calgar: …Let us be grateful no neophytes witnessed this.
Sicarius: Agreed.
Calgar straightened, brushing marble dust from his armor. His gaze settled on Eileen, now deep and thoughtful.
"No apology is necessary, Lady Eileen," he said, voice solemn. "What you displayed was… extraordinary potential. Though the catalyst was… unconventional."
His eyes flicked to the battered broccoli.
"However," he continued, tone sharpening, "even the mightiest must not waste sustenance. We are a Chapter at war."
Eileen glanced between Calgar's stern expression and Sicarius's vindicated stare.
She understood.
If she refused now, they would lose all face.
"…I know," she sighed in surrender.
She lifted her fork like a condemned soldier raising a final blade, speared a piece of broccoli, and—without chewing—swallowed it whole.
[That's better,] I chuckled within her thoughts. [Control that power properly, and no one in this galaxy will ever force you again.]
Sicarius exhaled deeply, as though surviving the Siege of Damnos once more.
"Excellent," he declared, recovering some dignity. "Discipline builds strength. That psychic manifestation, though reckless, proves remarkable potential."
Calgar remained silent.
A mortal who could consciously remain aware while channeling such oppressive force… enough to compel even Astartes to kneel.
If she learned to control it—
If she unleashed it against heretics, daemons, or xenos—
"Captain Sicarius," Calgar said at last.
"Yes, Chapter Master."
"Tomorrow's patrol is canceled."
Sicarius stiffened.
"Starting tomorrow," Calgar continued evenly, "I will personally oversee Lady Eileen's training."
"…Training?" Sicarius hesitated. "Table etiquette?"
"No." Calgar's eyes gleamed faintly. "Control. Projection. Intimidation worthy of a warrior of Ultramar. That power is not for vegetables."
Sicarius glanced at Eileen, who was miserably chewing another piece of broccoli, and remembered the crushing weight of forced reverence.
"…Understood."
"It is an order, Captain." Calgar clapped him firmly on the shoulder. "You excel at rhetoric and battlefield presence. You will assist."
With that, the Chapter Master turned and departed, a faint, knowing curve at the edge of his mouth.
Sicarius remained behind, staring at the girl who now stuck out her tongue at him while reluctantly reaching for another forkful.
His knees began aching all over again.