Time passed amidst heavy gasps and congealed blood.
Hours later, in a secret chamber deep within the Ashen Knights Chapter's monastery.
The air here was cold, permeated with the scent of metal, incense, ozone, and a faint hint of promethium fuel.
Pale emergency lights filtered down from the sturdy grates overhead, casting Alex's solemn figure onto the cold adamantium walls, like a judge.
Gaviel Loken leaned against a cold wall engraved with the Imperial Aquila.
He was no longer on the verge of breaking, but more like a war machine whose internal conflicts were still raging, forcibly halted.
His Power Armor was covered in dents and scratches from battle, and the damaged servos emitted intermittent wails.
His helmet had long been discarded, and sweat, blood, and profound pain carved furrows into his face.
Sweat and blood had been wiped from his face, but his sunken eyes and tightly pursed lips still bore the marks of extreme pain and exhaustion.
Several thick sedative needles were still stuck near the neural interfaces on his neck and arms, continuously pumping a small amount of medication, forcibly suppressing the rage that had almost incinerated his reason.
Every inhalation was accompanied by a sharp pain, like broken ribs, but he refused to sit down, his chest still heaving violently under the influence of the drugs.
His bloodshot eyes stared fixedly at Alex, a silent question like a raging inferno forcibly confined within a furnace.
Ten millennia of accumulated hatred was temporarily sealed by cold reality and the Emperor's will, but it had not extinguished; now, it mingled with a deeper, drug-suppressed confusion and a sense of almost humiliating powerlessness.
Alex gave him no respite. He walked directly in front of Loken, close enough for the latter to feel the crushing weight of a will as heavy as a mountain, originating from psychic power.
"Gaviel Loken," Alex's voice was low and cold, each word like a blacksmith's hammer striking a red-hot ingot, reverberating in the cold air: "You lost control. In the core area of the Chapter, openly attacking the Governor's office's senior administrative secretary, no matter what ancient resentment is branded deep within your soul, this act itself is an open trampling of Imperial iron laws and Chapter order!"
Loken's Adam's apple bobbed violently, as if he wanted to retort that it was by no means an "administrative secretary," but… Yet the chaotic mist in his mind, caused by the upheaval of identity recognition and powerful sedatives, still churned.
Alex raised his hand, a simple gesture yet carrying an undeniable will, like an invisible power lock, forcibly suppressing any roar that might have erupted from Loken's throat.
His gaze was as sharp as a probe, as if it could directly scan the flaws of the soul.
"I know what you 'perceived,' that tremor originating from your Gene-Seed, that eternal trauma of loyalty and betrayal interwoven deep within steel and flesh." Alex's voice carried an absolute certainty, as if discerning the core: "But listen carefully, Captain Loken: what you resonated with is not that fallen shadow who wielded the World Breaker on the walls of Terra, dragging the Imperium into an abyss of ten thousand calamities.
Standing before you is Hathor Lupeca."
He paused deliberately, letting the name "Hathor Lupeca" echo in the dead silence of the secret chamber, as if forging a new definition.
"She is the vessel carrying the Gene-Seed imprint, memory fragments, and unfinished mission of redemption of Horus Lupercal." Alex's words were precise and ruthless: "The Emperor's will perceives all, knows of her existence, and has granted her the sole permission to atone for the Imperium and fight for humanity's survival.
This is a decree from Terra! It is a supreme directive that transcends your personal hatred and mortal understanding!"
"'Decree from Terra'…" Loken repeated hoarsely, his voice muffled by the sedatives, the blood-red light in his eyes fluctuating violently under the impact of the ultimate name, "Emperor's will."
However, that deep-seated vigilance and distrust of the "source," originating from the depths of his Gene-Seed, was as stubborn as an adamantium core, by no means easily extinguished by drugs or words.
"Precisely!" Alex's voice suddenly rose, and the invisible psychic pressure instantly intensified, causing Loken's breath to catch, "Your loyalty, your pain, your doubts—all of this, the Emperor and His chosen representative are aware of!
But what the Imperium needs is not a berserker whose reason is burned away by hatred, destroying its own great wall, but a warrior who can distinguish friend from foe in the dark age, guard the flame, and accurately monitor potential threats!"
He took another step closer, the psychic pressure almost crushing Loken into the cold adamantium wall behind him.
"Therefore, I assign you a new mission, Captain Loken… No, I should call you the last Luna Wolves!" Alex's voice was decisive, carrying an irresistible final command, "Put away your meaningless, blind killing intent that could lead to the destruction of valuable combat power! Transform it! Transform it into the cold gaze of supervision and inspection!"
Loken abruptly looked up, his eyes filled with violent, conflicting chaos, as if the gears of his soul were forcibly engaged and on the verge of shattering.
"I appoint you as 'Adjutant' to Hathor Lupeca's training team—just as you served ten thousand years ago." Alex clearly uttered this title, as if engraving an unchangeable command on the Chapter's archives, "Your duty is to observe her closely! Examine her with your most rigorous, most critical gaze, steeped in the blood of the battlefield and logical analysis!
Examine whether her every command conforms to the Imperium's survival! Examine whether her every tactical decision maximally serves the Chapter and humanity!
Examine whether her so-called 'will for redemption' is sufficiently resilient, whether it is worthy of the power and the authority of a Gene-Seed Primarch she carries, when facing the whispers of Chaos, immense pressure, and the temptation of power!"
Alex's gaze was like a sharp sword, burning Loken's soul: "I want you to monitor her! Scrutinize her ceaselessly with your gaze steeped in battlefield blood and ten thousand years of pain! Scrutinize whether her every command conforms to the Imperium's survival! Scrutinize whether her every tactical decision maximally serves the Chapter and humanity!
And even more, scrutinize whether her so-called 'will for redemption' is wavering when facing the whispers of Chaos, immense pressure, and the temptation of power! Is the power she carries sliding towards the edge of the abyss?"
"Your hatred is the Sword of Damocles hanging over her head!" Alex's voice was like a cold verdict, "It will become the last warning line to protect the Imperium and prevent that ancient sin from reoccurring! This is an order, Gaviel Loken! In the name of the Emperor and the Governor!"
Dead silence fell within the secret chamber.
Only the faint hum of the emergency lights on the wall, the discordant whine of the servos, Loken's still heavy breathing forcibly suppressed by the drugs, and the thunderous power contained within Alex's words echoed between the cold adamantium walls.
The immense internal conflict almost tore Loken apart.
On one side was ten millennia of accumulated resentment, the instinctive distrust of his Gene-Seed, and a warrior's pride; on the other, the supreme directive of the "Emperor's oracle" and the mountain-like pressure exerted by Alex.
After a long, suffocating silence, Loken nodded very slowly, very heavily.
He did not speak, but in the depths of his eyes, raised again from beneath his lowered head, the blood-red rage had not extinguished.
It was merely forcibly compressed, sealed, transformed, and tempered into a cold, piercing, never-sleeping vigilance and suspicion.
This gaze would constantly scan his own tormented core, and it would also constantly scan the target he was ordered to "evaluate"—Hathor Lupeca.
"At your command… Your Excellency, Governor." The hoarse voice, like static from a damaged communicator, announced the beginning of a new, imposed, and dangerous duty.
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