Dante, clad in his golden power armor and wearing the Death Mask of Sanguinius, strode through the streets of the City of Angels. Pedestrians bowed to him with near-frantic haste before continuing at a brisk pace in the same direction. Judging by the flow of the crowd, at least a third of the city's residents were converging on a single point. Beyond Dante's immediate line of sight, there were likely even more. He suspected the entire population of the city was gathering there; perhaps people from other planets would join once news spread. He had already gathered what was happening from the chatter around him: Saint Doraemon had manifested, and Sanguinius was selling hand-made meat sauce.
Dante felt a sudden headache coming on. He couldn't fathom what Alexander and his own Primarch were up to now, but it was going to wreak havoc on the city's logistics!
Strangely, the surging residents seemed influenced by some odd power, instinctively acting with a level of order that prevented any shoving or trampling. Even as Dante moved through the mass of people, he slipped through smoothly, as if some invisible force were helping him part the crowd.
"Line up, neighbors! Enter one by one, there's plenty of room inside. No need to rush, no need to panic."
"If you didn't bring any money, go home and get it! This isn't a giveaway; a proper business doesn't work for free."
Dante's face twitched beneath his mask. He saw Tirus—a member of the Blood Angels' new generation whom he held in high regard—shouting at the tavern door to maintain order. To be honest, it reminded Dante of his own childhood, following salt-sellers through the local towns.
Tirus spotted Dante the moment he appeared. His body snapped to attention, and he turned his head quickly toward the Regent.
Good, at least he hasn't lost his alertness, Dante thought. Though he wished Tirus would reserve that vigilance for enemies rather than his own commander.
"Sanguinius ordered me to do this," Tirus answered before Dante could even speak, as if he had read his mind.
Dante didn't exactly love this feeling. Mephiston did it often. Perhaps the lad wasn't suited to be one of his potential successors, but rather a candidate for Mephiston's role?
Dante signaled to Tirus with a hand gesture. Tirus nodded back, confirming everything was exactly as Dante suspected. Then, Tirus stood aside to let Dante enter the tavern.
Dante sighed and pushed the door open. The moment he stepped inside, he froze. It was bigger on the inside than the outside!
The space within was so vast that even his superhuman vision couldn't see the end of it. Countless tables were set upon an infinitely extending rough wooden floor, each illuminated by an identical promethium lamp. It looked as if someone had copy-pasted the entire tavern exponentially.
Mini-Doraemons of various colors flew about near the ceiling, carrying plates and wine glasses. Dante's gaze caught a glimpse of the plates: they were filled with meat sauce slow-cooked in blood-red wine.
Dante's throat moved slightly. Not out of thirst, but because his mind uncontrollably recalled certain notes from Raldoron, the first Chapter Master of the Blood Angels.
"We found him, our Angel."
"His remains, or to put it more cruelly, the debris."
"I cannot, with my most frantic imagination, conceive of the torture that reduced him to such a state."
"Blood seeped from his limp corpse. My hand touched it, and I could not feel a single intact bone beneath the skin."
"He felt so shattered, soaked in blood... (a line scribbled out)... like a mass of meat sauce soaking in red wine... (another line scribbled out)... we had to find a bucket... (scribbled out)... a container to hold him."
Dante felt a surge of inexplicable, dark humor.
That Sanguinius was playing along with Alexander made Dante's mind wander. Under what circumstances would a man cooperate with others to make such a morbid joke about himself?
A sense of genuine worry rose within Dante. Had his Primarch fallen into some kind of madness or loss of control? He knew the Warp contained both power and insanity; even Mephiston frequently displayed traits of gloom, instability, and madness.
Even putting the Warp aside, a position itself can corrupt and change a person. Since becoming the Regent of the Imperium Nihilus, Dante had seen many once-trustworthy mortal officials change rapidly upon being entrusted with great responsibility. They didn't all become corrupt, but many underwent extreme personality shifts. The conservative became radical; the gentle became wrathful; the driven became sluggish.
Through observation, Dante had concluded that a person's essence is not just internal, but external. A person is not a singular, isolated entity; the essence of a human is the sum of their social relations. People are often not in a certain social position because they have certain traits; rather, they are molded into specific shapes because they occupy those positions.
If a person were placed in the position of a God, would their psyche remain human?
Dante had references for this. After studying the history of the Great Crusade, he had reached a conclusion similar to the arch-traitor Lorgar: the Emperor had always denied his divinity. Perhaps he truly wasn't a god at the start, but when placed in a social position transcending all of humanity, he naturally acquired divinity. His denial of his own divinity didn't dissolve it; rather, it became the ultimate proof of it.
In the early Great Crusade and the Unification Wars, the Emperor had behaved with more humanity, like a great monarch rather than a transcendent god. But as the Crusade progressed, even as he resisted, his image, actions, and the people's perception of him shifted toward the divine. Mephiston believed this was the influence of the Warp—its nature makes what people believe become true. It was this effect that molded the Emperor, making him act more like a god until miracles began to manifest around him.
Dante accepted Mephiston's view, but also believed the physical environment influenced the Emperor as well.
Dante was actually a bit afraid, worried he would see a Alexander glowing with metallic blue light, a halo behind his head, five meters tall, with a majestic face and glowing eyes.
Fortunately, that hadn't happened. He saw Alexander, and he looked almost exactly the same as the first time they met—completely like a mortal. Black hair, dark eyes, yellowish skin, and facial features suggesting ancestry from ancient East Asia. A slightly playful smile hung on his lips.
"I thought you would have changed much after becoming a god," Dante said, sitting at the counter and nodding in respect.
"Oh?" Alexander chuckled softly, casually pouring Dante a glass of wine.
"I thought you would become more stable, mature, and holy."
Dante picked up the glass. "At the very least, I didn't expect you to pour Prospero wine for others while giving me a glass of heavily brewed Baal red."
"Ha! You're the Emperor of Baal. If you don't drink Baal wine, who will?"
"I am merely the Regent of Baal," Dante said, removing his helmet. He gave a few bitter laughs before taking a sip of the local vintage.
"Guilliman says the same thing. But now that the Emperor is dead, I don't know whose Regency he's actually holding," Alexander said with a smile.
"You really haven't changed at all," Dante marveled.
Alexander shook his head. "Did you think I'd become like the Four Gods because of Warp corruption?"
"I may not be as resilient as the Emperor, but I'm not that fragile."
Dante set down his glass. "It's not just the Warp," he said. "A person is changed by the position they hold."
"Because people are often not seated in a position because they are suited for it; they are molded by the position to fit its shape."
"Just as the Dante of today is completely different from the son of a salt-seller he once was."
Alexander turned his head slightly, seemingly looking at Tirus outside the tavern. "I can still see the shadow of a water-seller's son in that boy."
"And I can see the shadow of that salt-seller in you."
"Even if a person changes, their past self supports their current existence."
"...A person is the sum of social relations," Dante said thoughtfully. "And not just a mechanical sum of the present moment."
"It is the sum of past and present relations—dynamic and in motion..."
Alexander blinked. "Are you figuring something big out over there?" he couldn't help but ask.
He had only intended to act mysterious and give some "chicken soup" life advice, but Dante seemed to be intuiting something significant.
"Just some thoughts gained from practice," Dante said, shaking his head. "Only through true practice can knowledge be obtained and verified."
"..." Alexander looked at Dante with an even stranger expression.
"What?" Dante felt a bit creeped out by the stare.
"Want some meat sauce?" Alexander suddenly lifted a metal bucket from behind the counter. It was filled with cooked meat sauce soaking in red wine. He gave it a shake. "Sanguinius made it."
Dante's face contorted—the phrase "Sanguinius made it" triggered all those unpleasant mental associations again.
"No, please allow me to decline," Dante said, waving a hand and leaning back slightly.
"What, do you look down on my cooking now?" At that moment, Sanguinius poked his head out from the back kitchen, smiling at Dante.
Dante opened his mouth, unsure of what to say.
My Gene-Father... Dante laughed bitterly in his mind as he dug out a spoonful of meat sauce and put it in his mouth.
"..."
"It's actually pretty good!"