Chapter 667: I Cannot Be Both Your Son and Your Father

Fabius Bael’s laboratory, on the technology of cloning Primarchs.

This is indeed information that could capture Corvus’s attention.

The cloned Primarch Fulgrim appears to harbor a certain fixation on Fabius Bael, who created him.

He has continually searched the galaxy for traces of Fabius Bael, attempting to capture him and unravel the mystery of his own origin.

But Fulgrim himself possesses limited understanding of biological technology, insufficient to decipher Fabius’s creations.

And Corvus, as the foremost Sage of the Mechanicum today, naturally became Fulgrim’s collaborator.

“He discovered a remnant of Fabius Bael’s legacy on Murder, containing several incomplete cloned Primarch specimens. Cloned Fulgrim has asked me to investigate and study the site on Murder.” Corvus extended a finger, withdrawing a slender nerve from the cloned body before him; his mechanical eye magnified the view, allowing him to observe the nerve’s twitch with fine detail.

“You cannot go.” The Primarch of the Primarchs spoke calmly to Corvus.

Corvus’s hand froze.

“I am Belisarius Cawl.” He said: “Nothing is beyond me.”

“Even gods are not omnipotent.” The Primarch of the Primarchs insisted.

“Very true!” Corvus lifted his head to meet the Primarch’s gaze: “But I am human.”

“Nothing is impossible for humanity. Nothing is beyond human intellect. They taught us this.”

The Primarch of the Primarchs’ throat moved slightly; Corvus’s words stirred his anger.

He suppressed the expression of anger from his face, but could not suppress the rise of pain.

A fleeting flash of agony crossed the Primarch of the Primarchs’ face—his body’s defect kept him in constant torment.

If Corvus were truly omnipotent, he should have healed the Primarch of the Primarchs—but the Primarch never voiced this thought.

Corvus slightly opened his mouth, as if to speak, but ultimately turned his head away.

This behavior tightened the Primarch of the Primarchs’ fists, stirring his inner agitation.

Yet he could not help but tell Corvus: “A spider has fixated on you. My prophetic sight tells me so.”

“.Oh, Fabius.” Corvus nodded absently.

“He is dangerous. I see it clearly—like an old spider on the verge of emerging. The laboratory on Murder is plainly a trap left for you. Do not walk into it foolishly.”

“Oh, a challenge. I shall meet it.” Belisarius Cawl spoke with casual indifference, as if Fabius Bael were beneath notice.

The Primarch of the Primarchs drew a deep breath; he felt his lungs burning.

This was not metaphor—his lungs truly endured constant, searing pain.

It left him speechless. He knew further words would not change Corvus’s mind.

So he turned away, leaving Corvus’s workshop without hesitation.

Corvus watched the Primarch of the Primarchs’ retreating back, his fingers trembling slightly. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but finally shook his head and fell silent.

“Corvus, you are a conceited fool.” A reproachful growl came from beside Corvus’s ear.

Corvus looked wearily at a panel beside him.

A golden-haired, stern face—like a portrait on a coin—flickered across the panel.

“You could have told your Primarch of the Primarchs plainly why you crave the cloning technology.”

“.My lord, if I have replicated the Primarch’s spirit, why not attempt to replicate his flesh?” Belisarius Cawl turned to the panel and spoke.

“No, you have not replicated the Primarch’s spirit.” The Degraded Guilliman displayed calm logic: “You yourself said the Emperor destroyed nearly all technology that shaped us. You cannot create organic Primarchs, nor mechanical ones. I am merely your flawed imitation.”

“You are always so logical.” Corvus replied dryly.

“Then let me apply logic.” The Degraded Guilliman said: “The Primarch of the Primarchs is the product of your arrogance, pride, and conceit. You possess the Source Blood Vault, the complete Primarch genome sequence. How could you not have tried to create a Primarch—not a clone, but one forged from nothing?”

“But you say you cannot create a true Primarch, meaning you tried—and failed.”

“Clearly, that failure is the Primarch of the Primarchs. He was born, yet remains vastly distant from a true Primarch, and endures torment without cease.”

“Corvus, you seek the cloning technology to heal the Primarch of the Primarchs.”

“.Perhaps I wish to create a new one, to replace him—”

“Shut up, Corvus.” The Degraded Guilliman suddenly roared: “Do you think I am blind?”

“He is your Luperkar, isn’t he?”

“Firstborn, Firstcast—you love him. He loves you.”

Corvus’s body froze in place, silent for a long while.

“You could be more honest.” The Degraded Guilliman’s tone softened slightly.

“.As a creation, I have betrayed my master twice.”

“As a creator, I have betrayed my child.”

“My lord, I owe the Firstcast a debt. I am uncertain if I can even assume the role of his father.”

A flicker of fear appeared in Corvus’s eyes as he glanced toward the many miniature Doraemons beside him.

“If I accept the blessing of Saint Doraemon, harnessing Saint Doraemon’s power, perhaps I can heal the Firstcast without the Source Blood Vault.”

“But I simply cannot.” Belisarius Cawl shook his head violently.

“That is another lie. You reject the power of the miniature Doraemons not out of confidence in your own intellect, but out of guilt.”

The Degraded Guilliman stared through the screen at Belisarius Cawl, at Corvus’s monstrous, half-human frame.

“Yes, perhaps I am the one in this galaxy who understands best what he endured.” Corvus spoke bitterly: “I sacrificed my human body for my mission. Once I clung desperately to the perfection of the human form—yet I twisted myself into this.”

“He endured the same—but his distortion surpassed mine a hundredfold, a thousandfold, ten thousandfold. This is our failure. I cannot overcome the shame and guilt within me.”

“Yet because of my guilt, the Firstcast endures longer torment. He may come to hate me. How then can I dare call him my son, or claim to be his father?”