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“An Ark.” The Omnissiah told his uncle with a firmness of vocal actuations, “I am the epitome of the Covenant that was made between the Emperor of Mankind and the Machine God. A symbol of that agreement manifested to serve the Imperium in what is the darkest hour of need.”
Such words spoken by the Omnissiah did not seem to temper the mood of Malcador that much. The Omnissiah might have given Malcador a way out. A method of denying what it was that the Omnissiah, who was once TalOS, represented in the context of his understanding of the Universe. That understanding did not match reality.
“The Ark of the Covenant.” Malcador easily placed into being what it was the Divine Being meant when he said those words, “You use the allegories of previous religions to try and make sense of your existence. It is illogical, TalOS.”
“Then you will deny what it is I am.” The Master of Machines and Man said simply, “What I am today was the ultimate result of what it was you wished of my existence. A person who achieved the greatest understanding of machines. It is only now that I understand the Material Universe to be the greatest machine of them all.”
“This is not what we wanted!” Malcador fired back with a fury within his heart. It was not overly loud for the man's lungs were already well atrophied so that he could at most speak in a raised voice, “We wanted you to be someone who would bring the Mechanicus to the fore, someone who would help to enlighten everyone to the facts of the Universe and bring about the next age of innovation!”
“Which is why, when I was being created, that you turned me into a psyker who understood machines perfectly.” The Omnissiah attested to the facts that were presented to them.
“Yes, that was the goal. The idea.” Malcador admitted as if the fuel that was his raging fire escaped his being, “We…”
The words were not escaping the mind of the Sigillite. Not because he was failing to articulate them but that he did not dare say those words. They were extremely damning words forged from the mistrust of a man whose entire existence was built upon a single fact.
“You should not have allowed me to explore the concepts of the Motive Force.” The Omnissiah announced to the one who he would still gladly call uncle.
Malcador looked as if all anger was swiped from him by those words. A sentence stolen from his mouth that might have damned any relationship he would have with the person standing before him. The Sigillite simply gave a nod as he reached over and poured himself a small cut of alcohol.
“Do you wish for a drink?” Malcador asked in a gesture of good faith. An attempt at a olive branch.
“Yes.” The Omnissiah responded.
