Drayne was completely dumbfounded.
The "Iron Men"—the Abominable Intelligences—belonged to Emrys. At most, Drayne had provided a clandestine facility for their maintenance. How had the shadow of this ultimate heresy shifted so entirely onto his own shoulders?
"Emrys, do not think you can escape the Holy Ordos this way!" Drayne roared, his voice a hoarse, mechanical rasp of desperation. "If the Inquisition targets me, you will burn alongside me! If I fall, I will drag your entire dynasty into the Warp!"
He had expected his hysterical, confrontational threat to force Emrys into a compromise.
Reality proved otherwise. Emrys remained perfectly still, a thin, inscrutable smile playing on his lips. "Archmagos Drayne, you are a master of logic. How can you not grasp the simplicity of the situation?"
"What... what do you mean?" Drayne stammered. Emrys' calm was more terrifying than any rage.
"I warn you," Drayne hissed, playing his final card. "I have pict-feeds of your Iron Men in action. If the Inquisitors come for me, those recordings will be in their hands before my spark is extinguished!"
"By all means, proceed."
A flash of genuine mockery lit Emrys' eyes as he waved a dismissive hand. "Archmagos, Inquisitor Marshall's local sanctum is barely five hundred meters to your right. I suggest you go quickly. The line for heretics is usually quite long."
Drayne's jaw worked soundlessly. He felt like a fool brandishing a rusted knife, unaware that his opponent was standing behind the shield of a god.
"You... you aren't afraid?" He looked at Emrys with mounting shock. It shouldn't be this way. Emrys should be the one panicking.
"Archmagos, I truly suspect your neural-link has been corrupted by scrapcode," Emrys said with a heavy sigh. "You speak of exposing me?"
He rose slowly from his seat, walking step by step toward the tech-priest.
"Try it. But consider the outcome before you transmit. Do you believe the Inquisition would risk offending a Primarch? Do you think they would dare question a man personally endorsed by Roboute Guilliman and Marneus Calgar?"
Emrys leaned in close, his voice a cold whisper. "Whose testimony do you think the Ordos will value? Yours—a minor Archmagos suspected of tech-heresy—or the recorded word of the Lord of Macragge? Do you honestly believe a few grainy pict-feeds can topple the heir of a Rogue Trader Dynasty protected by the Regent's own decree?"
With each word, Drayne's bionic eye shuttered violently. He recoiled, his back striking the wall.
"Report me? I dare you," Emrys sneered. "The High Command, the Ultramarines, the Inquisitorial staff... they have all seen me stand at Calgar's side. What leverage do you truly have?"
"This... this is slander!" Drayne's mind-vault felt as if it were about to burst. He hadn't expected to be made the perfect scapegoat.
"Slander? Perhaps." Emrys' voice was ice. "I am framing you. What can you do to stop it? Colluding with the Dark Mechanicum, leaking Imperial secrets, nearly allowing Siluria to fall, and conducting forbidden research into the Siliceous Covenant... these crimes are more than enough to have you stripped of your rank and turned into a mindless servitor, Drayne."
Emrys spread his arms, a predator's grin on his face. "If you have the courage, appeal to Holy Terra. Assuming you can reach it alive. The Warp is a fickle thing; accidents happen to small ships every day, don't they?"
"I... I don't believe it!" Drayne glared, grasping at straws. "The Inquisitors are not blind! They will see through your lies!"
"In this Imperium, truth is whatever the man with the loudest guns says it is." Emrys chuckled, stepping back. "And right now, I have the loudest guns in the sector. Try me. See who they believe."
This was the true face of power. Emrys was now a member of the "privileged class," shielded by the shadow of a Primarch.
Drayne collapsed into a chair, his strength failing him. As a member of the Adeptus Mechanicus elite, he knew the darkness of Imperial politics. The Inquisition was formidable, but even the High Inquisitors were politicians. They would not risk a civil war with the Ultramarines over a single tech-priest's accusations.
Emrys watched the Archmagos fall into despair. He had successfully bluffed the man by leveraging the names of Calgar and Guilliman. It was a gamble, but it had paid off.
As for Calgar, Emrys already had a plan. A hundred high-yield energy cores—enough to stabilize a large-scale teleportarium or "Space Bridge"—would be a fitting "gift" to the Chapter to ensure their continued silence and cooperation.
"However," Emrys said, his tone softening just enough to offer a glimmer of hope, "given our history, I am willing to offer you one chance at survival. It simply depends on your utility."
He wanted to drain every drop of value from Drayne. If the man weren't a high-ranking Archmagos with access to vital resources, Emrys would have had the Silver Templars execute him hours ago.
Drayne looked up, desperation in his eyes. "Excellency Emrys... my previous errors were born of logic-failure. I am your servant. Save me, and I will do anything!"
"Good. I prefer intelligent servants." Emrys crossed his legs. "First, I require two large-scale stasis fields. High-grade. Any issues?"
"None. I will secure them within the week!" Drayne promised, his voice cracking.
"Second, I need three fully functional manufacturing shrines, along with five hundred tech-thralls and specialized workers."
Drayne's processors whirred in protest. He only controlled ten such shrines on Vigilus. Giving up three was a massive blow to his influence. But his life was worth more than his factories. "It shall be done. Three manufacturing shrines will be transferred to your dynasty's name."
"Finally," Emrys said, the real trap closing, "I require the override codes and mobilization authority for the Dominion Overlord."
"What? No! Absolutely not!" Drayne's logic-arrays nearly caught fire. "The Dominion Overlord is a pride of the Mechanicus! I cannot simply hand over a mobile fortress-monastery!"
"Archmagos," Emrys' face became a mask of stone, shadowed and chilling. "You seem to think I am negotiating. I want the authority. I do not care what rituals you must bypass or what lies you must tell your superiors. If you cannot provide it, then our 'agreement' is void."
Drayne felt as if he were falling into a bottomless abyss. He bowed his head, defeated. "You must swear... you must swear that the Dominion Overlord will not be lost. If it is destroyed under your command, my existence will be erased."
"Don't worry, Archmagos. I'm not a daemon." Emrys patted the man's shoulder with a cold smile. "The fortress still belongs to the Machine God. I am merely... borrowing its light. Nothing will happen to it. You have my word."