The Poison of Hope (Part 2)

Corleon's condition was dire.

Am I about to die?

She couldn't help but think.

She wasn't afraid of death. As a wandering scavenger orphan, she had long grown accustomed to it.

This life of hunger and cold held little worth remembering.

Maybe if she died, her brother's burden would be a little lighter.

Having lost all hope of living, she slowly sank into the boundless sea of souls.

"No, not yet."

She clearly remembered that goddess—how beautiful and towering she was, who had saved her from hunger and cold.

She had given them warmth, water, food, laughter, and names, along with a promise of a future filled with hope and redemption.

She had painted their world.

With the colors of ideals.

A luxury she had never known.

But she would never see any of it again.

Ever since she was struck by that Psychic Lightning, her already pale skin had turned even more ghastly, with several fine purple veins glowing through it. Her gold-black eyes were shut; if anyone watched, they would see her pupils dilating more and more with each passing moment.

Once again, she was on the brink of death.

But this time, she wanted to live.

She was no longer the numb walking corpse she used to be.

She wanted to witness a starship soaring through the sky. She wanted to become a captain, traversing the sea of stars.

She wanted to live.

Like a drowning person, Corleon struggled with all her might.

She wanted to live!

Live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live, live.

Finally, in that vast and silent sea of souls, she tried to grasp the last straw that could save her.

Corleon, I can save you.

"Who are you?"

She asked instinctively.

Corleon, I am your dream—your hope.

It answered.

She woke up.

On a massive, magnificent ship, she opened her eyes again.

What a breathtaking vessel it was.

The entire ship was coated in a beautiful purple and pearl silver paint, glowing faintly with golden radiance under the protection of the Geller Field.

She didn't know how she instantly understood all this knowledge, but as its captain, she wouldn't question her own instincts.

Outside the ship, one thousand two hundred and ninety-six decorative statues stood lifelike, emitting their own light from the battlements. Carved from marble and countless precious jewels, they were clearly the work of the most artistic sculptors.

Her command deck was especially beautiful.

The throne beneath her was woven from agate and silver. The fine leather seat was as delicate as a baby's skin.

The air was fragrant, utterly unlike Chemos's toxic, radiation-filled atmosphere. With just one sniff, a honey-sweet, cloying aroma filled her nostrils.

It brought her an ecstasy that made her soul tremble.

On the ship, countless diligent crew members served her with the finest food and care.

They knelt trembling, handing her candied fruits on gilded platters for her enjoyment.

Not only that, but she could even sense her Twin Brother here, on this very ship.

The Crown.

That was the ship's name.

"Where is this?"

Sitting at the center of the bridge, Corleon looked around and asked cautiously.

A corner of the distant future.

A voice answered in her heart.

In the vast Empyrean, the dimension of time does not exist.

"Who are you?"

I am the Illusory Dream of Disillusionment.

I am the unattainable, the moon's reflection in water and flowers of the ideal, and the ugly, unwilling struggle when it shatters.

I am you, Corleon.

I am The Poison of Hope.

That voice spouted a jumble of half-understood words, leaving her baffled.

"What do you want? I want to go home."

Though the unfamiliar surroundings were indescribably beautiful, they stirred a deep unease within Corleon.

This wasn't right.

She couldn't pinpoint what was wrong, but she still felt a flicker of fear.

I bring you a deal.

I need your body as a vessel to fulfill the great mission bestowed by My Lord.

In exchange, I will grant your long-cherished wish of becoming a captain, halt your body's decay, and free you from the miserable cycle of life and death.

From now on, you will never suffer hunger or cold again, nor will anyone insult or mock you.

You will pilot your beloved ship through the cosmos, free and laughing, day after day, year after year.

Guided by that voice, she saw many things.

She saw her Twin Brother also realize his dream, becoming a mighty swordsman, cutting down countless foes with his elegant and ethereal unmatched sword techniques.

She saw herself piloting the ship, sharing countless "candies" with the suffering people she encountered wherever she went, just as she had once hoped.

And these candies were tens of thousands, hundreds of millions of times sweeter than those Sister Fulgrim had given them back then.

The people who tasted such joy danced and howled in ecstasy.

Some were so overjoyed they clawed at their own bodies and faces.

They didn't stop even as blood splattered and entrails spilled out.

How happy they were.

"I—"

The grand blueprint of a future dream had already unfolded.

But she still hesitated.

Corleon, what more could you be dissatisfied with?

Becoming a captain—isn't that the hope you live for, your ideal?

The voice was utterly sincere.

My deal benefits us both. Why won't you accept it?

Yes, why not?

Aside from that inexplicable resistance in her heart, Corleon could find no reason to refuse.

She hesitated, slowly reaching out toward the voice within her—

"Enough!"

Just then, a voice from behind stopped them.

"That's far enough, demon."

With that sharp shout, Corleon felt clarity return—a clarity utterly different from the hazy, drowsy fog before.

A long-lost sense of reality flooded her mind again.

Damn it, who are you? Why are you ruining my plan?

The voice shrieked in displeasure.

Corleon withdrew her hand and turned curiously to look behind her.

It was a blazing mass of Golden-Red Holy Flame.

"A disciple of Slaanesh, reduced to tricking a three-year-old to survive."

"You disgust me, demon."

Corleon didn't run.

That blurry ball of flame, for some reason, gave her a deeply familiar sense of closeness.

And it seemed to be looking back at her.

"Corleon, remember."

"Dreams are not easily won; they are forged through long effort and sweat."

"Don't believe the slander of these demons. Every brick of the future must—and can only—be built by our own hands."

Corleon nodded.

Before this flame, she felt warmth.

A warmth tinged with a real, stinging burn.

But still warmth.

"As for you, demon."

"In every timeline, vanish forever."

With that, the flame surged forward.

Though she didn't know how she knew it, Corleon understood one thing in that moment:

That was a flame touching the very origin.

Once consumed by it, she would be annihilated, never to be restored for all eternity.

And she was one with the voice in her mind.

This flame would burn away that voice, and might also burn her to death.

The Accursed?! No, impossible! This isn't the power of The Accursed!

The voice shrieked, its tone filled with disbelief.

You! You are—

"Who I am has never been for you to decide, demon."

The flame rushed toward her, devouring everything in her sight.

Her hopes and dreams would be shattered from this point on, vanishing into smoke.

But she had no regrets.

"Corleon."

At Kasgar's soft call, she opened her dazed eyes.

She was awake.

Awakening from a beautiful, illusory dream.

She saw Kasgar smiling as he gently patted her little head, and beside him, her brother, who looked relieved.

"Welcome back, Corleon."

Was everything she had just experienced a dream?

She rubbed her eyes in confusion.

What a strange, bewildering dream.