I Prostrate Myself

What color is the night sky?

The nights on Ring of Nul are dreamlike. As the stars vanish below the horizon, the massive gemstone mountain ranges spanning the planet reflect magnificent auroras that spread across the atmosphere, forever shrouding the other half of the planet in night.

The City of Truth is built beneath the third pillar of the Ring of Nul, located on the hemisphere opposite the Guardian Domain.

Sorcery and warriors are eternally opposed.

The differences in their architectural styles are as vast as the chasm between their ideologies.

Warriors despise the faith of sorcerers. They believe faith is a manifestation of fragility; only the cowardly and incompetent would kneel before ethereal gods, begging for mercy.

Sorcerers disdain the ignorance of warriors. They view warriors as savage existences, stubbornly clinging to the Warrior Law, forever unable to touch the truths of the universe.

The Wizard Tower structures in the City of Truth are not as orderly as those in the Guardian Domain. They are independent, varied in form—some tilted, some inverted—with no two towers alike, each possessing a strong personal style.

In the center of the city stands the tallest tower. None of its windows are identical, and none of its brick joints align. It is filled with eerie distortions, yet it exudes a strange, singular beauty.

Isaac kneels before the shrine, bowing and rising again and again. He prostrates himself, begging only for the god's forgiveness.

He has failed the god's decree, having failed to bring back the divine child who descended from the heavens.

For three months, Isaac's heart has been filled with terror. He fears being abandoned by the god, terrified that he will never again hear the divine will.

His sleepless worship and repentance, his bloodied forehead, his bent back, and his prayers and chants worn thin have not elicited a single response.

Fear and dread. The once elegant and composed High Priest is a shadow of his former self.

He now resembles an abandoned dog kicked into a gutter by its master, reeking of filth yet still wagging its tail in supplication.

Such are the Dark Prince and the other Ruinous Powers. Their love is unique, not to be measured by the emotions of humans or other sentient beings.

Their love does not diminish because of the hatred or disgust of the beloved, nor does it increase due to the fanatical worship of a devotee.

To love or not to love depends entirely on their whims; there is no logic to be found.

Humans love and revere the gods, while the gods do not love humans, yet they love them all the same.

Isaac is a powerful psyker; his devout repentance and worship were long ago noticed by the dark gods in the Warp.

The dark gods stand behind the veil, watching their pious believer.

Boring!

Tzeentch sees only profound boredom in the lowly supplicant, his eyes devoid of sorrow or joy.

To the god, the High Priest—who possesses deep wisdom in the eyes of mortals—is no different from a single-celled organism.

"Do you not intend to respond to him?"

The other three gods are present beside Tzeentch. Slaanesh asks cautiously, the Dark Prince extending a slender black tongue to lick her lips lightly.

She senses a complex satisfaction, mixed with atonement and secret joy, in the mortal's act of self-torture.

"A lowly and useless pawn." Tzeentch brushes his fingers across the void, casually pulling a segment of imagery from time.

Isaac had gone to receive Doom at His command.

On a chaotic battlefield, the High Priest falls into the bloody mud, weeping, as King Norwick reaches Doom first and scoops him up.

"Was it you?" Tzeentch's shifting form twists into a single eye, scrutinizing the beaming Khorne.

The Blood God has been in an excellent mood lately, leading Him to suspect that Khorne had secretly tripped him up to reap the benefits.

Tzeentch's scrutiny is well-founded; Khorne holds the authority of courage and warriors. Even without rituals or mediums, it would be no difficult task to provoke a momentary thought in a warrior.

The flicker of emotion in King Norwick's eyes is infinitely elongated under the divine power of the gods.

It was precisely because of that instantaneous reaction that the King of Warriors seized the initiative, picking up Doom before Isaac could.

"It was not I!"

Khorne glances at Tzeentch; being in such a good mood, He does not wish to ruin it.

The great eye of Tzeentch turns toward the lower god, accepting Khorne's answer.

Every god and demon in the Warp knows that the Blood God Khorne may use schemes and tricks, but He never lies.

"Why are you looking at me?" Nurgle, the bloated one, sees his nemesis looking at him. The kindness and peace vanish from his simple face as he says with disgust:

"Who is fickle? And who is full of lies?"

Tzeentch shifts his gaze. He knows it wasn't his nemesis who did it; looking over was merely an instinctive reaction.

Although Nurgle's authority is powerful, it requires a fixed cycle to complete the loop and manifest the power of Nurgle.

Moreover, Nurgle hates Tzeentch and, by extension, dislikes those schemes and plots; he would not act in the shadows. He prefers to wait at the finish line, gently plucking the fruit once everything has settled.

Finally, the three dark gods cast their gaze toward Slaanesh, the youngest of them.

In the Warp, the four dark gods despise one another due to their conflicting authorities. Yet, there is one who is collectively loathed by the other three.

Slaanesh. As the "youngest" dark god, His authority represents desire and indulgence.

The authority of desire makes the other gods loathe Him.

Khorne's bloodlust and Tzeentch's thirst for knowledge—the satisfaction of a berserker killing an enemy or the joy of a scholar's sudden inspiration—are all tainted by Slaanesh.

Nurgle hates Slaanesh even more, second only to his hatred for Tzeentch.

Nurgle is decay, yet He simultaneously symbolizes the cycle of life. By enduring the agony brought by rot, life shall welcome a new beginning.

Slaanesh profanes the agony necessary for the cycle of life; She transforms pain into pleasure, causing life to no longer cherish the rebirth born from nirvana.

In terms of authority and motivation, Slaanesh is the most suspicious candidate.

"It was not I!" The Dark Prince's languid, decadent voice decisively absolved Himself: "That man's will is formidable; he is a restrained warrior."

Slaanesh detests warriors, especially those with strict discipline. This is also the reason why He and Khorne are mortal enemies.

Warriors with strict discipline and clear dogmas possess extraordinary resistance to the desires of corruption.

The Four Chaos Gods fell silent. They indeed knew that King Norwick's act of picking up Doom was by no means accidental; a power beyond their gaze had intervened.

"Is it Him?" Slaanesh asked softly.

"No. There is no trace of His power." Tzeentch transformed into a crystal mirror, projecting a panoramic view of Terra: "He is busy preparing His legions and unifying His homeland."

"Regardless of who it is!" The crystal mirror twisted and shifted, displaying a scene of King Norwick writing and drawing in his study: "Now he already knows our purpose."

"If we wish for Doom to fall under our command, he is the greatest obstacle."

Nurgle's thick, fleshy abdomen split open to reveal a maw, vomiting out an ink-green planet—it was a miniature Nul: "The location of this planet in the universe has a solid reality barrier; it still exists in another dimension, far removed from the Warp."

"Our power must not only pierce through the material universe but also extend into another dimension, significantly reducing our influence!"

"Send an envoy!" Slaanesh flicked Her long tongue, the tip gently tapping the phantom of Nul, leaving a purple stain: "A ritual is all that is needed to establish an anchor; space is but a mere facade to us."

With the remaining two deities nodding, the Four Chaos Gods could briefly reach a consensus.

Khorne and Tzeentch had long wanted to have a "good talk" with King Norwick, so they naturally nodded in agreement.

Tzeentch returned to His humanoid form, reaching His slender, withered arms into His throat to pull out a dagger engraved with arcane runes.

Khorne took it and gripped it tightly; His blessing fused into the blade, granting the wielder of the dagger power.

Nurgle swallowed the dagger into His abdomen, licking it thoroughly to imbue the blade with the power of corruption.

Slaanesh made the dagger spin, bestowing swift technique so that the wielder would possess superb skill.

"Now." Tzeentch chuckled "Gugugu," casting His gaze toward that priest, the pawn begging for forgiveness.

Isaac no longer knew how many times he had kowtowed or chanted; now, only his will sustained him as he prayed for the gods' forgiveness.

In thousands of years of faith, he was the only one to receive a divine revelation, yet he had botched it.

He prayed with utmost humility, begging the gods to cast their gaze upon him once more and grant him another revelation.

"Isaac~ what are you willing to pay?"

In a trance, the High Priest heard a distant call, as if from the edge of the horizon yet close to his ears.

He bowed his head, then prostrated himself on the ground.

Tears of joy streamed from his eyes; his prayers had finally earned a divine response: "I prostrate myself to offer my devotion, begging the gods to take everything I have!"

"Having failed the gods, I am already left with nothing; fortunate to receive mercy, I am willing to offer everything!"

"I shall no longer be myself; I am the apostle of the gods! The mouthpiece of the gods walking among men!"

This time, he was willing to pay any price!

"Cough~ cough~ cough~ cough~" The gods laughed with pleasure: "Then we shall grant you everything; let us hope that this time, you do not disappoint us."