23 Burns Out (II)

Kharn felt confused, very confused, extremely confused. He wasn't afraid; he just couldn't understand.

"Where is this?" he asked softly, his voice echoing quietly in the dark cabin. "Where are we, Karyl?"

The pale giant released his grip on the man's left arm guard, the icy sensation vanishing. The giant lowered his head and began coughing up blood as he explained, "Your ship."

Our ship?

"Yes." He vomited another mouthful of blood. Kharn looked at the blood suspiciously and noticed that it was beginning to dissipate in the air.

Are you injured?

"It's alright," Karyl said. "Do you recognize where you are?"

Kharn looked at him blankly and shook his head.

He certainly didn't recognize where he was—the deck of the Firm Resolve was always clean and tidy, and the insignia of the War Hounds remained on the walls as branding marks.

They didn't use any decorations to adorn the walls of its corridors; the iron gray itself became a somber and austere décor. The War Hounds didn't need many symbols of honor to prove or remind themselves that their armor bore the Emperor's lightning bolt and that their names were given by the Emperor himself.

Is there any greater honor in the world? No.

But now? Where does he stand now?

He was standing in a terrifying place.

The deck beneath his feet was filled with dark ash, and Kharn was certain he saw insects lurking within it. The walls had become a twisted and wrinkled material, upon which countless skulls were arranged in some order, and symbols made of foul-smelling blood flickered throughout the corridor, even appearing and disappearing like breaths.

"Have we come to the wrong place?"

Kharn gripped his Chainaxe tightly, watching warily into the darkness at the end of the corridor. He asked his guide, who, for some reason, already placed a great deal of trust in him.

"No," Karyl said calmly. "This is it."

His gaze swept across the darkness, Kharn heard him sigh, a voice carrying the most obvious emotion, one that Kharn knew exactly what it was.

He was angry.

Why?

"Follow me." The giant stepped forward, his steps so light that it was as if he didn't even exist.

Kharn followed closely behind, not understanding where he was being taken.

They walked in silence, from one corridor to another, from one deck to another, until they reached a cabin. Some of the automatic doors were still working, others were broken. The bloody symbol was everywhere, and skulls— Kharn didn't understand why there were skulls everywhere.

He breathed silently, dust filling his nostrils. He had retrieved his helmet, but the breathing grille was no help. They moved forward, forward, and onward, as if two dead men were trying to cross a river of darkness back into the world of the living.

Then, at some point, they finally stopped.

Stopped in front of a dark door.

"Where is this?" Kharn asked softly.

Karyl didn't answer; he simply raised his right hand and placed it over the filthy door. His pale skin now seemed to glow faintly, and his blood vessels, nerves, and bones were clearly visible beneath it.

Kharn was startled and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Open this door," Karyl replied calmly.

But your hand--

"--It doesn't matter." He turned and glanced at Kharn. "It's just an image, proof that I'm fighting, nothing more. Just like your brothers, can't you hear their voices, Kharn?"

What was that sound?

Karyl turned his head away, and the door itself began to gnaw at his hand.

Darkness came alive, transforming into a bloody curtain in the rage of something, pulling his hand deeper inside. Terrifying sounds rang out continuously. This should have been torture, but Kharn found that Karyl's face remained completely expressionless, as if he were truly just opening a door.

A few seconds later, the right hand, whose bones were already visible, slowly clenched, and the door slid open completely. The sound of it hitting the wall was so terrifying, so horrifying, that even Kharn could hardly bear it and turned his head away.

A sticky substance oozed from his ear; without even thinking, he knew it was blood.

Then he heard laughter.

Karyl is smiling.

"He is furious," he said. "But the angrier He is, the more it proves one thing."

Kharn couldn't understand what he was talking about. He looked behind the door and suddenly froze.

At that moment, tens of thousands of cacophony of voices suddenly erupted, rushing into his damaged hearing, but instead of further damaging his eardrums, they allowed him to clearly hear and even see the voices of everyone.

He heard Jericho's roar from the heavy weapons squad and saw him charge into the enemy ranks, fighting desperately. His enemies, those beasts in brass and scarlet armor, seized him and then felled him. His blue and white armor was submerged in the crimson torrent, and then a grenade he had hidden beneath him exploded, engulfing everything in its path.

He heard Hoz, the commander of the Storm Eagle Squadron of the 9th Company, repeatedly calling out the Primarch's name, his voice hoarse and hoarse.

Roboute Guilliman's messenger informed them of the Primarch's name; they knew he was called Angron, and they had discussed it many times. Hoz kept shouting "For Angron!" Then he saw Hoz, the commander fighting a bloody battle with his squad in the hangar, as traitors relentlessly attacked from the darkness, easily overwhelming them all.

He heard Helsen's voice from the Second Company —he heard him slowly dying, Helsen's voice so weak it seemed it would vanish in the next second.

Kharn saw him, saw his brother, only the upper half of his body remaining, sitting alone on the deck, eyes open, a grenade in his hand, mocking the darkness with the voice of a dying man.

"Come on! Come on! You bunch of scum! Helsen the War Hounds is here waiting for you!"

He heard them die.

He witnessed their deaths.

He remembered everyone's voice and recognized everyone's face without missing a single one, and then he watched them die.

Kharn trembled and knelt down, facing the dark doorway.

He clutched his helmet in anguish, his thoughts in disarray. The surrounding space trembled, and a fleeting crimson light flashed, forming a blurry beam that struck his neck, attempting to enslave him.

Until Karyl stretched out his bloodied and mangled right hand again.

"Do you intend to stop here, Kharn, the War Hounds?" he asked softly.

Kharn looked up at him blankly. The helmet blocked his expression, but it couldn't block out his voice. The breathing coming from inside the breathing grille sounded like some kind of intermittent sobbing.

Karyl shook his head.

"Stand up," he said in an extremely soft voice. "There is something. He wants to enslave you, and He has already succeeded halfway. Do you want to be His slave, Kharn?"

"I don't want to, of course I don't want to," Kharn answered instinctively. He didn't speak, because he could no longer speak. But Karyl had already seen through his thoughts.

A chilling blue light flashed in his eyes once more.

Karyl stared at him, through the eyepiece, reaching his eyes, and finally touching his soul. He could clearly see Kharn's soul, which was now half-stained crimson.

That false god expended great effort, using illusory, tainted blood to corrupt these innocent people, then chaining them and subjecting them to whipping and torment. The opened door is one piece of evidence of his painstaking efforts.

Using this as a foundation, He shook Kharn's mind, attempting to exploit the situation once again. He already knew that Karyl didn't have the strength to clear away the influence for Kharn again unless he immediately abandoned his human identity.

But in that case, He actually won.

They all won.

And Karyl will not let them win.

"Your Primarch was named Angron, Kharn. You know his name, but you don't know what kind of person he was. Let me tell you."

The pale giant calmly began to recount that, in a realm beyond Kharn's hearing and sight, something was exerting a terrible force upon him, harming him, yet the giant remained completely unmoved.

"He was a gladiator, a born fighter. He had been a slave, but he never yielded. He endured torture, insults, and whippings; he endured the darkness and the instruments of torture driven into his skull, but he never yielded."

"We found him, we rescued him, but the truth is far from that. If a person willingly becomes a slave, no one can save him."

"Are you going to be that thing's slave?" Karyl asked softly. "Do you want to bring shame upon him?"

Kharn let out a howl.

His chaotic thoughts finally found a brief moment of clarity, and the will of humanity, with its tenacious fighting spirit, briefly gained the upper hand amidst the filth, causing time to slow down rapidly. Karyl closed his eyes and sighed softly.

He knew that Kharn's fighting spirit couldn't last long, perhaps not even a second, before he was swallowed up by the crimson wave again.

But that's enough.

Time was once again in his grasp; the power of Chaos was so convenient.

Stop!

From the other side of the Milky Way, a voice roared in, accompanied by thunder.

I can't.

Stop, or you will die.

+I don't know, but I have a way.+

+ Karyl Lohars is going to die, think of Konrad Curze Curze.+

The sound gradually drew closer, accompanied by distorted, shrill screams from all around. The thunder wasn't loud, but it always managed to drown out these distorted things.

Yes, think of him. But, my friend, I taught the Wraith that one should do the right thing and choose the right path. Although I myself am not entirely sure what is right, I am clear about one thing: I will not stand idly by and watch this happen. I will not let brothers continue to kill each other, becoming slaves to that monster in blood and tears.

You must stay calm.

I can't, I'm never calm.

Karyl hung up the psionic communication, and a terrifying smile suddenly appeared on his pale face.

In the slowed-down time, he pulled Kharn up, grabbed the crimson threads, and personally draped them around Kharn's neck.

The crimson light shone brightly.

Kharn trembled and howled, and in an instant, the blue and white armor transformed. Crimson armor with brass edges replaced the honor of the War Hounds, and the wails of skulls and ghosts replaced the design of the Master of Mankind. This illusory soul now stood before Karyl, silently gazing at him.

Or rather, it is the power that gazes beneath the skin of Karyl Lohars.

"Kharn," Karyl said softly. "Traitor Kharn? I see your name, but I see nothing else."

Kharn lowered his head and slowly nodded.

"You betrayed humanity, the Imperium, and the Emperor," he asked. "Isn't that right? I can see it in your armor. You all betrayed us, didn't you?"

"Yes," the traitor said in his hoarse voice.

"Why?"

"For our father," the traitor said. "We fight for him."

"You betrayed him too?"

"Yes."

"Very well." Karyl nodded slowly. "Then, you still need to fight for him."

"He's dead," the traitor said emotionlessly. "He's no longer himself—"

He was speechless, for the pale giant was showing him a picture, a hope they had never imagined.

". What's this?"

"This is your father," Karyl said, his skin crumbling like melting wax, as he poured out his own blood. "Do you see him?"

The blue light in his eyes continued to shine brightly.

"I saw it." The traitor's voice began to tremble for the first time. "But how is that possible?"

"Traitor Kharn. I have no time to recount any more evidence to you." Karyl looked at him with pity and disgust. "But I guess you don't need forgiveness either. You know you're unforgivable, don't you?"

". right."

"Then, let's betray each other one more time."

In the darkness, a hand, about to melt, slowly reached out.

"Whom did you betray?"

"Khorne," Karyl Lohars said.

A bare-chested right hand, bound in chains, pressed itself against the melting hand without hesitation.

The traitor Kharn nodded.

"Good."

The next second, his soul began to abandon everything. The body he had acquired, his past memories, his own name—everything vanished with the wind. The traitor, with power that did not belong to him or the Khorne, completed his betrayal once again.

He erased himself.

The War Hounds fell to the ground, its armor covered in black ash. He raised his head, bewildered and in pain, yet felt an unprecedented sense of relief. However, upon raising his head, he saw a bloody skeleton.

"Karyl?"

"It's me." The skeleton nodded calmly. "I can only help you this far, Kharn. This ship has changed, but it's still your ship. Think carefully, you can find your way. Head to the bridge."

"What are you doing—"

"My situation doesn't matter," the skeleton said. "I will survive."

The blue light began to transform, turning into a faint gold.

"Now, step into the darkness, and fight, Kharn, the War Hounds."

As soon as he finished speaking, he vanished in a flash of light. Kharn lunged forward, only to grasp at an extreme pain. He gritted his teeth and endured it with a muffled groan. If this was the last trace left by someone who had helped them, then Kharn would not let it disappear.

He clenched his left fist, the pain relentless, roaring in his mind. The pain was so intense that it allowed him to ignore everything else lurking in the darkness.

"Very well," Kharn said hoarsely, taking down his Chainaxe and stepping Dreadnought into the darkness. "Very well, Karyl Lohars, I will fight."

My minimum goal for today is 10,000 words. This chapter is 4,000 words.