24-Hour War (II)

As it turns out, Konrad Curze Curze was right.

The blood-red sky gradually transformed, turning into pure black at a visible speed. The wind howled, its sound like the murmurs of Ghost. Van Cleef turned his head, staring intently at the spot where his Primarch had been, trying to ask more questions.

However, he did not see Konrad Curze Curze; he only saw flames.

A raging fire, a pitch-black raging fire.

--Coming from afar, sweeping in from the horizon.

Mountains, cities, and land were reduced to shattered, charred, and decaying corpses. Trembling, screaming, roaring in the flames, cries of hatred filled the air. A company commander stood tall, his two hearts pounding.

His reason was stunned by the illusion, and he froze. But it didn't last long. The illusion was driven back by the power surging in his blood in the next second, and "reality" came into view as a dazzling aurora.

Van Cleef clenched his fists, his body trembling uncontrollably. The world before him was changing; the night was deep, the air thick with tension, as quiet as a graveyard. The sun had been cruelly murdered by the sudden surge of darkness, leaving no light behind.

He didn't understand what was happening, but he could "see" it.

He could see the world as it truly was now—a cemetery, a scorched earth cemetery continuously burned by flames, where the dead screamed in agony.

Is this real?

Van Cleef questioned himself rationally, but still found no answer. He stared at the flames, his eyes seemingly burning. The next second, Konrad Curze Curze's voice came from beside him, carrying an unparalleled sense of security.

"What did you see, Van Cleef?" the Primarch asked calmly.

Van Cleef tried to answer but couldn't speak. Curze stared at him, nodded slowly, and said nothing. Van Cleef noticed the change in him— Konrad Curze Curze, who used to be gentle and polite, now seemed focused and dangerous.

The Primarch thoughtfully raised his head and looked up at the sky. The sky was gloomy, and a somber crescent moon was faintly visible behind the dark clouds. It emitted a cold light, which did not dispel the darkness, but instead made the darkness grow even darker.

Van Cleef heard a hissing sound coming from the communication channel, a continuous, somber hum, and names popping up one after another on his eyepiece as they connected to the channel—they flashed by like mercury, yet Van Cleef could see each name clearly.

He opened his mouth, feeling breathless. Konrad Curze Curze remained standing beside him, seemingly oblivious to what was happening, but his expression was so grim it was unlike his own.

How could he be completely unaware of the current situation?

These visions were completely transparent to him. Konrad Curze Curze saw through the fire and darkness, clearly seeing the overturned tombs and the dead rising again. They were draped in flames, their faces deathly pale.

The dead.

But not the souls of the Harkosus, but the souls of the Eighth Legion.

Realizing this made him feel suffocated. Curze felt as if someone had pierced his neck with a cold iron hook, and a bundle of rotten rope was tied to the top of the hook, suspending him.

Breathing brings pain, and so does thinking. So he stood quietly, taking slow, deep breaths, but all he heard was a hollow sound.

The darkness had no intention of letting him go, and Konrad Curze Curze had no way to escape.

He was forced to listen—by the fifth second, he realized it was a hymn. By the tenth second, he had intuitously grasped the language of the singers through a few low, coherent syllables. By the fifteenth second, he was completely absorbed. The syllables had a magical quality, transporting him to a place of tranquility.

He arrived at a palace made of stone.

The cold wind howled, the interior was empty, and the ground was covered with thick dust, even reaching above his iron boots. Much of it had already drifted in the wind, resembling pale ashes.

Konrad Curze Curze walked forward, the suffocating feeling growing stronger, yet he remained unmoved, experiencing an extreme calm. He moved forward, his footsteps monotonous, rhythmically rising to the hymn.

Finally, he saw a Throne riddled with cracks. Karyl Lohars stood beside the Throne, his back to him.

"Are you going to explain?" Konrad Curze Curze asked, his voice unusually bitter. "I didn't see it."

"Of course," Karyl replied. "This is a temple, and this is a Throne for the gods to rest upon."

He turned around, his expression calm as always. Curze grinned sarcastically. "How many more times are you going to wear that expression, Karyl?"

"Until I finish what I've done, Konrad Curze," the armored giant replied calmly. "I must end this war as quickly as possible; we cannot be dragged into this quagmire. Harkosus has three planets."

"And no one can end a war by himself," Konrad Curze Curze said slowly, his gaze fixed on Karyl with the dangerous, sharp look of a wounded beast. "No one can do it."

He emphasized the pronunciation of the word "".

Karyl smiled.

"You're alluding to something, Konrad Curze. Do you know where we are?"

"I don't know, I only know that you said it was a temple."

"Yes, it is a temple, an underground temple built by the Harkosus Xenos themselves, and then forgotten by them. This temple belongs to the God of Burning Fire, and for centuries, the Xenos on Harkosus I have maintained their devout faith, unchanged. A sacrifice every five years, a plea every five years."

"You see those dust particles floating in the air? They're not dust, Konrad Curze. They're the remains of the dead, one of the proofs of their faith. In the ancient legends of the Harkosus I Xenos, the God of Burning Fire awakens when a meteor falls from the sky, and at that time, if they offer their final act of devotion, they can fully awaken the god and grant them the power to change the curse."

"You sound like you're telling a myth."

"This is just a myth, Konrad Curze, nothing more than a myth about the Xenos."

"Then, what about that curse?"

"It... it's like the name suggests, a curse. The Xenos of Harkosus cannot reproduce through normal means; if they want their population to grow, they must infect humans through some kind of ritual. This ritual is called 'Kindling the Body.'"

"After the ritual is completed, all newly born Harkosus Xenos will be born with an innate and natural faith in the God of Burning Fire. They will devoutly uphold this faith until their death."

"Then, what about that god?" Konrad Curze Curze gazed at Karyl and spoke softly. "The God of Burning Fire, right? Where is He?"

"He does not exist," Karyl said calmly. "Even if beliefs sealed away for centuries were revived, even if Harkosus I had become an earthly divine realm because of these beliefs, He still does not exist."

". The kingdom of God on earth?"

"Yes." Karyl nodded at him. "The earthly divine realm. A world briefly altered by faith to become the dwelling place and domain of gods, where its gods can do anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Konrad Curze Curze walked toward him. His expression seemed thoughtful, but Karyl knew he wasn't. Konrad Curze Curze didn't need to think for that long; his exceptional intelligence allowed him to handle anything in seconds.

He was angry.

A giant with a face similar to his, also deathly pale, walked to the foot of the Throne and slowly spoke.

"What exactly are you doing?" he demanded sharply. "Don't you trust the Legion? Do you really think they need you to be this ridiculous god? You—"

"Nobody needs a god," Karyl replied in a low voice. "But that's the problem, Konrad Curze. You can't ignore something that already exists, just as we couldn't ignore the polluted air, the stench of acid rain, and the pervasive murders when we were still on Nostramo. Now, we're on Harkosus I, and you've seen what the God of Burning Fire has done. Are you going to deny His existence?"

"I just want to know what price you're going to pay this time! For this damn broken chair!" Konrad Curze Curze roared, pointing at the cracked Throne. Karyl saw disappointment in his eyes.

He tried to smile, but this time, he failed.

"I don't know yet." That was his final answer. "But I'll tell you."

As soon as he finished speaking, Konrad Curze Curze vanished. Karyl closed his eyes and sat back. The Throne rose, perfectly catching him. The howling wind stopped abruptly, and a questioning voice followed shortly after.

"Why do gods help their enemies?"

Karyl did not answer, but slowly opened his eyes.

That moment finally arrived. The gears of fate, held back by the covenant, began to turn. From the moment he sat on the Throne, there was no turning back. The Veil trembled, burning with rage at this sight.

But it couldn't find Karyl, Tzeentch had thoughtfully made all the necessary preparations, including Deceit the Veil with a false divine name so that it couldn't find Karyl immediately.

He is right.

He doesn't need to win, because He can't lose in the first place.

"Gods—!" A million voices cried out in unison, the souls of the Harkosus Xenos screaming. All the Xenos who had given their lives for the God of Burning Fire over the centuries were gathered here. They howled, shouted, and screamed—they questioned.

They questioned the god they believed in.

"Why don't you help us? Why don't you light a fire to burn our curse?! Liar! False god!"

Because I am not God.

Karyl Lohars sat on the crumbling Throne and spoke calmly.

"I am not your god, nor do I act according to your mythology. But if you wish to hate me and seek Vengeance, I will grant your wish as well."

A roar erupted, and the dead rushed toward him. Faith vanished, the Throne shattered, and he rose to his feet.

The skull face clung to him like Shadow, obscuring his pale features. Black flames suddenly ignited within his eye sockets, and the god leaped down from the ruins of the Throne, rushing toward his fallen, loyal servants.

Two more chapters to go, 10,000 words today.