Return to Perfect City (Final)

Angron Te walked through the ruins once more. His steps were firm, without the slightest hesitation.

Hermot Russ walked in front of him, Batusa Narek behind him, and Karyl Lohars at the end of the line. The order in which they had come had been cleverly reversed; they had come for the truth, and they were leaving for the truth.

The Word Bearers was no longer afraid of the possible cruelty of the truth; he even longed to obtain it—he needed to know who had committed such atrocities and who had turned their Primarch into those hypocritical and twisted clay figures.

Angron Tey couldn't guarantee he could remain calm once he knew who it was, but he also didn't want to be calm in that situation.

He already had several guesses, and these possible candidates and their names strung together scene after scene that was once commonplace but is now full of doubts, keeping Word Bearers in a state of calm as if he had fallen into an ice cellar.

He was angry, but he remained calm—because now was not the time for killing.

They trudged through the icy mist, their footsteps echoing almost like loading bullets into a magazine. But not Boltgun, but an assault shotgun.

Armor-piercing projectile.

A footstep sounded, and a bullet was loaded into the magazine, then another, and another. Orderly, cold and ruthless.

They walked back at least twenty-six kilometers before reaching their destination, where a thin mist and fiery red fragments lingered on a protrusion at the end of the road.

It was one of many inconspicuous piles of ashes in the city, but since their path had stopped here, Hermot Russ raised his hand and made an Aquila Salute once more.

He bowed reverently, chanting the name of the God-Emperor. But as his hands touched the pile of ashes, his expression inside his helmet transformed into a furious rage.

The Anchorite began to dig it up without encountering any resistance. His cold gauntlets sank deep into the ashes, and he scooped out handfuls of ashes, repeating the process endlessly.

The bump quickly flattened under his digging, and after a while, it turned from flat into a deep pit.

Karyl neither intervened nor offered assistance. He could see the Anchorite's hatred without even needing to look at him, so he figured it was better to let him process it first.

Soon, something was revealed at the bottom of the pit. The Anchorite stopped digging, stood up from the pit, and took a heavy book from his waist.

It is not bound with paper pages, but with metal binding, and cold gray corners that not only reinforce the book itself, but also lock the pages in place, preventing them from being opened and read.

A heavy chain extended from the back of the spine, suspending it from a handle. Now, the handle was in the Anchorite's hand.

Hermot lowered his head and raised his right hand high. A fraction of a second later, it fell heavily.

"Bang!"

With a muffled thud, the glassy earth cracked open, revealing its true form beneath. Hermot looked up, removed his helmet with one hand, and hung it back on his waist.

He looked at Karyl, his face filled with obvious disgust. "This seems to be the place, sir."

Karyl nodded slightly.

Minutes later, they entered the world beneath the glass earth through the widening rift. It looked like a small underground chapel, but somehow it had survived intact during the warships' attack that swept across the ground.

But it is not made of stone, concrete or any steel, nor is it made of mud, wood or more primitive thatched huts.

The walls are constructed from human skin and internal organs, while the basic framework is built from human bones. Specially roasted fat, sticky and viscous, spreads between the bones, flesh, and skin in another form, serving as a connection.

The benches for the believers were made of wood, but the backs were evenly carved with eight-pointed stars. A pulpit was placed beneath two huge pieces of skin stitched together, with two rotting candles resting at its corners.

Disgust, hatred, and anger choked the Word Bearers, rendering them speechless, not even Hermot Russ.

The Anchorite clutched his book tightly, the sensors faithfully transmitting the trembling of his fingers to his gauntlets. They collided, producing a dull, irritating metallic echo.

Karyl remained calm—he had seen worse things long ago, and while he was angry, he couldn't let it delay his work.

He walked to the podium, where the candles flickered on their own without any wind, attempting to ignite. His eyes narrowed, the burning stopped, and then immediately melted, turning into a mixture of soft tissue and fat that flowed across the entire podium.

He ignored the unsettling scene and began to observe the pulpit, but it was nothing special; the wooden base and metal surface exuded a tedious monotony. Karyl stared at it, tilted his head back, and examined the two pieces of leather again.

Their surfaces were delicate, untouched by any hardship. The minor setbacks that humans should experience during their growth were nowhere to be seen on them, and the Word Bearers, following his gaze, soon discovered this as well.

Batusa Narek suddenly let out a muffled shout; he had realized what kind of skin it was.

Angron pressed himself down silently, keeping himself rooted to the spot.

The Anchorite's reaction was the calmest; he simply held his book, his lips moving rapidly as he silently recited the scriptures.

Karyl squinted, his index and middle fingers unconsciously rubbing together on his palm, not just because of the texture of the skin, but also because of the thousands of victims' names and a few words written on it.

"You must have come here looking for some trace, Great Darkness."

"But this is of no use. You cannot know who I am, nor can you see my face through the mists of the Empyrean. It is a cruel irony that you should have existed as a god, but you chose a different path."

"There is only one evil in the world, and that is ignorance," Magnus and his Thousand Sons kept in mind. I mention it to you here not for any other reason than to tell you that some things should have always been under your control, but you chose ignorance.

"Now that things have come to this, you can't blame anyone but yourself. Everyone in this world has their own destiny, and I am no exception. But destiny is often shaped by one's own choices. Although I can manipulate those invisible threads, I cannot control the will of others."

"If one chooses omniscience, how can one become a puppet of fate? You are different; you have actively chosen ignorance, chosen to bear the worst in this world, and willingly chosen to be a mortal. If you had remained omniscient, giving fate a new player to play its game, how could I have appeared?"

"Therefore, all these people died because of you, and I used them to build this chapel, hoping you will like it. In addition, many people have already lost their precious lives because of your choices, and many more will probably die in the future, including those you cherish."

"So, I want to ask, when will you stop doing evil?"

Karyl slowly exhaled a breath of stale air.

"I will kill you," he said calmly.

As soon as he finished speaking, the church spontaneously combusted. This was not the work of his anger, nor was it supernatural power, nor a blasphemous formation, but rather some pre-programmed procedure.

The fire spread with incredible speed, and the three Word Bearers didn't even have time to react. They wanted to preserve the place, to preserve the evidence of someone's crimes, but they couldn't do it on their own.

There is only one person here who can use psychic power to block the burning force, but he cannot do so.

This is a church.

Whose church is it?

Karyl lowered his head, two glints of blue light flashing in his eyes.

He began to resist the final hatred and cries brought about by the burning of the victims' remains. It wasn't difficult to do this; he simply had to refrain from using his psychic powers for the time being and do nothing other than suppress his instincts.

Half a minute later, all the evidence turned to ashes, leaving only the glittering glass cave.

"My lord." The Anchorite asked for the first time in a helpless tone. Karyl glanced at him, remained silent, and his expression was extremely somber.

Five minutes later, they were back on the ground.

"What do we do next?" Angron Tey asked.

"Go back." Karyl paused for a few seconds before answering.

A fleeting blue light flashed in his eyes; if Psyker were present, they would likely recognize that he had just been communicating using psychic energy.

"Return to the Fidelitas Lex and find Lorgar Aurelian. But I cannot go with you; do not ask why."

"And then?" Batusa Narek pressed. "The evidence we had was burned to ashes. We can't possibly leave Perfect City with those ashes and go back to track down the murderer."

"What you need to do when you get back is simple, but there's no need to track down the killer; he'll show himself." Karyl shook his head and reached down to pull off his cloak.

The shadow dissipated, writhing in the air. It was awakened, but what it was about to do didn't seem to suit its tastes. It tried to express its displeasure, but Karyl stared at it coldly, a glint of cold light in his eyes.

A few seconds later, it calmed down. Karyl handed it to Angron Tey and spoke seriously.

"Lorgar Aurelian is probably in an extremely dangerous situation right now. You say he fluctuates between lucidity and madness, so that proves there's still a glimmer of hope. Approach him with this cloak, Angron Tai, your Primarch awaits your salvation."

The Word Bearers was full of doubts. He didn't understand the riddles or what the cloak was—but he believed Karyl Lohars's words, so he reached out and took the cloak Dreadnought or hesitation.

It slithered up his arm as if it were alive, reaching his back in an instant. A slight biting sensation came from his shoulder and neck, accompanied by an extremely cold chill.

"I will save him," Angron Te said firmly.

"Good luck," Karyl said slowly.

--

Lorgar is in trouble.

I know.

+Then why don't you deploy the fleet? There's still a chance to turn things around, Neos, it's not too late.+

+Because I can't, Karyl. It's a dirty game, it has its rules, and I can't break them, otherwise they'd have the same excuse. You know what will happen then?+

+You mean you're just going to watch Lorgar Aurelian become their puppet?+

Yes, saving him would come at a greater cost. So yes, I will watch him sink into depravity; we must reach the future we have envisioned.

No, that won't do. I won't let things end like this.

What are you going to do now?

+You don't need to worry about it, my friend. It is my folly that has created the future we now anticipate, so I have a perfectly valid reason for doing anything.+

From a father's perspective, I would thank you.

But you are not a father now.

Update complete.

By the way, does any reader know how to assign fan titles? (scratching head)