A Good Show Begins (III, Two-in-One)

Never in Magnus's life had he felt so bewildered, so filled with shock and anger—since Mortarion's speech, many others had stepped forward to voice their opinions. Perhaps it was a lord, perhaps a governor.

Even General Carl Hal, the Fabricator-General of Mars, expressed his opposition to psionics and their users. His words were far more vehement Mortarion's, and he even called for stricter control over all Psyker.

Magnus was indignant at his words, but what truly enraged him was yet to come.

People spoke one after another; as soon as one person sat down, another immediately stood up.

Even those who had fought alongside the Thousand Sons provided evidence confirming the accusations made by the Rune Priest and Mortarion. The Thousand Sons's use of witchcraft was now undeniably established—but if that was the case, why didn't they say so during the war?

My legion helped you achieve victory, and this is our reward? What a bunch of noble cowards!

The Crimson King remained silent in anger, waiting for his turn to speak. Malcador did not disappoint him; the Sigillites stopped the thirty-second speaker as he rose from his box and turned to look at Magnus.

"Silence, gentlemen!" he shouted, raising his scepter. "You have all presented your accusations and stances, but Magnus has not! We must give him a chance to explain!"

Very good.

Magnus slowly exhaled a heavy breath and stood up from his seat. Ahzek Ahriman looked at him worriedly and began to channel his psychic powers. Magnus saw through his attempt to communicate through psychic energy and chose to refuse.

"No need to worry, Ahzek. These lords, nobles, and officials cannot understand us, but their understanding is irrelevant. Have you ever seen a second Primarch, besides Mortarion, stand against me? My brothers disregard their words."

"But, Primarch— " Astartes began to say something, but was interrupted by Magnus. The Crimson King did not want to hear, nor did he want to explain Ahzek Ahriman's current thoughts.

He simply patted him on the shoulder reassuringly and said, "Watch how I set things right, Ahzek."

His Chief Librarian watched him leave, his anxiety nearly turning into a storm. The unspoken words finally settled in his heart: But, Primarch, wasn't the topic of the Council of Nikaea about the fate of the Librarius? Why has it turned into Judgment of us?

Magnus had no idea what Ahzek Ahriman was thinking. He walked out of the box with his hands behind his back, head held high, toward the center of the theater, his eyes fixed on the Emperor's golden platform. His expression was neither humble nor arrogant, but he was seething with anger inside.

"Just you wait, Father," he swore silently. "I will prove it to you today."

"Are you ready, Magnus?" the Sigillites asked, his eyes beneath the hood utterly calm.

Magnus walked past him with his head tilted back, and answered softly, "Of course."

He stepped onto the wooden platform, receiving gazes from all directions, his eyes gradually turning cold and stern.

A few seconds later, he spoke loudly.

"I have no intention of making any excuses; I disdain such matters. The accusations you have made are misplaced. You seem to believe that I and my legion are in cahoots with those ignorant and cruel wizards, but is that really the case?"

Magnus began his rebuttal with resounding force.

"How many of you have been to Prospero and seen what it's like there? You haven't done any research before you stood up and spoke with righteous indignation. Is that right?"

"But the fact that you and your legion are abusing psionic power is undeniable," Mortarion retorted calmly. "Besides, not many people are comparing you to the Kayor, nor are they saying you're doing anything similar. You're changing the subject, Magnus."

"I'm sorry—" Crimson King bowed mockingly, turning to look at Malcador. "—I thought it was my turn to speak."

"Let him finish, Lord of Death," said the Sigillites. Mortarion nodded to him, and silence returned.

Magnus began to look around. He should have used the rational and calm words of a scholar to enlighten people and make them realize how absurd their previous words were, but he didn't want to do that now.

His carefully prepared speech vanished into thin air. He realized that words alone could not change the minds of most people—yes, he could use long discourses to expound his ideas and the crucial role that psychic energy might play in the future of humanity.

But even if he did that, wouldn't Mortarion and his opponents stand up and refute him?

They still will.

Only by presenting some facts that can serve as decisive evidence can he finally end this debate once and for all.

The Crimson King raised his head and glanced at the high platform once more. Surrounded by the Adeptus Custodes guards, the Emperor, seated on his Throne, calmly looked at him. Although there was no emotion in his eyes, Magnus felt as if he could hear his whispers and see his expectation.

"Let me prove it to you, Father." He took a deep breath and raised his arm.

"I need three hours to prepare, gentlemen," he said loudly. "I know your doubts, and I have certainly heard your objections. It's normal for people to be skeptical of things they don't understand; I understand."

"That is why I want you all to see the truth about psychic power! It is by no means the evil force my brother Mortarion described. You may retain your opinions and doubts for now, but I only need three hours to completely reverse all of this! You will see the truth about psychic power!"

People looked at each other in bewilderment, and a wave of discussion began to rise and fall in the amphitheater.

Malcador frowned, a glint of gold flashing in his eyes. He looked up at the high platform, and the Emperor returned his gaze with a slightly sorrowful nod. The Sigillites sighed, tapped the ground with his scepter, and ended the sound.

"Your request is perfectly justified," he said. "Then, three hours, Magnus."

The Crimson King smiled slightly, bowed, and then bowed to the Emperor on the high platform. He then immediately turned and left, leading his Thousand Sons out of the amphitheater.

On the observation deck of the Primarch's box, Konrad Curze Curze suddenly trembled.

The pervasive chill almost completely enveloped him, rendering him unable to speak, see, or hear. Kolus Corax watched him with concern. A few seconds later, the Night Lords returned to normal, a faint smile appearing on his face.

He flicked his right hand, and a blade slid into his palm, its even colder chill dispelling the gust of wind that had enveloped him.

"You know what, brother," Konrad Curze Curze shook his head, seemingly talking to himself, "My talent hasn't broken free of its shackles for a long time."

"So," Sanguinius, who had appeared unnoticed, spread his wings, casting a warm Radiance over Curze's head. Amidst a few slowly falling feathers, he asked calmly, but with underlying concern, "Did you see it too, brother?"

"I wish I couldn't see it, angel." Curze laughed coldly.

--

Looking at that person, Angron Te felt an extremely eerie familiarity.

He shouldn't have felt this way at all; his memories had scattered and vanished without a trace in the darkness, yet he couldn't muster any wariness towards the person in front of him. It was eerie, yet somehow it felt perfectly natural.

Leaving aside the unknown reasons, in this moment of terrifying darkness all around, only the person standing before him radiates light. How could he not trust this person?

Although the light was not enough to dispel the darkness, it was sufficient. Moreover, he had a vague feeling that if the light were truly strong enough to dispel the darkness, something else bad might happen.

Instinctively, Angron Tei stumbled forward a few steps. He wanted to get closer, to step into the Radiance, and escape the darkness.

He had been here for far too long; every second was torture, and time had no meaning here. A second could be a year, or it could be ten thousand years.

As Angron Tei approached him, he stretched out his left hand, his face blank. He wanted to try to touch the Radiance with his fingers before getting too close, to gain a moment of peace. However, at that moment, a muffled, incoherent sound escaped his throat.

He reflexively hunched over, and some maggot-like things mixed with black, viscous substances gushed out of his mouth, falling to the ground and emitting a horrifying stench.

"What has he done to you all? That traitor! I will tear him to pieces!"

Upon witnessing this scene, the man involuntarily muttered to himself, clenching his fists, gritting his teeth, and contorting his face.

Angron Tey remained bewildered, staring at him without uttering a word.

He had lost more than just his ability to speak; at this moment, even his thoughts were no different from those of a child. Nevertheless, his right hand still gripped the shadow tightly, his five fingers seemingly having completely merged with it.

The man didn't overlook this detail; his gaze swept over the shadows, his tightly furrowed brows relaxed, and a complex joy appeared in his eyes. Then, he strode towards Angron Tey.

The gait was extremely urgent, and the skin began to glow as if on fire. The darkness inevitably faded away, and something else emerged.

Angron Tey's eyes widened; his vague premonition had come true, and the bad thing was about to happen—a strange sound rose in his heart, and as soon as he heard it, he immediately fell to his knees in agony.

He didn't know that this wasn't a sound that humans or any intelligent being should hear; in fact, it wasn't a sound at all, but a sharp knife slicing open his chest.

Angron Tey knelt on the ground and screamed, a sound that didn't sound like his own at all.

His blood vessels began to rupture one by one, and countless tiny faces began to protrude from his body. These beings with sharp horns and fangs burst out of his blood vessels, smashed his bones, and laughed wildly as they gnawed at his flesh.

The man roared angrily, changed his posture, and began to run wildly. With each step he took, the Radiance on his skin intensified, until finally, he had become a melting wax figure.

The intense heat crackled and burned away the receding darkness, and his flesh and blood began to flow down his bones. What should have been a moment of excruciating pain was instead met with a serene expression on his melting face.

He reached out and, without hesitation, grabbed Angron Tey's right hand—in an instant, the shadow, no longer deathly still, began to convulse wildly.

It coiled up along Angron Te's arm, then suddenly transformed into a sharp knife that pierced into the man's flesh, flowing upstream and beginning to swim and feast on the melting flesh.

A low, shrill laugh faintly rose and continued to spread in the darkness, like the sound of a storm coming from a distant plain on a rainy day.

The man let it devour him, letting out an uncontrollable sigh. Exhaustion appeared on his melting face, as melting, smoking flesh continued to fall away.

A few seconds later, Angron Te opened his eyes in bewilderment and happened to see his face. The man was also looking at him calmly, without a trace of regret on his face.

"Nothing is more natural than a father's blood flowing for his son, Angron Tey," he said softly. "I have fallen into the abyss, but I cannot stand by and watch you all fall in with me."

Still bewildered, Angron Tah looked at him with confusion, completely failing to understand his words. Faced with such terrible bewilderment, Lorgar Aurelian simply smiled gently.

"I've been here a long time, my son." He smiled broadly. "They wanted me to submit, to submit willingly, but I ran away. I hid here, and that's how the traitor sent you in."

"He wanted me to watch you die, to test whether I was really there, to see if I would be indifferent to your deaths. I should have been heartless; I would have been more useful if I had survived, but, you know what?"

He gasped for breath, fell to his knees, his form gradually being completely swallowed by the shadows. In this horrifying end, his Radiance began to shine ever brighter.

"Looking back on my life, I have accomplished almost nothing," he murmured slowly, gently, as if in a whisper.

"I should have been devout, but I defied the gods. I should have loved my brother, but I insulted his foster father. I should have sensed Erebus's wrongdoing beforehand, but I was blinded by his smile and had a blade plunged into my back, turning me into a puppet. I have failed so badly, but at least I can do one last thing, and it will surely succeed."

Lorgar Aurelian laughed, his laughter containing not a trace of fear of death.

"Wake up, Angron Tey!" he cried out Angron Tey's name. "From this day forward, never forget who you truly are!"

--

At the other end of the amphitheater, in the box of the Word Bearers, the Word Holder Lorgar Aurelian, trembled violently. He tried to open his tightly closed eyes, but a pair of outstretched hands immediately shut them.

Erebus bent down and began to examine the Primarch with utter disrespect. The Word Bearers ignored his actions, like puppets. Cole Fallon watched him with a hint of struggle, his teeth chattering.

"Don't look at me like that, my friend." The Chief Chaplain straightened up and sighed softly. "Our plan has failed."

"What did you say?" Cole Fallon asked in a trembling voice, his hand already on the blade of his sword. "I should have... I should have killed you long ago."

"It's too late, my friend. You should have acted sooner, but you were too greedy for power. Perhaps I am a liar and a villain, but you are even more despicable than me."

Erebus chuckled, a smile that contained not only contempt for Cole Fallon but also an underlying arrogance. He raised his head and glanced at the golden platform, his chuckle gradually transforming into a silent yet more pronounced smile.

"But that's alright." He walked gently toward Cole Fallon, reached out, and pressed the sword, which was already half-drawn, back into place.

"Because our plan will surely succeed. Look, the Crimson King is already preparing to leave, just as I predicted, just as they promised. From this moment on, I will hold the reins of destiny."

Cole Fallon glared at him with hatred, remaining silent. Erebus's smile faded slightly, and with lightning speed, he drew a dagger. A flash of light, blood splattered, and Cole Fallon fell to his knees, a deep, bone-revealing wound now marring his face.

"You'd better not look at me like that." The Chief Chaplain exhaled a breath of stale air. "At least not now, he'll find out. We have to wait for him to become Him, you understand?"

Cole Fallon still didn't answer, only lowered his head deeply. Erebus frowned, but quickly relaxed.

It doesn't matter.

As long as Aurelian remains under my control, Cole Fallon is nothing to fear. All that's left is to proceed step by step. He smiled again and casually reached out to pat the Primarch, who sat motionless in his seat like a corpse.

The latter immediately opened its eyes, its expression blank, but it quickly regained its human flexibility.

"What time is it?" He turned to look at Erebus.

"Three hours to go," the Chief Chaplain replied with a slight bow.

"Very good." The Primarch nodded slightly. "Well done, Erebus. But—"

He suddenly stopped speaking, frowned, and looked at Erebus with a puzzled expression. A struggle was brewing in his eyes. Seeing this, Erebus reached out and made a complex gesture in front of him, and the Primarch's expression immediately returned to calm.

"My pleasure, Primarch." The Chief Chaplain smiled with delight.

Behind him, Cole Fallon lowered his head and tore open his wound. Blood and bits of flesh were held in his palm, and the First Company Word Bearers felt a deathly silence.

I had my wisdom tooth extracted today, and I took a nap this afternoon, so I forgot to send out the notification. Sorry.

This chapter is 5k words long, I owe 1k more, I'll pay it back tomorrow.