55 Bathing in Fire (I, 6k)

Garviel Loken was thrown back by a gust of wind; the scene before him rushed by, as chaotic and disorganized as that in a sandstorm.

The stairs leading to an armory spun past him, followed by two training Combat Servitor, already damaged and wrecked, rolling behind him.

The porthole reflecting the Milky Way was rapidly torn into a frenzied surrealist painting at both ends of the field of vision, with two screaming civilians in the center of the picture covering their bloodied and mangled faces and staring wide-eyed as he was sent flying backward.

In a daze, he felt as if he were in a giant vortex, followed by a pain that felt as if his internal organs and bones had shifted. Garviel Loken had to admit, he was grateful for this pain.

He struggled to his feet and found himself in a dimly lit corridor with no portholes and a floor as black as if covered in dust. At the same time, the environmental readings in the upper right corner of his eyepiece began to frantically report errors.

He stood up, his breathing sounding no different from a sigh, when Akurduana, the Emperor's Children, suddenly ran past him from behind. His armor was covered in blood, one of the visors on his helmet was cracked, and the eye exposed beneath it was filled with rage.

"Akurduana!" Garviel Loken called out to him immediately. "Stop!"

The Emperor's Children turned around, saw him, and instinctively raised his boning knife high. Several seconds later, he lowered his hands as if he had come to his senses.

Garviel Loken knew that he recognized him.

"Where are we?" Akurduana asked wearily. "How long has it been since we last met?"

"I don't know," Garviel Loken admitted honestly. "But this is the fourth time I've been thrown back."

"This damn ship!" Akurduana visibly relaxed, unable to resist cursing. "You used to live on a ship like this?"

Garviel Loken gave a wry smile and didn't answer—"Terra above, of course not."

The Vengeful Spirit used to be their pride, not what it is now. Darkness, chaos, and disorder reigned everywhere. Garviel Loken even had a vague feeling that it wasn't just the Vengeful Spirit that had been changed; they themselves had been changed, they just hadn't realized it yet.

He and Akurduana stood together tacitly and began to inspect the surface of each other's armor and exchange information.

The Emperor's Children cursed the storm that had caused them to lose contact as he removed his helmet. Sweat beaded on his wet forehead, and a gruesome scab marked a deep wound across his skin.

Garviel Loken understood his anger; the storm was indeed unusual—no, it defied all logic. What kind of storm could arise so violently within the ship's interior corridors?

They were swept away by the gale, and even activating the magnetic device on the sole of their steel boots was useless; the wind blew them away along with the metal beneath their feet. If that were all, it wouldn't have been so bad, but the wind blew them into one nightmare after another.

A complete nightmare.

Garviel Loken had given up on calculating time; the chaotic readings made it impossible for him to do so. Communication with the Emperor's Children had also become difficult, with encounters almost exclusively occurring by chance when traversing nightmares.

He was pondering, trying to sort out the chaos and come up with a workable plan, when he heard Akurduana throw his helmet into the distance. Looking up, he saw the latter staring intently into the darkness at the far end of the corridor, his brows furrowed.

"What's wrong?" Garviel Loken asked. He certainly wouldn't simply interpret Akurduana's behavior as venting his anger.

"There's something there, Garviel Loken," said the Emperor's Children. "I just saw a Shadow flash by."

Garviel Loken quickly raised his sword; if he could, he would have chosen to raise his gun, but his Boltgun was out of bullets.

The six standard magazines were empty. His well-maintained old buddy, which had been with him for many years, could only hang quietly on his belt, as silent as an old soldier who knew he was no longer of use.

Akurduana sheathed his left-hand saber, holding it with both hands in a cautious defensive stance. He and Garviel Loken, one on the left and one on the right, began to advance carefully.

The corridor was quiet and dimly lit, with the overhead lights shining brightly but serving almost no purpose. The darkness enveloped the lights like a thin mist, turning them into an intensity that was both useless and quite irritating.

However, compared to the silence, the light became an acceptable thing. Garviel Loken could barely hear his own breathing and heartbeat; his footsteps were so light they were almost non-existent.

He couldn't even hear any of Akurduana's voice; if he couldn't see him, he would have thought Akurduana had long since disappeared. The occasional glances Acudona gave him made him realize that Akurduana was probably in the same predicament as him.

To make matters worse, even though they had been walking for a long time, the helmet that Akurduana had thrown out was nowhere to be found.

Garviel Loken had to admit he was a little annoyed by the current situation.

He had experienced many nightmares, such as fighting giant, multi-legged spider monsters, being thrown into a strange arena pit to fight two ferocious alien beasts, and once even being thrown into a bloody war of cold weapons.

Both sides' soldiers were ordinary people, yet incredibly fanatical, showing no respect for this suddenly appearing steel giant, and even rushing forward to try and kill him with crude weapons.

He repeatedly tried to escape these nightmares, repeatedly attempted to cross the storm and return to the reality he knew, but was constantly being driven back. It was as if a giant, invisible hand was throwing him back whenever he reached the edge of this place.

But even the most absurd nightmares at least contained something for him to kill; those monsters or soldiers had physical forms, and their blood would leave marks on his sword. This place was different; there was almost nothing here.

Garviel Loken stopped in his tracks.

He'd had enough.

Akurduana glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, Garviel Loken gave him two tactical hand signals. The Emperor's Children quickly moved behind him. They pressed close together, preparing to start walking back.

Akurduana took a step forward, but a dazzling Radiance that could blind a person suddenly appeared before Garviel Loken's eyes. He instinctively roared, and immediately a sound like shattering glass came from all around, followed by a series of fine and complex footsteps overhead.

Garviel Loken closed his eyes and immediately crouched down. But he was a moment too late. He heard a sound of metal cracking, followed by a tremendous force that turned his head and sent him rolling to the side.

He slightly opened his eyes, and through his blurry vision saw his helmet flying through the air, tattered and mangled. Then there was Akurduana, roaring and swinging his saber. He blinked and heard the sound of flesh being sliced and heavy objects falling.

As the darkness dissipated, a massive corpse slowly emerged. It resembled a silver ant, with every bristle clearly visible, and its mandibles were large, sharp, and gleaming coldly.

Akurduana's boning knife was deeply embedded in its skull, but the Emperor's Children was not standing still; instead, he was kneeling a few meters away.

He was panting heavily as he looked at Garviel Loken.

A few minutes later, they regrouped and continued their journey deeper into the corridor. By now, the darkness that had obscured the light had vanished. Akurduana retrieved his helmet, and they all tacitly refrained from mentioning the ant.

Neither he nor Garviel Loken wanted to figure out how the monster had trapped them in the darkness.

They continued forward, and this time the corridor did not disappoint them, finally revealing a semblance of "normality" that aligned with their past understanding. They reached the end and saw a large, gleaming door.

The door looked incredibly rough, its surface composed of unpolished fragments of armor, broken swords, blunt axes, and other weapons. A dull red was painted on the edges of the door, contrasting with the grayish-white of the weapons, making it appear extremely ominous.

Garviel Loken stared at it and said, "I've never seen this door before in any of the corridors on the eighth deck."

"I also believe you wouldn't make a gate in this style," Akurduana surprisingly shrugged. "You'd probably prefer a relief gate with ivory, gemstones, and gold and silver accents, and preferably a few rubies as well."

Garviel Loken couldn't help but laugh. Akurduana's tone, though harsh, had hit the nail on the head, and he had no argument against it. Turning his head, he and the Emperor's Children exchanged a glance, and both saw the determination in each other's eyes.

"Are you ready?" Akurduana asked.

"To be honest, cousin, I've been out of the running for many days now," Garviel Loken told him.

They placed their hands on the door and pushed it open. Instantly, an indescribable chill rose from the depths of their spine, like cold metal claws piercing deep into their flesh and tearing open their bodies—a chilling sensation.

Akurduana couldn't help but let out a scream. When he came to his senses, he was no longer on the Vengeful Spirit —he didn't know how he knew about it, but the idea was as deeply rooted in his heart as the desire to rescue Fulgrim.

Moreover, Garviel Loken is also missing.

He began to cautiously observe his surroundings. It was a desolate wasteland, utterly barren, with almost no vegetation in sight. The ground was deathly white, covered with a thick layer of white ash. The sky was a dull, blood-red color, as if burning with flames.

"Akurduana." A voice sounded from behind him.

Akurduana whirled around, his saber raised high, about to strike, but then stopped. He froze; he recognized the man—the iconic skeletal armor and skull face were so conspicuous that no one could fail to recognize him.

"You finally did it," Karyl Lohars said.

What are you doing here?

"I must be here," Karyl said. "If I don't come, the light of Fulgrim's life will be extinguished here."

Akurduana was stunned, not only by Karyl's words, but also by his attitude and everything else.

The Emperor's Children took several deep breaths, managing to calm himself. He intended to continue asking questions, but Karyl didn't give him the chance. The skeletal figure raised his left hand and placed it on his shoulder.

Black flames ignited in the skull's eye sockets, an ominous sign. Akurduana was forced to lose his ability to think; he stared blankly at the two flames, while Tacitus's voice reached his ears.

He couldn't understand it for the time being, but the voice, and all the words that followed, were deeply etched into his heart.

"It's time, sir."

"You will be annihilated, body and soul."

"Akurduana shouldn't pay the price for this. We're here for you; we're already dead."

"It won't be easy for him."

"He'll have to suffer a bit, won't he?" Tacitus asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "We can't do all the work. Perfect, he's taken notes of our names."

"I see."

The firelight flashed and vanished in an instant, and Akurduana's thinking ability suddenly returned. His eyes reddened in a split second, and when he turned around, he saw only one after another burning phantom. At the same time, a piercing pain began to shoot through his left hand.

"This is not the end, Sons of the Phoenix," Karyl Lohars declared in a low voice beside him. "This is only the beginning. Hatred is a spiral, and your brothers have already plunged into it, but you cannot."

Flames ignited, a fierce wind howled, and the pale ashes were blown about in unison. A massive, pale door slowly took shape and stood before them, behind which lay a sea of blood, the sky shimmering with purple light, alluring and ambiguous.

Suddenly, Akurduana understood what he was about to do. He turned to look at Karyl, intending to say something, but suddenly felt a sense of disharmony—he stared at the latter's mask and felt a hollow emptiness.

"Go ahead." Karyl nodded slightly to him.

--

Fulgrim slowly retreated, holding in his hand a head whose spine had been completely ripped out. The hideous head did not die immediately, but was still screaming. The incoherent, wanton cries lingered in the Phoenix's ears, but he remained completely unmoved.

He let go and threw it into the sea. Eidolon laughed not far away; his right hand had vanished, one of Fulgrim's spoils of war.

At this moment, he doesn't have many enemies to face—if we disregard the fact that they will rise from the sea again later, Phoenix could even say that he has already won.

Seventy-fourth victory.

"Come," Fulgrim told them in a surprisingly gentle tone, "I will kill until you can no longer show your faces."

"And we will enjoy this forever, Father." Eidolon looked at him with longing. "You don't understand what joy this is. I dare say there is no one in the entire galaxy more delighted than we are right now. Listen to the sea breeze, Father, can you hear it?"

Eidolon chuckled, striking a pose as if listening intently. He loudly praised the sea breeze, or rather, the god it represented.

Fulgrim watched him place his wet, blood-stained hands in the seawater and began to wash them.

The shimmering water revealed a different scene at this moment, a picture appearing on it. It was Eidolon, or more precisely, Eidolon's head.

His bloodstained head was being passed around at a banquet by the Emperor's Children, who would try to squeeze blood from the long-dead head and drip it onto the dishes or wine glasses.

Eidolon's eyes were empty, his gaze fixed on a handsome giant at the head of the banquet. The giant was draped in a nearly transparent veil, and his neck and limbs were adorned with highly suggestive golden rings.

His fair cheeks were painted a redder than rouge, and his lips were like roses. He was unrestrained, and countless people toasted him. If anyone was handsome or could make him smile, they could receive a rather intimate reward.

Fulgrim closed his eyes and shattered the surface of the water with a wave of his hand.

"You can't avoid it, Father," Eidolon's voice rang out again from nearby. "This is you, this is the truth. You will become this way. What you are running away from and fighting against now is your true self. How can a person go against his nature?"

"Don't you get tired of this?" Fulgrim asked with his eyes closed. "How many times have you done something like this, and how many times have I denied it? Admit it, you can't fool me, and you can't make me submit."

"I will keep trying until I succeed." Eidolon looked at him with admiration mixed with greed. "We have plenty of time to do this, Father, but how long can you persist?"

Fulgrim opened his eyes.

"I wasn't talking to you," he said, and began charging at Eidolon. Minutes later, he had killed all the remaining enemies, covered in blood, his white hair almost turning crimson.

He stood still and waited silently. Sure enough, after only a few seconds, Eidolon and his brothers rose from the sea once again.

Seventy-fifth victory. Fulgrim silently updated the counter.

He will continue to win if necessary. And it's time to try new tactics.

"First of all, a counterfeit." Fulgrim looked indifferently at the new Eidolon. "There are no gods in this world."

"Say what you will, Father." Eidolon chuckled as he gave the order to attack, and they charged toward the phoenix, where increasingly nauseating scenes began to unfold.

They crossed their own bottom line again and again, and Fulgrim knew this was by no means the end. He strode past two men who had given up attacking him and were now wrestling and tearing at each other.

As if strolling leisurely through the boundless sea of blood, a hint of surprise finally appeared on Eidolon's face. For the first time, Fulgrim did not attack them.

He frowned and urged the attack on. Finally, after a series of failed attacks that fell to their knees before the phoenix, one man raised his sword. His blade was just a hair's breadth away from touching Fulgrim's neck, but the Primarch himself showed no intention of parrying or dodging.

He didn't even look directly at the other person; his eyes and face conveyed only one emotion.

Disregard.

Complete disregard.

Fulgrim reached out and shoved the man to the ground, where he stared blankly as the phoenix strode away. Eidolon looked at him, bewildered and confused, yet filled with rage.

"You can't do this!" he roared like a child. "This is a crucial battle that will cost you your life. Get your act together, Fulgrim!"

Do you think you deserve it?

"You--"

Eidolon uttered a single syllable, his face gradually turning red—a rare sight indeed, given his face's grimy, wrinkled appearance. Looking at Fulgrim approaching, he stammered out a few words, appearing both ridiculous and pathetic.

Yes, being scorned by Fulgrim can also bring pleasure, but it's not enough, far from enough compared to what they've experienced before; this is nothing at all.

Where in the world can one find such bliss when one is killed by one's own father in a fit of immense rage?

At this moment, not only was he frozen in place, lost in thought like a puppet, but even those who were doing their work stopped moving.

The waves gently lapped at the shore, a light sea breeze blew, and the clouds in the sky seemed to rumble with thunder. A dark, pinkish-purple cloud transformed into an eye, beginning to stare directly at the sea.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you, you imposter?" Fulgrim asked as he walked away.

"Kill me? Yes, yes, kill me, Father, kill me!" Eidolon nodded repeatedly, a glimmer of hope rising in his heart.

Fulgrim shook his head. He continued forward, and the seawater that had almost submerged his entire chest receded to his waist. The Primarch's flawless body was thus revealed before Eidolon, and the parts that had not been shown were now faintly visible in the seawater.

Eidolon's breathing became rapid. He closed his eyes, preparing to embrace ecstasy—he didn't even intend to resist, but Fulgrim gently pushed him away.

He continued walking, just as he had always done.

"No--!" Eidolon screamed suddenly, his voice shattering and his form dissolving. A certain essence unique to this imposter began to stir in the seawater, and the storm returned, but Eidolon and his brothers had vanished without a trace.

Fulgrim didn't look back, he kept walking. He heard pleas, screams, and sobs. He heard countless people he knew recount their memories of the past: every feast, the glory of the Great Crusade, the times he had taught them swordsmanship.

The voices of a thousand, or ten thousand, merged together, creating an unwanted overlap. It echoed in Fulgrim's ears, its massive body following closely behind, churning the seawater and making the waves grow ever more violent.

Fulgrim ignored it completely, even wanting to laugh. The monster began to sob, and all sound vanished at that moment, leaving only the voice of Ferrus Manus.

"Brother," he called out. "Turn back, brother. I'm right here. Just turn back, and we can fight side by side again."

Fulgrim lowered his head and fell silent. Gorgon began to recount their past with heartfelt emotion, every meeting, every hearty laugh, every long conversation vividly portrayed, without a trace of falsehood. So beautiful, what could compare?

"Come back to me, brother," the man said. "I love you."

Fulgrim slowly turned around and saw a delighted Ferrus Manus. The latter looked at him expectantly and slowly opened his arms, as if to give him a hug.

But Fulgrim didn't speak; instead, he gently shook his head, and the smile froze on his face.

"Do you know what the real Ferrus Manus would say to me in this situation?" asked the Fulgrim.

He smiled.

"He won't say anything, he'll just throw me a hammer and a suit of armor." He winked at the monster.

The latter immediately shattered, instantly reverting to its original grotesque form. Countless screaming faces emerged from the dissolving tendons and bones, so enormous that it blotted out the sky, so ugly that it was impossible to look directly at it. Yet, Fulgrim clenched his fists and walked toward it.

"The seventy-fifth victory," he muttered to himself. "It's time for the seventy-sixth."

Behind him, a gate made of bones slowly rose.

Besides.