166 Terra (XXXIV)

Only when everything begins anew, when the river of blood once more soaks him, can Ahzek Ahriman finally cast aside the thought that "I am superfluous."

He heard a roar.

They make this sound every time they arrive, followed by the stench of air being ignited.

Ahzek Ahriman knew that if he still had eyes, he would most likely see the true form of those undead. They burst forth from Chaos, tendons and bones intertwined, their bodies slowly taking shape amidst endless bloodshed.

They come in all shapes and sizes, but that doesn't matter. As long as they are strong enough to grip a blade or axe, that's fine. Alternatively, they can simply use sharp teeth and claws instead. After all, they are born to kill, so there's not much difference between weapons and claws.

Savage is savage.

And at these times, Ahzek Ahriman would hear the roar of Thunder.

"To win again after death!" he roared.

Ahzek Ahriman breathed a sigh of relief; he knew he had won again.

After one of the battles, Bjorn made a bet with him. Every time a battle started, Thunder would shout out many slogans. His most frequent one was, of course, "For unification," but sometimes it was "Victory after death." He didn't shout "For the Emperor" very often, but he would frequently shout "For Terra."

No one asked why, no one cared; they all knew which side the Thunder were on. But Bjorn was, after all, a member of the wolf pack, as seemed to be the Fenrisian— always possessing a terrifying, innate optimism.

He came up with this peculiar pastime, and as a result, he lost four times in a row, with Ahzek Ahriman seemingly able to luckyly pick the correct answer each time.

"You lucky bastard!" Bjorn roared from not far away.

He wasn't really jealous, of course, but he needed to shout it out to feel a sense of being alive.

Sol Tavitz let out a mild chuckle behind them, while Sigismund continued his calm hacking. Thunder, however, paid no heed; his roar faded into the distance along with his footsteps, clearly indicating that he had once again charged into the enemy ranks.

Ahzek Ahriman noticed all of this, but he said nothing to Bjorn's words, only responding with a slight smile.

Who can argue with that? He really is a lucky bastard.

The blind man took a deep breath, lowered his head, hunched over, and held up a book with both hands.

Unlike the other four who were still fighting, he also had his own things to do.

He began to walk with a limp, the pain in his ankle no longer so intense. His bones seemed to have undergone a kind of postnatal growth in this predicament and torment. In comparison, the disability itself began to slowly lessen its punishment on him.

This was simply unbelievable; Ahzek Ahriman didn't know why, and he didn't have time to care.

However, the book in his hand suddenly became scalding hot, burning his palms and fingers. His flesh hissed and sizzled, but his face remained calm, even feeling a sense of comfort.

He welcomes them, always welcomes them, every single time.

Ahzek Ahriman calmly turned the page and limped across the bloody battlefield.

It was a miracle that the Daemon ignored him. Perhaps the reason lay in the crimson blood that stained him, blood that came from the earth, from the endless river of blood that was forever hot as lava.

The blood of the fallen and the Daemon turned the Crimson King's guilty descendant into a blood-soaked figure. His robes had become instruments of torture, clinging tightly to his skin and burning his internal organs directly through his flesh.

This pain was similar to, yet entirely different from, the burning of the books in one's hands. Ultimately, however, it was bearable; compared to personally burying the Primarch and the Legion, this pain was nothing.

Furthermore, it can ultimately bring positive benefits to Ahzek Ahriman.

He continued walking with a limp, while the other three followed closely behind, taking steps in a strange unspoken understanding, always maintaining a safe distance from him.

Flesh and blood were crushed into mud beneath the steel boots, and the roar of Thunder still echoed in the darkness, but Ahzek Ahriman remained calm, endlessly flipping through the book he couldn't possibly read.

He kept walking and walking until he almost had the illusion that he had died many times over.

The Daemon couldn't see him, but swords have no eyes, and those brass bulls among them showed no mercy. He was hacked down, trampled, and melted by the scalding river of blood. But somehow, "he" still existed.

Ahzek Ahriman didn't understand why "he" existed at this moment. If it were in the past, his terrible thirst for knowledge would probably have prompted him to immediately abandon everything and start researching, but not now.

The blind people now only want to do one thing.

"Found it!" he stopped at a spot and roared hoarsely.

His hands had lost all feeling, but the weight of the book remained. It was a shadow, a responsibility, pressing heavily on his heart. Therefore, Ahzek Ahriman knew he had found it.

Once again, he found the crack from which the Daemon had leaped.

Then four more roars immediately followed.

"Sigismund!" Sol Tavec roared. "Go and provide support!"

"Yes, sir," said the Imperial Fists.

He said he would obey, but in reality, he had already started moving toward Ahzek Ahriman seconds earlier.

The gaps between the iron chains connecting his sword and wrist were filled with bits of flesh, as were his bright yellow armor. Every place where flesh could linger was covered with pieces, almost staining his armor red. His helmet was gone again, but there were no wounds on his face.

"Bjorn, flank!" The Emperor's Children roared again.

Ahzek Ahriman could almost picture him in that moment; Tavitz was probably still struggling through the demonic tide in that chopping-wood-like manner. He listened intently, hearing a wolf howl followed by wild laughter.

"For Russ!" Lone Wolf shouted with a laugh.

The axe and fist blade in his hands were no longer sharp, so each strike required more effort, but he still insisted on drawing the Daemon's attention from the flanks, and no one could change his mind.

Ahzek Ahriman couldn't understand how long they had been there for these two Power Weapons to experience any so-called "wear and tear."

"Thunder!" Tavitz called again. "Do what you should--"

He stopped abruptly before he could finish speaking. Ahzek Ahriman was not anxious; he simply waited a moment. A few seconds later, he heard Sol Tavitz let out a long sigh, as if returning from the land of the dead.

This is really strange. They were hundreds of meters apart, yet they could hear each other's voices with perfect accuracy.

"--What are you doing?" Thunder asked with a smile.

His voice was distant and accompanied by genuine thunder and lightning. Each time he spoke, lightning would strike, causing the ground to tremble. Ahzek Ahriman wished he still had his eyes at that moment; he wanted to see the black lightning that Bjorn had described.

The Emperor's Children did not answer, but returned to the battle. He needed to say nothing, for his mission as commander was complete.

At that very moment, Sigismund had already rushed in front of Ahzek Ahriman. There was no mistake, only he could create that storm of blades that accompanied the sound of blood-red waves.

So Ahzek Ahriman didn't wait any longer. He immediately picked up the ancient book in his hands, drew the rusty blade that served as the spine of the book, and plunged it into the surging river of blood.

He did this while kneeling, and by then the river of blood had already risen to a high level due to the carnage. In this position, it almost submerged his neck.

The temperature, more terrifying than lava, began to make Ahzek Ahriman grit his teeth, yet his right hand still gripped the rusted blade. Sigismund stood guard behind him, and amidst the roars of the demons, the Imperial Fists quietly uttered a word that was not muffled by any other sound.

"Do what you're supposed to do, and I'll kill them all."

I know. The blind man laughed. I've heard it so many times, Sigismund.

The river of blood began to roar, churning like a whirlpool. Severed limbs transformed into terrifying blades, slicing through Ahzek Ahriman's flesh, but he could always sense the presence of his right hand.

There is no reason; he simply exists. Not to atone for sins, nor to prove himself. He exists, nothing more.

The rusted blade began to tremble in his hand, and in the deepest part of the River of Blood, an unstable Warp Rift began to close. Ahzek Ahriman did not use his psionic powers, but he could clearly sense this.

In fact, he could sense far more than that. He could also hear the greedy breathing of the Unborn behind that thin door, and the soft, gentle rustling of feathers. He knew that He was still watching him.

"Look," Ahzek Ahriman thought. "I am no longer your door; I am blind."

He gripped the blade tightly and pulled it out sharply. He couldn't see what his body looked like at that moment, nor did he need to know.

The roar of the blood river suddenly ceased, followed by the murmurs of the wronged souls.

Ahzek Ahriman bowed low and respectfully sheathed the blade back into the ancient book in his hand.

It remained unchanged, not a single page missing, its surface still and cold, as if it had never been hot. The surroundings were eerily quiet; the roars of the Daemon and their terrifying snorting had all vanished, leaving only the whistling wind, as if from some void.

A hand pulled him up.

"We've won," Sigismund said, Ahzek Ahriman heard him plunge his sword into the ground. "How many times is this?"

"I don't know," Ahzek Ahriman replied, coughing; his nostrils were now filled with the smell of blood.

"Does the number of times matter?" Sol Tavec asked from a short distance away.

"Numbers don't matter, but we won," Bjorn continued. "That's the meaning. Perhaps we never truly killed them, perhaps we will all die here. But until then, the Astronomican will shine."

After he finished speaking, they fell silent, as if waiting for someone to speak. It was a tacit understanding developed over a long period of time, but that person did not follow this pattern at this moment.

Suddenly, Ahzek Ahriman felt his two hearts stop beating. A terrible suspicion rose in his mind, forcing him to raise his hand sharply and grab Sigismund's gauntlet.

The Imperial Fists paused for a moment, then asked, "Thunder?"

They received a reply several seconds later.

"I think I heard the sound of bombing," Thunder said.

He stood far away, and his voice sounded almost like an echo from somewhere, filled with confusion, something that had never happened before.

They couldn't help but look at each other in bewilderment.

Update complete. It's too late, time for bed. (Slips away)