196 Interlude: The Death of Sisyphus

There is no sun here, no moon here, therefore there is no light to speak of; darkness naturally robs everything. 🎈🐠 ☯🍫

In this pure and despairing darkness, a person is slowly pushing a stone.

The rock was so enormous compared to him that it made one doubt its authenticity—could such a massive the Rock really be moved by someone who wasn't particularly strong?

However, upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that it is not actually a stone at all.

It is a kind of monument forged from the bones of the dead and rusted weapons, each bone fragment incomplete, cruelly joined together by the murder weapons. They were killed by these weapons in life, and they continue to bear their condemnation in death.

What's interesting is that the surface of this stone is covered in blood.

It should be noted that those who died had long since become mere skeletons, so where did this blood come from?

It's simple, just ask the person pushing the stone. Ask about his wounded arms and his shoulder with its exposed bone, and you'll get the answer. And of course, don't forget the last question.

How are you feeling?

Sisyphus did not answer, but continued to push the Rock.

He clenched his fists, wedging several blades with the gaps in his bones, and used his own flesh and blood to push the stone upwards.

This was no easy task. Every few seconds the Rock rolled, he had to pull his hands away, letting the bones and flesh separate from the weapons that were so rusted that the blades were no longer recognizable, and then use his shoulder, cheek, or forehead to hold the Rock in place to prevent it from falling.

There was no light in the darkness, so he had to reach out his trembling hand to find the next foothold to pierce his palm.

However, the pain of the blade piercing flesh and getting stuck in bone, though intense, could not compare to the problem that followed.

How will you support this stone? With brute force, or with terrifying patience to endure the pain?

Sisyphus just kept pushing, nothing more.

He knew he was doing something futile, because no matter how high or how far he pushed the stone, it would always return to the foot of the mountain, back to where it all began. The cycle would repeat itself endlessly.

The most unsettling thing is that he had to go down the mountain empty-handed to find it.

How free! No pain, no panting, just walking along the path, swinging his arms, relaxed and natural. Only then would a gentle breeze blow, bringing him some coolness. At this moment, he wouldn't have to endure anything.

Then, when he returns to the starting point, he must once again face that blood-stained the Rock.

It was practically forcing him to make a choice.

Give up? What do you think? Just stay where you are.

There's no more pain, and no need to do this meaningless work anymore. Why become a living specimen of nihilism? Human nature, or rather, animal nature, is to seek advantage and avoid harm; there's nothing shameful about escaping.

Just like this time, Sisyphus stood before his the Rock, calmly breathing in the blood-soaked air.

He knew in his heart that this stone was slowly eroding his willpower, and things that were far more precious to him. Moreover, he had no choice in this matter.

This stone is merely a metaphor, already diminished through numerous cuts; it is a reflection of a vast power, weakened by multiple rituals, and then sent elsewhere by the most powerful Psyker in human history—a power whose sentence has already been reduced.

In other words, Sisyphus was incredibly lucky. That's precisely why he's been able to hold on until now.

Then there's no reason to give up, is there?

He walked toward the Rock and began to push it once more, then again, and once more, and ever again.

Sisyphus had forgotten how long he had been there; time had long since become a concept he no longer needed to concern himself with. Moreover, this was something he had done intentionally. He had promised a friend that he would keep his word.

He only broke his promise once.

However, this time the impetus seemed different. Some sounds came from the darkness, causing Sisyphus to stop and listen.

At first, he didn't understand what the sound meant, until he realized it was actually a chilling chewing sound. It was very dense and regular, occurring almost every so often, as if something was feeding in the dark.

Sisyphus frowned, turned around, braced his back against the Rock, and began to listen to the sound that was appearing for the first time in the darkness.

Then, he successfully heard it.

"I know you've hidden him, Father. I understand you won't hand him over to me, but I will find him."

"You can hide yourself in the infinite gaps of infinite dimensions, using these lowly tricks, but I will pursue you eternally until I take away every bit of your power—it was all mine to begin with, remember, Father?"

"You promised that your army, your power, and everything in the Imperium would be at my disposal, and now I've come to reclaim them. So run, Father, and let me see how long you can hold out."

Anger flickered across Sisyphus's pale face.

He understood what this was, but that body should never have developed such self-awareness again.

Is it Deceit?

This is precisely what Chaos excels at: twisting the originally positive aspects of human nature into evil and extreme emotions, and using them to torment others, forcing them into despair.

But it was just a shell, Horus Lupercal's shell. His last vestige of self and spirit had long since dissipated on the Vengeful Spirit, and from then on, his body became a vessel for Chaos.

They endlessly satisfied this empty shell, making it swell, fill, and serve its purpose. They treated Horus Lupercal differently from Lorgar Aurelian. They cared deeply for Horus.

However, whether one cares or not, a physical body that can only continue to exist because of the power of Chaos should not possess such self-awareness.

Sisyphus could tell that there was no trace of manipulation or suggestion from Chaos in his words; they were filled with confidence, ambition, and desire.

The puppets of Chaos have no desires; they can only believe they have them. Just like the tragic Lorgar Aurelian.

Sisyphus clenched his fists, and another voice began to echo in the darkness.

"Don't do that," the voice said. "We've calculated it countless times; you can't escape on your own. The humanity you retain is insufficient to allow you to regain control of that divine body."

"I cannot stand by and watch you be devoured," said Sisyphus.

"He's merely devouring illusions." The voice suddenly took on a hint of amusement. "I may not be able to fight a quasi-god in human form, but I'm adept at Deceit deities. I've done it countless times, my friend."

As the sound faded into the distance, Sisyphus fell silent once more. He recognized the cruel joke, yet he couldn't bring himself to laugh.

He turned around and started pushing the stone again.

Time, which had ceased to exist, flowed on once more, and at a certain moment, a terrifying blood-red light emanated from the center of the Rock.

This was the first glimmer of light in the darkness, an ominous sign, yet Sisyphus showed no fear. He calmly gazed at the Radiance, then slowly withdrew his hand from the blade.

This time, the stone did not roll down due to gravity. A call came from within it, a faint and distant sound, very soft, hissing.

Sisyphus raised his hand and began to pound the Rock.

A dull and terrifying sound slowly rose in the darkness. The blood-red light emanating from the center of the Rock suddenly intensified, and bones fell off it with each of Sisyphus's hammer blows, while weapons were continuously pulled out. Strangely, the brighter the light, the fewer wounds Sisyphus sustained.

At first, he was a bloody mess, covered in bleeding wounds. But now, he has almost fully recovered. There are no longer any penetrating wounds or exposed bones on his arms, only pale skin covering the muscles.

He was still not exactly strong, but compared to his previous horribly thin and frail appearance, he was much better.

The bones of the dead continued to fall, soon covering his feet. Rusty blades were pulled out one after another and tossed into the darkness. The blood-red light suddenly began to flicker and change color until it was covered by a ghastly blackness.

At this moment, the Radiance looked like a leaping flame. With a dark red base, it was enveloped in pitch black, making it utterly terrifying.

Sisyphus stopped hammering and sighed wearily.

He reached out his right hand and touched the flame.

It suddenly surged up, bursting out from inside the Rock and engulfing him, but it didn't cause him any harm. Instead, it enveloped him, making him look as if he were wearing a suit of armor.

Sisyphus slowly and sadly clenched his right fist and threw his final punch.

This time, he shattered the Rock completely. At that moment, flames lit up in the empty eye sockets of the skeletons, illuminating the area.

A giant covered in blood stood silently before Sisyphus. He had pale skin, loose black hair, and wore a crown that glowed like moonlight, emitting a cool, fluorescent light.

Konrad Curze Curze nodded in acknowledgment. "I've come to see you, Father."

Sisyphus was speechless.

Curze smiled, tilted his head, and a flash of black flame appeared in his eyes before the blood on his body evaporated completely. He brushed aside the black hair on his forehead with his sharp claws and even stretched, acting completely natural.

"It shouldn't have been like this, Konrad Curze."

Finally, Karyl Lohars slowly spoke.

He no longer used the image or appearance of Sisyphus, and the surrounding darkness vanished instantly, leaving only nothingness.

A strong tearing sensation came from beneath their feet, and in an instant, the scenery around them changed completely. A wasteland covered with thick ash replaced the darkness, flames soared, the wind howled, deep thunder rumbled in the sky, and the air was filled with eager praise.

A temple beckoned from behind Karyl.

"It must be so, Father," Konrad Curze Curze said softly. "I must do this, for only I can find you through the connection between authorities. Besides, I am the anchor; you need the humanity I bring."

Karyl closed his eyes, his face seemingly unchanged. Over the years, when he didn't smile, his face remained forever cold and still.

Curze crouched down, scooped up a handful of ashes, and began to examine them closely. They slipped through his fingers like sand, yet he watched them intently.

His eyes were no longer completely black; rage had replaced them, scorching the area around his eyes.

Looking at the white dust, he suddenly smiled slightly and said, "To be honest, I had never thought about these things before."

"What is it?" Karyl asked with his eyes closed.

"That's all, Father—" Curze chuckled. "—You're asking a question you already know the answer to."

He stood up, put his hands behind his back, and walked behind Karyl. He began to look at the Bone Temple with curiosity, but still did not forget to explain.

"It's all these overly complicated things—gods, authority, Throne, crowns, and of course, my brother who can't find peace."

"That cunning Deceit evil god somehow captured one side of him and amplified it infinitely. Not only that, He even forcibly used the special nature of the Vengeful Spirit as an altar to add a divine aspect of Vengeance to him. In other words, you now have a competitor supported by the four gods, how terrifying."

"Where did you learn these things, Konrad Curze?"

"Analyze."

Curze turned around and shrugged at Karyl, who had his back to him.

"I have enough information at my disposal, and now I have the right to know things you didn't want me to know before. Authority means telling you all these things in detail. It's strange, it feels like you've known these things all along, but you're only just realizing it now."

As he spoke, he suddenly laughed again, this time not because of a joke or anything else, but simply because of the change in the person whose back was to him. For example, the suddenly appearing crimson crown, and the ferocious armor that had transformed from illusion into solidity.

"It's my fault," Karyl said, turning around. Two streaks of blood ran down his face from his eyes to his chin. "I shouldn't have interfered in your life. You didn't have to become like me."

Curze laughed and said, "On that matter, I think I'm far from good enough, Father. But I remember saying a long time ago what I would become without you."

Karyl stared at him silently.

"I use false light—" he said.

"--Is false light not light at all?" Konrad Curze Curze interrupted with a smile. "There's no need to grieve for me anymore; it was my own choice, Father."

"I must awaken you; humanity needs a deity who will temporarily stand by their side. And my own father, who dislikes telling the truth, also needs you. Though he acts as if nothing is wrong, he is probably at his last gasp."

He took a step back, touched his chest, bowed his head, and gave an elegant bow, his cloak fluttering in the wind.

"I'll be here waiting for you, Father," Konrad Curze Curze hissed.

The deity did not respond, turned and left, Embers emanating from his armor, his eyes as fierce as those of an evil god.

(End of this chapter)

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