199 Terra (54, Godslaying)
The emperor stretched out his hand.♝💙 💲😎
His skin looked like cracked parchment, and large patches of burn marks formed on the back of his hands. His fingers were swollen and bleeding, and his fingernails were filled with black dust.
He placed his hands on Cassidorius's hands and then gently grasped the gem.
In that instant, the messenger could feel the weight of his lord's right hand and its astonishing roughness. He instinctively looked into the Emperor's eyes and found that those dim eyes had inexplicably filled with golden light, and an inexhaustible power was boiling and roaring within them.
The messenger froze. Human reason could never withstand such power, even if this power had no ill intentions towards him, or even only good intentions, he still could not resist it.
Amidst the surging, pure Radiance, Cassidorius's consciousness began to drift; he "saw," or rather, sensed, another the Emperor.
This the Emperor was neither old nor dressed in linen robes, nor was he covered in wounds. He was full of flesh and blood, strong and healthy, and wore a golden laurel wreath. But apart from that, he no longer possessed any personal characteristics.
The face appeared to be a complete blur, as if it could be anyone.
The messenger was stunned and speechless. Suddenly, he felt the weight leaving his hands, and then the scene faded away. The altered wasteland returned, and so did the Emperor. The Emperor had also returned.
The Emperor wearing a laurel wreath, the Emperor who is no longer injured, the Emperor who holds a long sword in his hand.
Has he truly recovered? This question arose in Cassidorius's mind.
"Some things, once lost, can never be replaced in any form, my messenger," The Emperor spoke. "All these changes are merely illusory manifestations of hidden metaphors; try to get used to them."
After he finished speaking, he reached out and gently pushed Cassidorius away. The man with graying temples sighed at that moment, raised his gun, and rested it on his shoulder like a member of a ceremonial guard.
Cassidorius heard him ask, "Are you satisfied now?"
"What are you referring to, Ollanius?" The Emperor answered the question with a question, his voice perfectly calm.
The man called Ollanius paused for a moment, then turned to look at the Adeptus Custodes.
"This answer doesn't fit the question you asked. But I couldn't be more satisfied," The Emperor replied. "Just as I said, Ollanius, you always have a way of inspiring others to become better versions of themselves."
He turned his head slightly, casting his gaze upon the Adeptus Custodes. The latter's withered and weary face suddenly became clean and tidy, the rust on their armor turning to dust and disappearing, and it began to hum again, just like its wearer, regaining its vitality.
"My lord," the Adeptus Custodes bowed deeply, "We are too late."
"Is it too late?" The Emperor asked. "Isn't it just right, Valdor?"
There seemed to be a hint of laughter in his voice, and then he slowly raised his sword—how should this process be described? Cassidorius was confused; his perception was conflicting with what he was seeing.
In the image captured by his eyes, the Emperor merely raised that ordinary iron sword, nothing more. However, in his perception, the reality was quite different.
In a world beyond the reach of sight and human reason, Cassidorius believed that the Emperor had actually spent ten thousand years wielding this sword.
No, perhaps far more than that.
His goal was quite simple.
Declare war.
The sky changed color, and a hazy blood mist drifted in. In an instant, the burning flames covered the entire sky, and the high temperature distorted everything, making the sky look like a distorted canvas, revealing nothing of reality.
A sudden fear gripped Cassidorius, a fear he knew all too well. He instantly understood what was causing the chaos, or rather, who was—
"I'm so glad you still remember me."
A somber voice spoke in his ear.
A streak of blood rushed from the edge of his vision, easily tearing his body to shreds. Cassidorius only realized what had happened after death; he screamed, and then...
He.?
Cassidorius raised his trembling hands in confusion, still not understanding what had happened.
At this moment, he still stood on the ground, his body intact, as if nothing had just harmed him, as if he had never died at all.
But is that really possible? That kind of pain is real, without a trace of falsehood.
Cassidorius hesitated and turned back, only to see something he couldn't quite describe. It had a distorted shape and jet-black eyes; everything about it seemed so abstract and bizarre.
It probably had a clumsy creator who tried to fit it into the human species, but failed. The monster it created was not human at all, but merely a dubious substitute.
A monster. Cassidorius suddenly realized. It was just a monster, nothing more.
The monster raised its claws at him again, then swept past him like a gust of wind.
Cassidorius turned around, bewildered, and saw the Emperor still standing there, unmoved. The sword in his hand was subtly transforming, from steel into something else, a material as transparent as nothing, yet as bright as a torch.
The monster spoke human language.
The earth trembled, the air cracked, and endless darkness surged from the void, beginning to permeate this realm of nothingness.
The world before Cassidorius's eyes slowly changed, Horus Lupercal's body replaced the distorted form, quietly returning.
His shadow fell upon the grass, silently transforming it back into cracked, parched earth. The pungent smell of blood assaulted the nostrils, causing waves of dizziness. His shadow almost blotted out the sky, swallowing up the light, like a black hole.
"You can retrieve his fragments from the Ethereal Sea countless times, heal them countless times, I don't care, Father." The twisted darkness chewed up human words and spat them out in a roaring syllable.
"He will die eventually, just like your little kingdom. I will build a new Imperium upon your corpse and lead humanity into a new era. We will annihilate everything else in the galaxy, and humanity will become the sole ruler of the universe in my hands. By then, no one will remember you."
Horus slowly raised his Worldbreaker, as if in response to the Emperor's declaration of war.
Cassidorius stared intently, and the scenery before him changed once again. He almost began to wonder if he had some kind of unknown cancer.
In his current vision, Horus's weapon was not a Warhammer, but a series of grotesque weapons forged from molten fragments. Those fragments were like flowing silver, projecting countless similar yet distinct images.
Cassidorius tried to look away, but he couldn't; their allure was overwhelming, holding Cassidorius attention firmly in place.
A gust of wind woke him up, the darkness receded, and Cassidorius clutched his forehead, his head throbbing with pain. He wanted to say something, or at least shout it out—but he couldn't do either of those things.
His existence was frozen in place, and the flow of time in his life ceased from that moment on. His soul was the same, like a lifelike specimen, held firmly in Horus's palm.
"You've been helping him stay sane, Father, why?" Darkness asked.
The Emperor did not answer, but simply unleashed a sword strike—at least, to Ollanius Persson was standing nearby, it appeared as if he had only unleashed one strike.
The veteran offered no comment. He knew perfectly well that the truth of the battle was not what was presented to them at that moment; it was a battle from a higher dimension. But they were still here: him, Valdor, and that worthy mortal.
The Emperor used his power to shape this place, thereby keeping them sane.
Of course, Ollanius Persson was always more familiar with the Emperor than anyone else. He also knew that this was probably a way for him to maintain his humanity.
He slowly tightened his grip on the gun, watching the torch-like sword clash with the silver shards in the dark hand.
Constantine Valdor stood beside him, the Adeptus Custodes trembling, and he wanted to help—and if it were the old him, Ollanius Persson was quite certain he would have rushed forward without hesitation, wasting his life on a casual strike from Horus.
"What's your opinion?" Ollanius Persson asked in a soldier's usual tone, with a hint of mockery and a touch of consolation.
The Adeptus Custodes Guard Marshal remained silent, his face as hard as a pebble in a winter stream, his eyes filled with pain, self-reproach, and a certain impulse. However, he forcefully restrained this impulse with his willpower.
Ollanius Persson looked at him with admiration, asked no more questions, hugged the gun to his chest for comfort, and began to watch the illusory battle intently.
The longsword clashed with the silver fragments, the torchlight Radiance brightly, its pure white light intensely intense, colliding with the shimmering light on the silver fragments. They dissolved the darkness, but failed to cause the fragments themselves to dissipate as well.
The embodiment of darkness sneered, its malice transforming into lightning, leaping into an abstract dimension that did not exist at all, extracting its energy and pouring it into its weapon.
The next strike will possess world-destroying power; their battle has escalated. This is no longer a son attempting to kill his father, nor a father trying to discipline his son in a domestic dispute. This is a battle of gods, a genuine battle of gods.
Ollanius Persson fired the gun and threw it to the ground. He grabbed the empty metal base with his left hand, closed his eyes, and began to silently pray.
Lord, I pray that your sword will be ever victorious, and your light will shine forever. You will withstand all the filth of the world, sweep away darkness, and shatter despair; you will be our light.
A burst of light erupted, the world was destroyed, and the sky and the ground dissolved together in the Radiance. Ollanius Persson kept his eyes tightly shut, unwilling to look, but he still couldn't help but see it clearly.
The Emperor wanted to protect their sanity, but Horus opposed it. His voice reached Ollanius Persson's ears with perfect precision in the Radiance, whispering to him with malice.
"You have no choice, you can only watch, Ollanius. Watch, watch how your lord is trampled under my feet."
Ollanius Persson reluctantly opened his eyes and saw shattered matter and distorted space.
The world before him looked like a strange labyrinth filled with broken mirrors, where darkness and light each occupied half, tearing at each other, ashes covering the ground and rippling in the wind. They shouldn't be behaving this way, but this wasn't the real world; it didn't need to follow any laws of physics.
Ollanius Persson gripped the gem's base tightly and licked his dry lips. He suddenly felt an indescribable tremor, and instinctively, he looked up and saw four ancient and enormous beings.
They were also watching the battle, and one of them laughed incessantly, his voice a chaotic jumble like a thousand birds in flight.
At that very moment, darkness turned back.
His wrath shook the very foundations of the world, and explosions resounded everywhere. A beam of annihilation erupted from His ten million eyes, tearing their skin and shattering their bones. In an instant, He drove them back to their respective domains.
What kind of power is this? Ollanius Persson was shaken to his core, and an even more terrifying, yet more realistic, conjecture surged into his mind: The Emperor cannot win.
The idea, once it appeared, quickly began to occupy his mind.
Yes, he couldn't win. The darkness glanced at him briefly, then began to whisper, reveling in his despair.
Your lord cannot win, Ollanius. He has crafted a false Throne with the power of the past and the future, but I am different. My Throne is the real deal, situated within Chaos. I have long transcended the mortal realm and need no help. I will easily slay him.
The darkness was no joke.
At this moment, the darkness within the winding labyrinth surged out of its occupied territory and began to devour the light.
They looked almost like a pack of wolves, their gaping maws devouring the Radiance. Each bite could consume a great deal; their greed was so obvious that even though Ollanius Persson couldn't actually see their exact form, he could feel their extreme emotions.
The soldier gritted his teeth, not understanding how things had turned out this way.
Did the two gems, delivered across millennia and through countless hardships, merely delay the Imperium's destruction?
Clutching the empty base, Ollanius Persson strained his aching eyes, trying to catch Shadow of the Emperor in the Radiance. He couldn't believe it was real; his soul hadn't been completely consumed by despair.
He succeeded.
With the eyes of a mortal, Ollanius Persson saw everything.
He saw the Emperor being brutally pierced through the chest by Horus Lupercal's giant claws, his face covered in blood. He didn't look at his enemy, but at Ollanius Persson, whose pure white eyes conveyed a message at that moment.
Yes, I cannot defeat him, Ollanius. My power is no match for His. The authority bestowed upon him by the Four Ancients has been completely devoured by His ambition, and the flames of Vengeance burning throughout the galaxy have passively added to His power. He is already the god above gods, and I, a false god who has only recently ascended to the throne, am of course no match for Him.
Ollanius Persson should have been in despair. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no matter what he did, he couldn't utter a single word. He couldn't even speak, let alone ask a question.
However, he didn't need to ask questions.
The question he wanted to ask has now been answered.
Oh God.
Ollanius Persson released his grip, and his soul began to tremble. A streak of black flame drifted past his head.
The darkness suddenly stopped.
"Monster." A voice echoed in this void. "You've got one thing wrong. My friend doesn't need to win against you."
The next second, a sharp blade fell from the sky. Its appearance was so sudden, so unpredictable. In fact, it was a blade that was destined to strike. It was fear, and fear is always a constant companion.
Darkness roared and casually flung the Emperor aside. At this moment, even in the eyes of Ollanius Persson, a mere mortal, his actions began to appear increasingly abstract and incomprehensible.
He raised his left hand, within which a cluster of dark stars flashed and disappeared. Countless illusory dimensions, like glass, were sculpted by the power of Chaos into a tortuous shield, which stood above his head.
Then they shattered, and the sharp blade pierced through them without any resistance.
Darkness roared again, summoning a constellation of stars to shield itself from the blade, but the blade did not appear as promised. It vanished, and a grotesque, sharp hand seized the planet.
Black flames coiled around it, burning it to ashes bit by bit without a shred of mercy. The pale ashes slowly coalesced in his palm, shaped by the power of hatred into a chain covered in spikes.
The hand flung it away, and darkness, employing the same tactic again, summoned its shield to block the chains.
He roared, demanding, "How could you possibly still have a sense of self?!"
"Horus Lupercal also possessed self-awareness before his death; he died as a hero. And you?"
Black flames surged, and a pale, skull-like face suddenly appeared from behind the suddenly extinguished illusion shield.
These abstract concepts vanished in that instant, Ollanius Persson knelt on the ground, a peaceful buzzing in his mind. This power was completely different from that of the Emperor, and it was not particularly benevolent, yet it did protect his sanity.
At this moment, Ollanius Persson realized that they had returned, but the world around them was no longer the one with blue skies and grass.
A desolate ruin replaced them, surrounded by rubble and broken walls. A torrential rain fell from the sky, and a silver crescent moon disappeared behind the clouds. Countless dark Shadow stood in the ruins, gazing at this moment.
Ollanius Persson raised his head and looked towards the center of the ruins, where he saw a nightmare draped in flames.
He had seen this figure in his dreams. At that time, he thought he was the murderer of Sanguinius, but now it seemed that he was completely wrong.
"How do you want to die?" Karyl Lohars asked.
The monster roared and swung the Worldbreaker. Its power was still immense; with just this one hammer blow, on a purely physical level, it would be enough to destroy any continental plate.
Karyl did not dodge; he simply raised his left hand and firmly grasped the Worldbreaker. His fingers plunged deep into the metal, and blood, defying all logic, trickled from the black steel. The torrential rain failed to wash it away; instead, it sank into the blood, as if swallowed up.
"How interesting! How many different paths have they revealed to you?" the skeleton asked. "What a grand gesture, revealing non-existent pasts and futures before your very eyes, hoping you will gain enlightenment from them. What a pity, what a pity."
He seemed to be laughing, but his eyes were blazing with anger.
The monster angrily pulled back the Worldbreaker; it must have done something again, at least Ollanius Persson felt an extremely strong sense of oppression.
His heart, which had just begun to ease, jumped again. Ollanius Persson had a vague feeling that this attack was probably even more terrifying than the one that had struck the monster and the Emperor before—half a second later, he realized that his worries were completely unnecessary.
The Worldbreaker crashed down, but failed to strike anything. Only nothingness, pure nothingness. The skeleton stood not far away, calmly watching him, a hint of contempt inexplicably appearing on its fleshless face.
"It's a pity you've seen too much," he said. "You've begun to lose sight of reality and illusion, am I right, God?"
The monster stopped answering, and his posture finally became serious. On his black armor, the crimson Eye of Horus began to rotate in unison.
Blood splattered everywhere. Ollanius Persson instinctively closed his eyes, and in the ensuing violent tremor, a gust of wind blew him away. Countless cacophonies of sounds erupted in his ears at that moment—too many, too chaotic, the sound waves almost shattering his eardrums.
Ollanius Persson wept bitterly, then fell heavily to the ground. He rolled over and over, getting soaked and cold in some kind of viscous liquid.
After a while, he managed to get up and open his eyes. He saw many people, countless faces.
Ollanius Persson looked at them dazedly. Someone helped him up, someone handed him a gun, and then said something.
Unfortunately, Ollanius Persson can't hear anything now, and he doesn't want to. He just wants to figure out what happened—what did that monster do? What on earth did it do?
Ollanius Persson would never be at ease unless he watched it die. How could he possibly be at ease?
He had witnessed this thing utterly defeat his friend, something that had never happened before. And if his friend told the truth this time, could the nightmare truly defeat him?
"He can, Ollanius," one of them said.
Ollanius Persson turned around and saw countless people kneeling on the ground, tears welling in their eyes. A bloodied man slowly walked towards him, with Cassidorius and the Grand Marshal of the Adeptus Custodes Guard standing on either side of him, while Valdor carefully supported his lord.
The Emperor —Kings of Kings, their blades, their shields.
Their shields were badly damaged.
His chest was a bloody mess, with golden light emanating from it, turning into specks of light that floated out of the wound. His face was deathly pale; the injuries left by the darkness were poisoning him— Ollanius Persson understood this in an instant.
"Very perceptive." That's how his friend praised him. "Indeed, his power acted on both my soul and body. It seems you are not as ignorant of the mysticism as you claim, Ollanius."
Ollanius Persson walked angrily toward him. He had intended to say something, or at least curse, but he couldn't utter a single, curt greeting.
"Haven't seen you for a long time."
The Emperor smiled.
Behind him, his sons rushed toward him. The Emperor greeted them one by one with the power of his spirit, then his ten Ten Thousand, a mere ten Ten Thousand, and everyone else present.
His strength, like warm sunshine, soothed their weariness and suffering, smoothed the pain from their wounds, and stopped them from bleeding, from being pessimistic, and from despairing.
Everything was so natural, so perfectly natural, as if he was born to be this way. He didn't overlook anyone; he grieved for the fate of each and every one of them.
However, at this moment, this was not what he cared about most.
In a place where no one could know, his thoughts collided head-on with those of the Sigillites.
"Can you see them?" Malcador asked worriedly. "I can't see them. I don't know where they're fighting. Is that normal?"
"We just need to wait for the results," The Emperor replied.
He turned his gaze to the deepest part of the Warp.
--
Karyl swung his knife.
"It will be over soon," he said calmly. "There's no need to feel pain or resentment. Your ambition belongs to a deceased man, someone whose everything was taken from him. His last wish in this world was for things to return to normal; he never called for Vengeance. From that perspective, you have no right to fight me."
"Thief!" the monster roared.
Karyl dodged, parried, leaped, and then plunged the knife into his chest.
Who could have imagined that the battle between two gods would be so simple?
But that's the truth. Karyl didn't want to dabble in the power he held, to engage in a fierce battle of powers with this monster, nor did he want to fight him with various spells amidst the Chaos waves.
He loathed these things; killing was killing, and it should be quick and direct.
Moreover, he was already tired.
In other words, he just wanted to kill him as soon as possible.
Thus, in the deepest part of this Warp, in this darkest place, the most brutal and grandest war of gods in history began in the simplest way.
It was simply a man holding a sharp knife, wanting to kill another, filled with hatred.
The monster roared uncontrollably as the blade pierced his very being. He couldn't comprehend how it could do such a thing until he stared intently and, from the blade deeper than anything else, saw a wailing, terrified figure.
He suddenly realized that it wasn't the knife that was hurting him. It was just a trigger, like a fuse. What was truly hurting him was his own power, which had been turned against him—after this thought arose, another cold hand plunged heavily into his chest and seized his heart.
The power of Vengeance began to fade rapidly.
The monster reached out, grabbed his opponent, and shoved him aside. He stumbled a few steps, feeling weaker than ever before. Only then did he realize that the power of the Ancient Four was not actually that outstanding.
What they gave is completely incomparable to Vengeance gives, which is normal, since Vengeance is always generous; otherwise, how could the weak take Vengeance on the strong?
"How could you..." The monster knelt on the ground, panting. "How could you do such a thing?"
Karyl walked towards him, knife in hand.
"What do you think?" he asked.
The monster stood up, turned around, and with a blood-red rage, swung its weapon at Karyl. He did not dodge, letting it land on his armor, kicking up a cloud of dust.
The monster watched this scene in bewilderment, unable to comprehend it—even though their powers were no longer equal, their status remained the same. Both were deities, so why was there a situation where they were unharmable?
He took two steps back, raised the hammer again, and summoned the power of decay and reincarnation, forcing out all the potential within his body. It was terrifying; even he felt a sense of dread: I still have potential to use?
His power had grown even stronger; now he was a Titan, a mythical being capable of supporting the heavens and the earth.
So he swung his hammer again, but very cautiously, not greedy for victory, but only wanting to knock the blade from Karyl's hand. The Worldbreaker's hammerhead shone with a deep green light, and soon came into contact with a hand wreathed in flames of fury.
A similar scene unfolded, but this time, the Worldbreaker was instantly reduced to ashes by the flames. He stared in disbelief at the sight as the pale ashes formed a chain of spikes that rushed toward him, binding one of his legs tightly.
Spikes pierced deep into the armor, penetrating flesh and blood, while flames climbed upwards, beginning to scorch the god's body and spirit.
Countless wronged souls, who had been waiting for so long, finally got their chance. Roaring, they rushed out from the land of the unjustly dead and charged at this cruel god, wanting to exact holy Vengeance and avenge the blood debt he owed.
They bit him, struck him with their hands, trying every possible way to harm him, but only brought him greater pain and humiliation, failing to truly injure him much. After all, he was a deity; how could these spirits possibly harm him?
However, the shame was real.
The monster stood up again.
"There's something you should know: almost all bacteria cannot survive at high temperatures," Karyl said calmly. "Also, the answer to your question is actually quite simple."
He slowly raised the blade in his hand and walked towards the monster.
Unwilling to accept defeat, he summoned the power of pleasure, using the shame and pain of the moment to heal his injuries. He then used the power of change to create a completely realistic illusion in which all the past and future he had ever seen floated and sank.
He quickly found one of them and placed it in front of the man. In the illusion, Nostramo in the torrential rain was being subjected to a bloody baptism of justice by the Night Haunter —he wanted to use this illusion to temporarily halt the enemy's advance and buy himself some time.
His enemy actually stopped in his tracks, and the monster immediately summoned all its power, seized the opportunity, and swiftly left the area.
He couldn't fight him here indefinitely; that would be tantamount to cutting off his own arms. He had to unleash all the power he possessed to contend with him.
But as long as he kills him, kills Karyl Lohars, the god of Vengeance will return. At that time, his victory will still be within his grasp.
Darkness surged, forming an endless, swirling wave beneath his feet, carrying him toward the darkest of horizons. Closer, so close, he was just a hair's breadth away from true escape.
Then, a tremendous dragging force came from beneath his body.
A massive bone hand reached out from the darkness and gripped firmly the burning chains that bound him.
"Nowhere to escape. You have nowhere to escape!" The God of the Wrongfully Dead roared violently and madly, his voice echoing through the Warp and stirring up countless tsunami-like waves.
The god fell, plummeting back into the darkest of places. His enemies pounced, knocking him to the ground. It was a savage struggle; power and divine might were cast aside, leaving only the most primitive wrestling.
One wielded a sharp blade, the other was bare-handed. The monster fought with all his might, desperate to survive, unleashing the power of the Ancient Four once more. However, the outcome was no different from before.
Blood crimson was shattered, decay was burned, and the power of pleasure was easily shattered into dust by hatred. All illusions were nothing before those burning eyes.
His strength began to wane, the blade drawing ever closer to his chest, while the god's power remained undiminished. The monster even heard him laugh, a wild, exhilarating laugh of unbridled joy.
He could only watch helplessly as the blade pierced through his fabricated shield, through the illusion's protection, and through one serene face after another of Konrad Curze Curze's dying moments.
Ultimately, it pierced his heart.
Is this the end?
This... just like that? I was killed like that? No, why? I shouldn't have lost. My power was enough to destroy everything. Even if his humanity returned, he shouldn't have defeated me so easily. This was child's play; this battle wasn't even evenly matched.
Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind, each more resentful and perplexing than the last. However, it was all set in stone; nothing could stop the body from dying, and even its essence was rapidly dissipating, scattering throughout the Warp.
The Four Ancient Ones quickly discovered this and, without even a chance to react, pounced on it, fighting like wild dogs for these lost powers.
Karyl observed them coldly, making no reaction. He slowly stood up, then slowly sat down again, right next to Horus Lupercal's skin.
He was convulsing, and black dust kept pouring out from the crack in his chest. There was no more blood to flow.
"Are you very unwilling to accept this?" Karyl asked.
The monster stared intently at him, without uttering a word.
Karyl turned his head and met its gaze.
"Hatred has levels," he said softly. "I could list a thousand reasons why you make me angry and hateful, but I'd rather just name one."
He reached out, grasped the knife, twisted it, and began to hasten his death. He leaned close to those dark eyes and whispered to them, a whisper filled with hatred.
"You ruined my son," he said.
He drew his blade, his body bursting into flames, his spirit extinguished. The Warp paused for a moment, a scream ripped through all the waves, flashed past the ears of all the Daemon, bringing a nightmarish experience.
The gods have fallen.
Long, long ago, a person murdered another out of hatred; that was the earliest known murder in human history.
From then on, it was always the same.