The Shattering of the Twenty-Three Statues, the Resurrection of the Dead (VIII)

The Soul of Night is suffering unprecedented and massive destruction, a claim that is almost horrifying for a warship that has been in service for ten thousand years.

The Milky Way has been shrouded in darkness for ten thousand years. War and Astronomican are the only two things that can be called Radiance in this pitch-black cosmic realm. The latter is rare, appearing almost exclusively around the Sol System, but the former is not so.

The intensity and frequency of war had already reached a terrifying level in the past ten thousand years. The Soul of Night did not evade any battle that required it, and thus, it suffered massive damage to its keel nine times.

This time was different. This time, the attack did not come from the outside, but from within. The people on the bridge did not even know what was happening. They could only hear the instruments constantly sounding alarms and stare blankly at the Void Shield that could still hold out for a long time.

The ship wasn't hit, and the massive warship that appeared from behind the Litatera even stopped firing at them, but the vibrations on the deck never ceased.

A vague sense of panic began to spread among many people. Although most people remained rational, sometimes, some things only require the slightest chance.

Without hesitation, those things seized the fear placed before them and, using the Chaos power that filled the entire Soul of Night, immediately stormed into the bridge, instantly turning the once relatively calm main bridge into a brutal battlefield.

The crew members, their bodies stolen, screamed as they charged toward their former comrades, only to be blasted through the flesh by bombs, plasma, or insignificant Lasgun. The monsters laughed cruelly as they leaped from their mangled bodies to fight the guards and Shadow Knights.

But they were destined to fail; the Soul of Night's bridge had extremely tight defenses and five complete sets of emergency measures.

The moment the attack began, Captain Saraf sounded the alarm. By the time the battle on the bridge officially commenced, the bridge doors were already firmly locked, and wisps of mist, seemingly gathering from nowhere, drifted in, bringing with them many silent, tall, dark figures.

The battle on the bridge was no longer a concern, but Saraf sensed a different kind of danger.

He has been captain of the Soul of Night for almost a century. Perhaps in the grand scheme of the Imperium, this age is nothing for an officer who can serve as captain. However, among the many captains of the Soul of Night, his service is considered quite long.

This is inseparable from his keen sense of smell.

Amidst the chaos, the captain gripped his plasma and strode toward a control panel that rose from beneath the floor. The Shadow Knights and his crew had established a firm foothold and were annihilating the remaining Daemon.

The Saraf didn't think they could cause any more trouble, and that was the real point of doubt.

Why would the instigator send a bunch of useless Daemon to the bridge?

They would hardly cause any serious casualties, and might even incite morale and anger in people's hearts. Saraf did not believe that the instigator behind this was only capable of this, so the moment he stepped onto the control panel, he immediately began to check the engine's condition.

Such a powerful battleship as the Retribution-class requires a large amount of energy. Its entire stern is a complex machine combining drive pipes, engines, and plasma reactors, which together occupy about one-third of the length of the entire hull.

However, half a minute later, Saraf was surprised to find that the engine room was completely undamaged, and all the reactors and engines were in perfect working order. Only the perennial problem of overheating drive pipes was still emitting a glaring red light on the self-test list.

The real problem that caused the instrument warning was actually in the center of the ship, where a large area was completely surrounded by red.

What exactly happened?

Saraf had no way of knowing the answer, so he forced himself to calm down and began trying to rebuild the ship's communications in order to report the news to Chapter Master Kaul Sahora.

He didn't know the truth, at least not at this moment, and for him, that was already a great thing.

"Still protecting this ship full of weak mortals and your incompetent descendants?!"

Samus roared as he slammed Shen to the ground, his eyes blazing with red light.

"Avoiding the engine, avoiding the reactor, deliberately leading me to the middle, restricting your own power. What on earth are you thinking, Shen?!"

Shen did not answer, or rather, the monster born from Shen's body did not answer the question. The flames of anger flashed and disappeared in an instant. It stood up, and a blazing sword appeared out of thin air, which it grasped in its hand.

It indifferently raised its sword, and with a single strike, forced Samus back, leaving a deep, bone-revealing wound on the Daemon's chest. Samus, however, seemed unfazed, and a slow smile slowly appeared on its face, which was neither beast nor human.

"Do you remember what I said to you six hundred years ago?" it sneered, spitting out the words and swinging its claws to pierce the wall deeply.

The thick armor plates, crafted from mixed metals and capable of withstanding artillery fire, began to crumble layer by layer under its brute force and the claws from the Warp, becoming as fragile as paper.

The monster still did not answer the question. It casually dismissed the sword and, like a vengeful Ghost, extended equally sharp claws, lunging towards Samus.

Dark flames spread from its back, transforming into chains covered in jagged spikes that pierced deeply into the Daemon's body.

Samus roared, slashing them one by one with his claws. The Chaos essence responded to him with unprecedented force, making this mortal, lifeless body extremely powerful.

In just a few seconds, it clashed with "Shen" thousands of times. Claws and teeth intertwined, bodies stained with blood, the monster and the Daemon collided like two mindless wild beasts, tearing at each other and attacking one another.

What Shen was really thinking was something no one could possibly discern from its hideous, skeletal face. Samus, however, was different; its bizarre face, neither beast nor human, was filled with regret.

"If this is what you'll look like in the end," it muttered, the flesh on its face twitching amidst its coarse sideburns.

The voice and words quickly transformed into a roar brimming with immense rage, causing it to open its mouth wide and bite down on the monster's neck.

It received a brutal claw strike, its teeth and half its tongue being severed, instantly reduced to ashes by flames. More flames of rage surged into Samus's body from where the flesh had vanished, forcing it to roar out its grievances amidst the pain it had tasted many times before.

"You should have possessed a far more outstanding form, Shen! You should have killed me here, or been killed by me, and then ended it all, putting an end to this millennia-old feud! I swore I would give you a heroic death, but look at you now? You are not a hero at all!"

The monster stood indifferently, slowly raising its claws and lowering its body, like a four-legged beast about to charge.

Its behavior enraged Samus, who laughed in fury, forcing it to raise its claws wide open—and in that instant, the monster moved.

The speed it displayed in that instant was beyond the tolerance of time and space; a deafening roar, like the sound of an engine starting up, accompanied by a terrifying shockwave that spread outwards.

Before Samus could even realize what was happening, he was propelled by a tremendous force, smashing through three solid steel walls in succession. Fragments scattered everywhere, and high-temperature steam erupted from the broken pipes, engulfed in flames and beginning to scorch his flesh.

Their summoner unleashed this power without restraint, causing raging flames to fill Samus's entire body in a short time. The Chaos essence surging within it paused for a moment before being rapidly devoured.

They will return, and soon they will come back. But at this moment, the power within Samus will no longer heed its call.

The raging flames have even begun to destroy the very foundation of Samus's existence.

The monster finally let out a cold laugh, a single laugh enough to explain all the previous forbearance and silence. Samus's face was filled with mixed emotions, but in the end, it settled into a heartfelt smile.

The Daemon laughed maniacally, "Well done, Shen! Perfect tactics!"

"There's no more Shen here," the monster said clearly. "And it's not perfect either."

Then, it swung its clenched right fist.

Claws are a symbol of wild beasts, but fists are a different concept. In the process of evolution, humans abandoned the natural weapons that could harm prey or enemies, shed their thick fur and strong muscles, and in return gained fingers, which are indispensable in the long river of evolution.

It can be gripped tightly, and the five fingers can be used to hold tools. It can be used to hold a spear, or to carve Stone Statue. Of course, it can also be clenched into a fist and then swung, as it is now.

Another deafening roar followed, the air vibrated and shattered, and Samus was sent spinning through the air. His entire upper body was completely destroyed, but the monster didn't let him go. It pounced on him, grabbed his neck, and dragged him off the deck of the Soul of Night.

The steel shattered, the cold of the vacuum instantly swept over them, and the immense traction propelled them a considerable distance through the frigid expanse of space.

At this moment, even Samus felt a sense of doubt—what exactly was Shen trying to do?

Its question was answered when a pair of jet-black, burning wings appeared.

Samus's eyes widened, but the monster merely gripped its claws, clinging to its bones and flesh, using them as a shield, and resolutely flew towards the burning Litatera.

--

Erebus waved his finger, drawing upon the power of Chaos, and placed an illusion before a beast.

Its form was tall and twisted; one hand still resembled a human hand, gripping a long, narrow blade, while the other hand had become a ferocious, sharp claw. Its entire body was engulfed in raging flames, and its face bore no trace of its former human form.

The Dark Apostle shook his head regretfully, sighed, and began to infuse power, transforming the illusion into a terrifying nightmare capable of slaughtering all living beings.

This didn't work on the beast, but it was enough to quiet it down for a while. He didn't want to waste any more time with it; he had many other problems to deal with.

For example, this one.

A mutated Power Sword silently emerged from the darkness, slashing towards his neck. At this critical moment, a solemn and majestic chant suddenly resounded from the Shadow of Erebus.

The chorus praising the gods and the Eightfold Path had barely uttered a single syllable when the sword stopped in its tracks.

Erebus stopped in his tracks, carefully examined the Astartes who had attacked him, and then chuckled softly.

"Your willpower is truly formidable," he praised without reservation. "I haven't seen many people who can suppress this primal calling. Your name is Iharal? Ah, a fine name."

Smiling, he extended his right hand from his wide sleeves, and a dagger as thin as a cicada's wing gleamed as it pierced Iharal's chest. Blood gushed out, but the skull's face remained expressionless, as if the wound that had pierced his heart was insignificant to him.

At that moment, Erebus withdrew his dagger, casually took a step, and left him, showing no concern whatsoever about being attacked a second time—and this was not arrogance, for his Shadow had already left him and completely enveloped Iharal.

One after another, incredibly realistic illusions were unleashed, the immense power of Chaos easily overturning Iharal's mind. He persisted, his willpower incomprehensible, but how could he possibly escape those layers upon layers of illusions?

At this point, even if he wanted to transform into a monster, he probably wouldn't be able to succeed.

The Daemon Dolor watched Erebus stroll leisurely with slight surprise, never expecting him to handle those two enemies, who were quite troublesome even for him, so easily.

But what about the next one?

Dolor's worries seemed to have been heard by Erebus, Dark Apostle stopped again, narrowly avoiding a Power Sword that was deforming in the flames.

The thing that possesses it can no longer be called human. Its streamlined body is covered with luxurious gold threads, and a dark blue cloak completely conceals the creature's body. It has two hideous and twisted horns on its head, but its eyes are as empty as those of a decaying corpse.

Erebus frowned slightly, showing a hint of annoyance for the first time, but the thing didn't give him a chance to continue casting. The blade slashed down like flowing water, each strike enough to destroy most things in the world.

If Zel were here, he would surely recognize whose elegant swordsmanship it was.

Or rather, to whom it once belonged.

"Troublesome," Erebus commented, frowning.

He gave this assessment only after dodging dozens of slashes. Dolor heard his words but remained undecided—not because it wanted to watch the spectacle like the Deceivers of the Tzeentch, but simply because it didn't know whether it should help.

The Dark Apostle only asked it to spread the plague and promised it all the best breeding grounds. He never said anything about asking it to help in battle.

Just as this Great Unclean One was still fretting over this matter, a loud bang interrupted its thoughts. The sound came from the golden light emanating from Erebus's hand; it was not large, but it was as dazzling as the sun.

The burning sword was thus immobilized, firmly bound in the Radiance —and so too did the Daemon wielding it.

Erebus shook his head at it and said, "If you came prepared."

He didn't finish his sentence, and that was the end of it; a dagger was swiftly thrust into the Daemon's heart.

The special properties of the ritual dagger immediately began to interfere with the very foundation upon which the Daemon was able to exist in the material world—its former body was dying, and the power of the ritual dagger was something it could not yet resist.

Chaos roared, and once again, holy chants echoed from within the Shadow of Erebus. In the golden light, the Daemon was banished back to where it belonged.

Filled with resentment.

The Dark Apostle smiled, then clasped his hands together and forcefully pushed the golden light out.

"Stop!" he shouted, his voice utterly indescribable.

These words seemed to possess a magical power, causing a pitch-black monster carrying a giant sword to stop in its tracks, but it could not be stopped for long.

Its body was enormous, with bull horns on its head, looking incredibly savage, and the giant sword carried on its shoulder was even more ferocious. Dolor behind it couldn't help but shrink back, its neck completely submerged in fat, burying itself in its diseased fat, unable to bear watching any longer.

It simply couldn't comprehend why these fellow humans, living in human form, could harbor such immense hatred and malice within their hearts. It had even grown so large that it could interfere with their demonic form.

"Ah, a formidable foe." Erebus sighed, finally turning around with a flourish. "Dolor, I need your help."

"I'll be there soon!" the Great Unclean One replied honestly, and threw out the morbidly decaying corpse in his hand. It was almost unrecognizable; its armor was corroded, its body was swollen from disease, and maggots kept falling out of its wide-open chest and abdomen.

It was thrown by the Great Unclean One with sheer brute force to the feet of the Daemon, that is, behind Erebus.

The Daemon's deep, beastly eyes inevitably glanced at the corpse, and the flames in its eyes suddenly flared, instantly breaking free of the law that had briefly imprisoned it.

Erebus laughed helplessly as a giant sword pierced through his chest. This should have been a sign of victory, but the Daemon felt no joy at having avenged himself.

It trembled and roared, for the diseased corpse had raised its head. Faint traces of its former self were still visible on its swollen, pale face, and germs and maggots manipulated its vocal cords, making it utter the voice of the deceased.

"Slor, help me, I'm in so much pain."

At the same time, Erebus, whose chest had been pierced by the giant sword, began to dissipate, scattering like fragments in all directions. The Daemon, enraged, threw aside the corpse and began to rampage, searching everywhere for Erebus's whereabouts, wishing he could tear him to pieces.

But it still couldn't see the other party, so it set its sights on Dolor. The plump, white Great Unclean One's heart skipped a beat and he became alert. He immediately raised his hands and began to back away, even looking a little aggrieved.

"Don't look at me, big guy, wasn't he hiding behind you the whole time?"

The Daemon turned around abruptly and saw an obsidian dagger.

Erebus sighed heavily again. As he moved away from the Daemon, who was frozen in place and struggling against the banishment spell and the unstable space, he flicked his finger, calling his Shadow back like calling a dog.

Blood splattered across the plaza, spreading towards the Daemon's feet and quickly forming an extremely complex banishment array. Even if the Daemon Inquisitor of the Inquisition were present, they couldn't have done it any better.

Amidst the Daemon's roar, Erebus turned to Dolor, who was still trembling with fear, and asked, "Your Excellency, what were you doing before you left Garden of Nurgle?"

"I'm a fly," Dolor said honestly. "What's wrong? Why do you ask that?"

"It's nothing," Erebus said.

He raised his hands high, then swung them down violently. White light burst forth, and with a sound like shattering glass, the magic circle performed its function, banishing the Daemon back to where it belonged.

The Dark Apostle finally let out a sigh of relief and casually waved his hand. A sudden gust of wind blew up, scattering the corpses in the square. Daemon and civilians alike were all driven away to other places by this indiscriminate wind.

A pristine white road, untouched by a speck of blood, appeared beneath Erebus's feet. He smiled contentedly, an undisguised joy spreading through his eyes.

Although a dagger was lost, the outcome was good.

He walked into the church.

Dolor cautiously stepped over the still-struggling Iharal, swaying his obese body as he followed behind Erebus, still asking, "Did your plan succeed, Erebus?"

"More or less," the Dark Apostle replied thoughtfully, stopping in front of the church and observing the interior. The bloodied the Emperor statues made him raise an eyebrow, and he slowly withdrew his foot, which had been about to step inside.

"What's wrong?" Dolor asked.

"It's nothing, it's just that I feel you've helped me a lot along the way. Therefore, this opportunity to bring glory to our beloved father should be given to you."

Erebus smiled and replied, only to receive a puzzled look in return. He maintained his smile and continued, "What I mean is, I want you to be the first to step into this church."

"What's the difference?" the Great Unclean One had always appeared simple, even bordering on foolishly simple, retorted at this moment. "Besides, I didn't do anything!"

It looked at Erebus with a blank expression.

The smile on the Dark Apostle's face finally faded a little. He wanted to say something, but swallowed the words back. Just then, a fireball streaking across the sky caught his attention.

Erebus quickly turned around and walked back to the square. In the spreading darkness, many voices began to boil.

"The Chosen One!"

One in ten thousand

"It's coming to kill you, Erebus! Ha! It's coming to kill you!"

The Dark Apostle sighed softly, raised his right hand, and dark clouds and Thunder began to gather in the sky. Then, he moved his finger and pointed at the fireball.

Lightning began to gather.