26. Statues Shatter, the Dead Return (11)

Blood trickled from Lorgar Aurelian's chest, his body, controlled by Chaos, absurdly adhering to the laws of the material world.

It was this law that caused a greatsword to pierce his chest, drawing blood. Even for a Primarch -level body, this was a very serious injury. However, the monster that had wielded the sword to injure him also let out a roar filled with pain at the same time.

Erebus listened to the roar, a smile involuntarily crept onto his face.

Over the past ten thousand years, he has learned many new things. Such as knowledge, such as rules, and such as mysterious spells that have long been lost to the river of history.

He is no longer the same as before, and besides, Lorgar's appearance is an excellent experimental subject.

With the help of this body controlled by Chaos, Erebus was able to grow from an apprentice to a master. All sorts of strange yet mysterious spells ran rampant without restraint beneath that empty flesh, aided by the power of Chaos.

But isn't a pseudo- Primarch still Primarch?

Erebus disagreed, and to prove it, he repeatedly used this body to travel alone to other worlds. In those places, the Great Word Bearers spoke the gospel, leading countless people to conversion to Chaos.

To the people of both the primitive and feudal worlds, the voice and image of Lorgar Aurelian were nothing short of divine. They knelt at his feet, kissed the earth he had trod, and raised their hands high, chanting the Eightfold Path with fervor.

After just one glance, they forgot all about the Emperor.

This is both incredibly interesting and incredibly ironic. If Lorgar still had any self-awareness, he would probably be extremely grateful to him for fulfilling his lifelong wish.

Smiling, Erebus flicked his fingers, using a pre-prepared sealing spell to restrain the monster's movements, and slowly spoke.

"To me, your battle is like an avalanche, old friend. One detail leads to another, and the chain reaction will utterly destroy everything. Have you ever seen an avalanche? Mountains collapse, the world trembles, and the screams of people are buried under snow and the fragments of cities."

"That was truly a rare and spectacular sight."

He sighed gently, his voice soft and rhythmic, as if he were reciting a poem he had written himself.

At the same time, Lorgar Aurelian's physique had already raised his fists, crushing the air, and the power of Chaos flowed out from between his five fingers, instantly forming a simple yet powerful expulsion array.

Now, he only needs to place his hands on the monster's body to send it back into the Warp in extreme agony. Without a century of preparation and a precise ritual, Daemon of its caliber would never reappear in the mortal realm.

Erebus couldn't help but laugh. He looked at the monster that had been harmed by his own power and his own weapon, and his smile gradually grew brighter.

He asked softly, "Nearly ten thousand years of planning, Shen. Just how much effort did you put in to allow those fragments to shelter those lost sheep in this dark constellation?"

The monster stared intently at him, using its sword to support its body.

Vengeance is indiscriminate; its sword can also harm itself. The hatred of the loyal is hatred, and so is the hatred of the traitor.

Over the past ten thousand years, the number of traitors personally killed by Shen has been countless, and their grudges have long lingered in the realm of Vengeance. They are just waiting for an opportunity to come and seek their Vengeance.

Just now, they got that opportunity.

Under the gentle and calm gaze of Erebus, the monster's shell gradually became transparent as it was enveloped in raging flames. The flames swirled, some providing it with power, while others mercilessly harmed it, striving to destroy it completely.

Looking at the Dark Apostle, he couldn't help but sigh inwardly—no wonder it's a power named after Vengeance, so extreme. No wonder it's so powerful.

"Looks like I don't need to lift a finger." Erebus shrugged ambiguously. "That's quite interesting, it just goes right into your motto: 'All who believe in Him and follow Him will perish by His blade.'"

He chuckled, extended his right hand, pointed to the longsword in the monster's hand, and surprisingly uttered a Nostraman: "How about this pun?"

"You will die," Shen said from inside the monster's shell.

The flames dissipated, turning into a pale ash. Erebus flicked his finger, using a gust of wind to completely disperse it. Lorgar Aurelian's scabbard walked stiffly behind him, returning to his Shadow once more.

The Dark Apostle, clad in a priest's robe, stood silently amidst the ruins of the church, gazing up at the sky. At this moment, he was only one door away from his plan's success.

Such an opportunity, across the entire galaxy, even over a period of tens or hundreds of thousands of years, how many people could possibly obtain it?

Erebus took a deep breath, suppressing his excitement, and gradually returned to calm.

He told himself to calm down—the dust hadn't settled yet, Samus hadn't brought him back that drop of blood, and his pre-arranged ambush hadn't successfully stopped the few offspring that had split off from Night Lords.

He didn't have much time left. If he didn't finish everything in the remaining dozen or so hours, his plan would fail, and he'd have to start all over again. But by then, would he really have a chance?

Erebus was a master of intrigue; he understood that, most of the time, opportunity was far more important than ability.

The Dark Apostle raised his hands, beginning to gather Chaos power and sensing the environment around the church.

He had laid an inescapable trap, with hundreds of chain-triggered traps etched into the ground and ruins by the flesh and blood of Daemon. Even now, he dared not claim he could sense those enemies adept at moving in the dark.

Moreover, the deity with whom he cooperated most deeply always enjoyed letting His followers taste the bitter fruit of failure at the most crucial moment.

Erebus was focused intently on his preparations, leaving no stone unturned. After dealing with the ground, he even turned his gaze to the sky, and it was at that moment that he sensed Samus's presence.

He looked in that direction and saw a drop pod rapidly making an emergency landing. The Dark Apostle paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.

He took a few steps back, and a dozen seconds later, with a loud bang, amidst the scattered dust and smoke, Samus savagely destroyed the drop pod with his claws and walked out grinning.

"It's so nice to see you, Samus!"

Erebus laughed as he approached it, his eyes gleaming with greed and desire. He stopped not far from the Daemon, his heart pounding as he stretched out his right hand.

Where is what I asked for?

"Where's Shen?" the Daemon asked in a low growl, glancing around.

Erebus, his smile undiminished, replied, "He has already—wait."

In an instant, the smile on his face vanished completely. His face, covered in scripture, fell into a terrifying calm, exuding an awe-inspiring power, while Samus bared his fangs at him.

The Daemon spoke with unusual clarity, "Without Shen, there is no blood."

You didn't bring it to me at all.

"And you didn't give Shen to me as stated in the contract." Samus grinned maliciously, looking at Erebus's face with satisfaction.

"We had a pact, and it was a pact concluded under the witness of the Dark Gods. Even so, you dared to break it. I knew I wasn't wrong about you, Erebus, you're a born bastard."

The Dark Apostle watched it calmly, and after a few seconds, that smile suddenly returned to his face.

"Look around, dear Samus, what do you see?"

"Your grave," the Daemon said maliciously.

"No, no. What you see is a world filled with hatred, and the power of Chaos flows freely here. Using this hatred, I can set up a summoning circle to bring back the one you long for. What do you think?"

The Dark Apostle smiled and stepped forward, his right hand already forming the prototype of a teleportation spell belonging to the Tzeentch: "Why don't you go back to that ship and bring me what I want?"

Samus couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"Don't give me that crap, you bastard!" it roared. "Do you think I'm stupid? Keep your damned magic for yourself!"

It pounced on Erebus, its beastly eyes filled with madness, its speed incomprehensible. It was far more powerful than before; otherwise, how could it have fought Shen Zhanzhi to a standstill back on the Soul of Night?

The Dark Apostle took a step back, the shadow behind him rapidly expanding, and Lorgar Aurelian reappeared, the exorcism array he had prepared earlier quietly blooming in his fists.

He blocked Samus, expressionless, and began to wrestle with it. The Daemon, however, contemptuously exhaled a breath of bloody heat, not even glancing at the false shell, but simply growling at Erebus.

"Just wait, you bastard, they'll be here to kill you soon! How many Daemons from the Vengeance Realm can you possibly banish?!"

"What did you do?" Erebus asked grimly, his calm and smile finally vanishing completely.

Samus didn't answer, but just burst into maniacal laughter. Amidst its mad laughter, Erebus raised his head and looked up at the sky, only to feel a sharp pain in his eyes.

He paused almost imperceptibly, then his eyes suddenly blazed with fury.

The clouds were shattered, and thunder rumbled across the sky. The sun of Litatera rose silently at dawn on the first day of the Holy Spirit Month. Its Radiance was so dazzling that even Samus couldn't help but scream in agony.

Erebus covered his eyes, and in their intense pain, neither of them noticed a glimmer of golden light rushing towards them in the Radiance.

Of course, there were also dozens of burning drop pods.

--

Konrad Curze Curze calmly walked into the darkness. He held his head high, his steps firm as he walked through the darkness that even he could not see through, appearing completely at ease.

It was as if he were not walking into a terrifying prison, but rather on his way home.

His footsteps faded into the darkness; after countless years, this place finally possessed the concept of sound.

As he moved forward, the world subtly changed beneath his feet. The nothingness and darkness slowly faded away, and a faint light gradually appeared; however, this was not due to Konrad Curze Curze's power.

The Night Haunter stopped, removed his crown, and greeted one of his fathers as a son of man.

"It's been a long time, Father."

A flash of Radiance, and a blurry, immense sound swept through, indescribable and incomprehensible. Countless people spoke, cried, screamed, and clamored as if the world were ending or a newborn was being born.

The Night Haunter listened silently, his brows furrowed. Even for him, understanding the message conveyed by the voice was not easy.

However, in the end, he understood the meaning of that sentence.

"Indeed, Konrad Curze."

Curze lowered his eyes, swallowed his sigh, and instead gave a smile.

"It seems it's better to be human, isn't it, Father? I've become a divine child, and you've become a god, yet even basic communication has become difficult."

The Radiance flashed again, but this time there was no sound. It kept flashing, and waves of golden light surged towards the surrounding darkness, as if to drive them away.

Curze waited silently for the matter to end, but quite unexpectedly, a few minutes later he heard a hoarse, dry voice.

"A good joke," a humanoid figure in the Radiance said weakly.

Curze looked at him, his face devoid of joy, instead filled with worry and even a hint of anger.

He strode over, intending to touch the humanoid figure, but was scorched by the Radiance it emitted. Amidst the hissing sound of burning, the Night Haunter expressionlessly withdrew his hand and shook his head.

"How could you come here yourself?" he muttered reproachfully, while simultaneously putting his right hand behind his back.

"I'm sorry, Konrad Curze," the humanoid said apologetically, his voice sounding extremely unreal and surreal, as if it didn't exist at all. Or perhaps, he had simply become unfamiliar with it.

"Stop apologizing." Curze put the crown back on expressionlessly, revealing two sharp teeth as if to threaten him.

As soon as he finished speaking, he strode forward, but the humanoid figure formed by the golden light did not follow; instead, it began to dissolve in place. Curze knew this perfectly well, and had known all along that he could not exist for long.

"Don't feel like you owe me anything," he said, his back to the radiant Radiance. "And don't do anything foolish about it. We both have responsibilities, Father."

The humanoid figure did not answer, but slowly faded away, leaving behind its Radiance to illuminate the path ahead for Curze.

However, it sounds absurd, but there is actually no road here. The so-called road is nothing but a void, and no one knows how Konrad Curze Curze managed to walk on such a thing.

He should have fallen, continuing his descent into this bottomless abyss, eventually becoming just another prisoner in the cell. However, the cell did not have that desire for him.

It is a terrible prison that a god built for himself, designed entirely to inflict pain without truly driving him to despair; it can only hold one prisoner.

This is the most resolute revenge of an angry and desperate person against himself.

The art of torture.

The Night Haunter thought to himself. He lowered his head and tried to smile, but failed.

He didn't know how much longer he would have to walk before finding that person; after all, time meant nothing here. A second could be ten thousand years, and ten thousand years could be a second—endless years, endless depravity.

Moreover, even if he did find him, would he really recognize him? Nobody knows how long the man once known as Karyl Lohars had been here; his sentence was truly indefinite.

Is there really anyone who can endure this kind of torment?

What should I do if he forgets everything?

The Night Haunter had no answers, he just kept walking. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about these things, but he couldn't help but think about them.

One of his fathers once said he was a natural pessimist, unaware that the Night Haunter wasn't actually much more optimistic.

It would be extremely strange if someone who faces darkness year-round could maintain an optimistic attitude. Moreover, this is a completely reasonable speculation.

He's gone mad, he must be. The Wraith thought. He couldn't possibly still have any sense left.

So what should I do? I must remind him who he is. Perhaps sharing my own memories would help, or perhaps I should prepare beforehand, as Magnus suggested. But I'm out of time; humanity is always short of time.

Karyl Lohars was destined to be revived at this moment.

He clenched his right fist tightly, making the seemingly indestructible fragment crackle.

It was fate. He chewed on those four words, his face expressionless as he clenched his teeth, wishing he could slit his own throat.

The Night Haunter continued walking forward, his steps never faltering. His thoughts were a jumble of complex emotions, yet he never entertained the idea of "retreating."

His determination was frightening; a simple sense of responsibility couldn't have driven him to do this, and if it were merely driven by emotion, it would seem rather weak.

This unwavering resolve, born of both emotion and responsibility, propels the Night Haunter calmly through the darkness, now illuminated by a glimmer of light, in search of the prisoner's silhouette.

He walked for a long time, and then he was found.

It wasn't a son who found his father, but a father who found his son in the darkness.

He heard the call, and he stood up, emerging from his numbness and despair, without even questioning whether it was just another hallucination capable of dragging him down. Time meant no place here, so how long had he been wandering in the darkness?

None of that matters anymore.

He stood before his son, his back to the darkness, facing the faint Radiance, facing the Night Haunter or Konrad Curze Curze, facing a king Moonlight Crown, facing a son with a blank expression, speechless, even more bewildered than himself.

After a long while, a person took a small step forward in the darkness, cautiously as if walking alone on a suspension cable thousands of meters in the air. There were no safety measures, only the howling wind, the cold and loneliness, and a fragile sense of reason.

The man raised his thin, bony right hand and touched a pale face. At first, it was only cold, but after a few seconds, a warmth that could no longer be concealed dripped down from above, bringing a sense of comfort and a feeling he had forgotten how to describe.

The prisoner withdrew his right hand and actually smiled.

"Father." The Wraith uttered these two words, its lips trembling.

The prisoner opened his mouth and let out a sigh-like sound from his throat, followed by a muffled murmur, like a toddler learning to speak.

He was clearly aware of this himself, and a clear and calm smile quickly emerged after a brief moment of surprise, which then evolved into a simple smile.

He reached out and hugged the person who was now much taller than him, while also taking a piece of the shard.

A fierce wind howled, darkness shattered, the glimmer of light faded, and sound returned. Numbness was replaced by a renewed will, and despair was utterly shattered by a single tear.

A heart began to beat again.

Karyl Lohars sighed, opened his eyes, and pushed open a wooden door.