27. Idols Shatter, the Dead Return (12)

Imagine placing a person in the deepest, most unfathomable abyss for twenty years. What changes would occur in them?

There was no food, no water, no living beings to talk to, only silent and desperate darkness. They wouldn't die, but they wouldn't live either.

The real feeling of being alive was completely stripped away the moment I stepped into this prison. All that remained were memories that were destined to slowly fade, like sand slipping through my fingers.

Perhaps, those with strong willpower can get through it, survive these hellish twenty years.

Leaving aside willpower, the mere hope of leaving is enough to give many people courage and hope out of thin air. These two things can bring people back to life and allow those who should have died to continue to live for a little while longer.

Moreover, the human race will never lack brave individuals.

But what if this twenty-year sentence were extended to one hundred years, one thousand years, ten thousand years, or even an infinite number of reincarnations?

If a second were turned into ten thousand years, and the sentence were extended to the very end of time, how many people could walk out of such a prison unscathed without any change in their lives?

The answer is no.

Even Karyl Lohars is not included.

Therefore, as he placed his hand on the wooden door handle, as the smell of blood, gunpowder, and fire rushed into his lungs, as bombs whistled past, Daemon roared, and the sky was stained crimson...

All of this came rushing at him, yet he slowly revealed a smile. This smile was completely different from the one he had shown when facing Konrad Curze Curze.

With that chilling smile, he strode out of the wooden door, ignoring everything else—the wildly twitching and shaking cloak, the unconscious man—all were completely forgotten.

A second later, as his foot touched the broken church floor tiles, the wooden door slowly collapsed.

It made little noise, or even kicked up much dust; at least, at this moment, on this frenzied battlefield, few people noticed this person.

No one saw his pale face and dark eyes, no one paid attention to his ten fingers twitching nervously inside his sleeves.

Unbeknownst to them, two diametrically opposed ideas were colliding in this man's mind; he was aware of his own madness, yet he reveled in it.

Crazy. Finally, I can let go of everything and embrace it.

What could be better than this?

Karyl Lohars looked up at the battlefield, then bent down and picked up a stone.

He clutched it tightly in his hand, completely ignoring his cut palm, and even raised his hand with a hint of enjoyment, smearing the blood all over his face.

He licked his lips, savoring the first taste of this endless cycle of reincarnation.

He began to laugh silently, a dark red color rising in his eyes, completely replacing the black of his irises.

The raging ocean had completely engulfed him; his former will had been cast aside, leaving only pure and primal instinct. His reason was still struggling, but it could not prevail, at least not now.

There is a limit to the despair a human being can endure; if that limit is exceeded, they will go insane.

Karyl ran forward, gripping the stone tightly.

In the first few seconds of his run, his posture was clumsy, as if he had never run before. His knees were straight, his arms were not swinging, he did not know how to release his weight, did not know how to bend over, and even forgot how to breathe.

It wasn't until the suffocating feeling of lack of oxygen rose in his throat that he realized what had happened. Then, as if it were only natural, these things returned to his body, and a wild beast that had never been truly released finally broke free of its cage at this moment.

He ran, his long hair billowing in the wind. His skin was taut, pressed tightly against his face, his cheeks sunken, thin and sickly, his sharp canines clearly visible in his thin, bloodless lips.

He was smiling.

He was laughing in an extremely ugly and insane way.

He glided swiftly toward a tall giant whose back was turned to him.

The man wore a long white robe, his skin covered in golden scriptures. He was fighting a demon, the two locked in a Daemon battle, their bloodthirsty madness and puppet-like numbness surprisingly evenly matched in this fight.

However, neither he nor the Daemon realized Karyl's approach. It wasn't until a stone smashed open the giant's forehead that they realized a third person had entered the battle.

No, perhaps it's not human.

The Daemon was visibly stunned; it wasn't easy for its terrifying beastly head to display such human emotion. However, it didn't really matter, because nobody cared anyway.

At least the third man who had squeezed into their fight didn't care; he was busy swinging the stone and hitting the giant's head with it.

The golden-skinned giant's godlike face was quickly smeared with his own blood. He tried to stand up, but the man pressed down on him, laughing hysterically as he continued to swing the stone.

His attack was so ordinary, seemingly without any power. The size difference between him and the giant was incomprehensible, yet he smashed the giant's skull with that stone and immobilized him with just one hand.

Blood splattered, skull shattered, and the man, laughing, stretched out his left hand, panting, and ripped out a clump of pink brain. He held it up to his face, examining it closely, his expression so bizarre it almost seemed he might devour it.

But he didn't do that. He simply closed his five fingers, crushed it completely, and turned it into these. The slippery, soft tissue slipped easily between his fingers, fell to the dust without making a sound, and the giant's shattered head hit the ground.

At this moment, the battlefield, which was bustling just a second ago, suddenly fell silent. Whether it was the Daemon or the giants who had just left the drop pod and were transforming into Daemon, they all stared blankly at this place.

Karyl Lohars laughed, his voice trembling, and slowly stood up.

He convulsed and turned his head, his eyes, filled with Red Thirst and terrifying hunger, darting wildly in their sockets, unfocused yet maintaining an eerie concentration.

This focus led him to a person who was casting a teleportation spell. The person was wearing a robe that only priests would wear, and his forehead was covered with fine beads of sweat.

He clearly noticed the crazed gaze, and his already bent fingers snapped open in the next second. A burst of primal and pure energy suddenly descended from the Warp, striking precisely where Karyl Lohars was standing.

The shockwave swept across, completely destroying the church's remains, but a burst of maniacal laughter dissipated amidst the swirling dust.

A dark figure crashed through the smoke, yelling and ridiculously charging toward the former Word Bearers named Erebus.

At this very moment, the Word Bearers and the common traitor to humanity seemed to be experiencing a terrible facial muscle spasm.

He dared not relax for a moment. His robes billowed, and hundreds of pale blue souls, like specks of light, rushed out from within his robes, forced to surround him, forming an evil shield.

It is not merely composed of magic, but is forged from extremely complex knowledge and ritual science, with each point of light representing the soul of a victim. Only by completely killing them can this shield be completely broken.

It took Erebus two centuries of contemplation to create this spell, and the shield has played a crucial role in numerous battles against the Night Lords.

He precisely identified the flaw in their oath and immediately used the souls of innocents to coerce them. This allowed him to maintain the upper hand when facing them, and even when outnumbered, he could use the shield's unique properties to cast a teleportation spell and leave immediately.

However, this useful spell now faces the most serious problem since its inception.

It must confront Karyl Lohars.

The outcome was clear: amidst the shattering of the shield, Erebus scrambled away from the spot, shrouded in the screams of the dead, his heart filled with shock and rage—had the Vengeance spirits? How could this be? What had happened?

No. This can't go on. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to carve a path out of his fear-overwhelmed mind, and resolutely stepped onto it.

Erebus clasped his hands together, and psychic energy, carrying the vengeful spirits of the victims of Litatera, drifted in from the horizon, instantly forming an unprecedentedly massive shield. At the same time, a magic circle subtly emerged from beneath his feet.

This is an extremely powerful exorcism spell; the Dark Apostle even used it to exorcise named Greater Daemon from the Khorne's realm. Even their rage cannot compare to this array that directly targets the very foundation of Daemon existence in the mortal world.

The material world is ultimately the material world, not Warp belonging to them. The inanimate beings must rely on something to move freely in the real world.

Erebus believed that even Karyl Lohars could not be an exception—no, rather, only He could not be an exception.

That's what he thought, but reality wouldn't allow him to think any further. Amidst the screams of the dead and the fading light, Erebus saw a hideous face with perfect clarity.

Its master was destroying the shield with something that looked more like claws than hands. Each strike could easily scatter countless souls, and he did so without the slightest hesitation, as if he were not bound by any rules or oaths.

There was no trace of pain on his face, only a smile that showed complete acceptance of the madness.

This.

Erebus took a deep breath, forced himself to remain calm, and surprisingly managed to complete the formation quickly.

The essence of psychic energy and Chaos surged into it rapidly, and intricate patterns were outlined by blood-red light. The power of the Empyrean allowed them to exist and remain whole, but it was the knowledge and will of Erebus that brought them into existence from nothing.

He stared intently, his pupils reflecting the dark Shadow that was shattering the shield and lunging at him.

In the final second before he could touch him, Erebus clenched his fists. Radiance erupted, and the air surged and churned with an indescribable, immense power.

A glimmer of golden light vanished silently.

Erebus was completely unaware of this. He looked at the stagnant Shadow, as if regaining a sliver of confidence. The oppressive weight of fear was released in this moment—yes, ten thousand years had passed; what difference would a brief resurrection make?

The Dark Apostle smiled unconsciously, his arrogance, honed by later experiences, compelled him to stride forward, and he roared out the man's name.

"Karyl Lohars!" he roared. "I hereby renounce your existence!"

The Radiance of the magic circle shone brighter than ever before under his will, completely engulfing and enveloping him and his Shadow.

Erebus couldn't help but burst into laughter, though he immediately became alert and realized he had just been taken advantage of, but it was too late. His laughter carried clearly through the light and reached someone's ear.

A human being, not a wild beast.

The Radiance dimmed, and a thin, bony hand emerged from it, precisely grasping Erebus's shoulder, followed by a face that still carried the aura of blood, but whose expression was no longer ferocious.

The man greeted them softly in broken High Gothic.

"Hello, it's been a long time, Erebus. I still remember clearly the words you left in the ruins of Perfect City."

The teeth of the Dark Apostle began to clash. Fear? Perhaps, but more than that, disbelief and an inescapable, furious rage.

But he quickly calmed down, even changing his mindset swiftly, and managed a humble smile.

"That wasn't me, sir. I didn't do such a thing. I'm just a devout believer."

He skillfully uttered lies, spouting foolish words he himself didn't believe, while his hands, hidden within his sleeves, silently clasped together. Beneath his feet, shadows gathered and dispersed, and from within, the very form of Lorgar Aurelian rose abruptly.

His shattered skull and dislodged eyeballs were now fully restored. He swung his right fist, the immense force carrying the vast killing intent deep within Erebus's heart, and struck at Karyl's head.

Even as the situation reversed several times, and even as fear followed them like a shadow, the Dark Apostle still keenly grasped that glimmer of hope.

Regardless of what actually happened, since the expulsion array had no effect on Karyl Lohars, it proves that he did not descend into the material world through possession or other means, but rather that he possessed a genuine physical body.

A God who has taken on flesh is no longer God.

"Boom--!"

At this crucial moment, the fake's fist did not hit Karyl's head as Erebus had imagined; instead, it was firmly caught by an assault shield.

The person who possessed it was named Kaul Sahora, whose eyes were wreathed in flames.

"Don't even think about it!" The Shadow Knights roared, pushing his shield upwards and shouting as he made a desperate, point-blank shield bash.

His power combined with the roar of the Power Armour's Machine Spirit, actually causing Lorgar Aurelian to take two steps back. Erebus glared at him angrily, his left hand swiftly extending from his sleeve, a sudden flash of light appearing.

He appeared to be about to launch an attack, but the point of light rapidly expanded into an extreme flash of light, causing even Samus, who had been watching from the sidelines, to feel a stinging pain in his eyes.

When the Radiance faded, the puppet and its manipulator had vanished without a trace, leaving only dust and a circular magic circle emitting wisps of smoke.

Karyl slowly withdrew his hand, subtly concealing it in his sleeve.

At the same time, behind him, Samus, whom Erebus had left behind, let out a deafening roar—a gleaming golden sword pierced its chest, the swordsman's expression fierce, his eyes burning with raging fury.

He twisted his wrist, and flames rolled down the sword, beginning to scorch the Daemon's flesh. In a single exchange, it was reduced to nothingness. Samus struggled to turn the beast's head and uttered a name in a low voice.

Garviel Loken

Luna Wolves disdainfully drew his sword and severed its head. A flash of flame burned away the flesh and blood, and the beast's head fell to the ground, where he quickly picked it up himself.

Garviel Loken stared into those deep, empty eye sockets, his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions.

He came here with a mission of salvation. He completed his mission, but Shen has vanished.

He is gone, and how many people will know what his name embodies and his story?

Garviel Loken couldn't help but fall into memories. His newly awakened mind couldn't support his master engaging in such a strenuous activity. Emotional reactions overwhelmed him in an instant, forcing him to recall those people and events that had vanished into the long river of history.

Vivid faces, fallen lives, a world stained with blood, trenches filled with corpses.

He couldn't help but sigh, but not for himself, but for Shen.

How many people will remember his achievements after today? Will his name become a taboo again? Will his honors be erased as before? His once Radiance achievements are now like stains, pressed to the bottom of the filing cabinet, never to see the light of day again.

A hero's name has been tarnished.

Garviel Loken gripped his sword tightly, filled with anguish.

Ten thousand years was nothing to him, not even a blink of an eye. He fought for thousands of years before being buried in a stone coffin. There were many others like him, and Shen Ziran was one of them.

Now, however, he has to witness the passing of a comrade-in-arms who fought alongside him on Terra.

He was lost in grief, but no one disturbed him at that moment. The Astartes who remained on the battlefield gathered their weapons, removed their helmets, and formed a silent, bewildered crowd, enveloping a man much smaller than themselves.

The man was sitting on a rock, scrutinizing their faces one by one. They returned his gaze with equal silence, and Kaul Sahora, being closest to him, saw every detail very clearly.

Although the distance made no difference to his eyesight, seeing him in person at that distance was still...

A rather disrespectful thought slowly rose in the Chapter Master's mind—compared to the legendary towering giant, this person was far too frail.

He was practically a convict who had served hundreds of years of hardship, suffering greatly in prison.

As he pondered, Kaul carefully chose his words, and slowly opened his mouth—he wanted to say something, but he couldn't utter a single word.

He didn't even know what words to use to address the person in front of him—the legion instructor?

No, the Book of Night is a Legion-era text; we're now in the Chapter era.

Then, Primarch Father? The Emperor above—isn't that far too blasphemous?

So, should we call him by his first name, or address him as "Sir"?

He was thinking so deeply that he didn't even notice the person he was contemplating was smiling and staring at him.

"Chapter Master Kaul Sahora," Karyl Lohars spoke softly. "Acapatis, I send my greetings."

The Chapter Master suddenly looked up, his face full of astonishment.

For no apparent reason, he recalled the last two sentences of the Book of Night.

He will eventually return; so he will.

They will not forget anyone.

"Also, I know this might be a bit abrupt, but could you please issue an order to the Soul of Night?" Karyl tilted his head back and asked softly.

He had done his best to speak clearly, which was quite an achievement for someone who hadn't spoken in a long time.

However, Kaul Sahora just stared at him blankly. The young Chapter Master, whose service period was only eleven years away from the end of two centuries, seemed to have suddenly gone deaf and did not react at all.

He didn't come to his senses until someone shoved him from behind.

"Of course!" Kaul puffed out his chest and roared with great momentum, but unconsciously lowered his tone.

He lowered his head, his expression unusually serious but also unusually gentle, and asked, "Can I know why?"

"Because Erebus is heading towards your ship; his aim is the last drop of Aurelian blood carried by Uermit Urmit."

Kaul's expression changed drastically.

"No need to worry."

Karyl smiled at him, then staggered to his feet from the rock, blood gushing from his black robe like a waterfall. His skin began to crack, his muscles followed, and his tendons snapped from his bones like broken strings.

The horrifying sight caused the Chapter Master's expression to change again. The speed and force were almost beyond the limits of a human face—he hurriedly reached out to support him, a sudden chill running through him.

He could barely feel any weight in his hands; the man named Karyl Lohars was as light as a piece of paper.

"No need to worry," Karyl repeated, coughing up blood that left a brilliant trail of blood on the Chapter Master's arm guard.

He managed to utter his last words with difficulty. "Jago Sevatarion has arrived. If Erebus hadn't fled, he might have had a chance of survival. But now, he is doomed."

His words were true, though he had no prophetic abilities and was certainly not a god at this moment.

Twenty-five minutes later, his words were proven true.

Erebus and his puppet collided head-on with Jago Sevatarion in the corridor of the Soul of Night, in what is also known as, The Death of Erebus.