28 Statues Shattered, the Dead Revived (13)

Erebus thought he would never feel fear again; ever since he strangled the person whose name he had taken, fear had vanished from him.

He remembers that day, and he will always remember it.

Colchis, a scorching desert, dry alleyways, a dirty, damp, smelly town of shantytowns, dust, and corrugated iron sheets. And the rope he clutched tightly in his hands, a rope that had been around someone else's neck.

The man's face was bluish-purple, and his tongue was swollen and drooping from his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot, almost popping out of their sockets, his fingernails were all broken, and his fingers were rubbed raw and bleeding from the very useful rope.

That's how Erebus got its name.

He murdered the man, threw his body into an alley, and took his name, clothes, identity, and even the scriptures tattooed on his body to a church in Colchis.

His reason for doing so was simple: he had witnessed firsthand the privileged lives of priests in the church. He longed for greenery, comfortable underwear, purses full of gold coins, and delicious food.

He also wanted to be like them, standing in the Garden of Nurgle, head held high, receiving a glass of red wine from someone else and drinking it all in one gulp.

Of course, this was only the initial pursuit. Soon, his desires began to swell, to a point that even he himself could hardly understand.

But what's the problem? Whether he understands or not is irrelevant; all he needs to do is satisfy this ever-expanding desire—murder, scheming, climbing over the efforts of others and mocking their incompetence.

He just loved these things, these things that were despised, insulted, and even hated. He loved them so much, as if he was born for these sweet poisons.

However, even Erebus had pondered this anomaly.

Ultimately, he came to the same old conclusion: it doesn't matter.

Even if the Four Gods were playing tricks behind his back, it wouldn't matter. He liked this kind of life, these days, and the tears of everyone who suffered because of what he had done.

Therefore, from this perspective, he might be the first person in history to achieve a win-win situation with the Dark Gods. Erebus laughed heartily at this.

What followed unfolded perfectly, his plan working flawlessly. Terra shattered, the gods ascended their thrones, the Imperium froze, and the vast galaxy was now utterly shrouded in darkness.

Erebus, however, was not satisfied; he wanted more. For the next ten thousand years, he tried to satisfy himself, but he never succeeded.

Compared to the satisfaction of witnessing Terra's shattering amidst the tides of Chaos and the battle of the gods, any other conspiracy is utterly insignificant.

Even if he turned the world that those noble Primarch swore to protect into charred remains in front of them, it could not compare to this satisfaction.

He couldn't help but start to imagine more, such as Terra being completely wiped out, and the Fortress Wall in the galaxy and the so-called protectors stationed there drowning in a sea of blood.

The most crucial point is that he had to do this in front of the Emperor.

It has to be this way, otherwise this matter will no longer seem so interesting, and it will no longer qualify as his new life goal.

However, Erebus was even clearer about something else—if he really wanted to do it, he couldn't succeed in his current state.

He must go further.

Therefore, at this moment, he stands here, on the roaring deck of the Soul of Night, with the skin of Lorgar Aurelian following behind him.

Moreover, they were filled with fear, anger, and shame.

He thought he would never have any fears again, but now it seems he was wrong, terribly wrong.

For the past ten thousand years, he has never boasted of his greatest honors, nor has he ever mentioned the name Karyl Lohars.

In retrospect, this may have been a self-protective mechanism deep within him, buried by an inexplicable sense of pride.

His instincts always knew why the name wasn't mentioned, but his emotions transformed this instinctual self-preservation into a tremendous arrogance.

Yes, I outwitted a deity, and I will consider it a trivial part of my great achievements. That's the truth; I have no fear of Him, only contempt.

The Dark Apostle clenched his fists, panting, his blood rushing to his head, and the shame that welled up in his mouth turned into a low curse.

The power of Chaos surged forth, drawing upon it to form spell after spell, blocking the relentless onslaught of the Soul of Night: frost, blades, and surging undead.

Nothing could harm him or stop him from moving forward.

Erebus understood that he still had a chance—although the fragment had caused some unexpected changes, the drop of blood was still under his control.

The Shadow Knights made a huge mistake; they mobilized all their forces to kill him, leaving the Soul of Night's defenses pitifully weak at this moment.

The Dark Apostle couldn't help but laugh again, not because the plan was about to succeed, but because he was mocking his own foolishness.

He knew perfectly well that the Tzeentch was currently in His Crystal Palace, thoroughly pleased with what had just happened.

But so what?

What power can stop me? What can prevent me from taking what I want?

Erebus suppressed his laughter, put the failure behind him, and began to focus wholeheartedly on the puppet.

The imposter walked past him expressionlessly, its instincts kicking in, even though the ancient and strange warship beneath its feet was doing its best to hide.

It is only natural for a person to want to get back what he has lost.

The puppet silently walked in a certain direction, or rather, along a path twisted in the darkness. At the end of this path, the scent of a drop of blood wafted towards them.

Erebus sensed it through the puppet's sense of smell and almost felt a moment of disorientation.

He was almost transported back to a day in his memory when he was wearing thick monk's robes and watching the Son of God give a radiant speech in a city conquered by Lorgar Aurelian.

A fervent crowd surrounded him, even taking pride in kissing the path he walked. Erebus stood in the crowd, smelling the sweet scent of honey or milk emanating from the anointed one.

Looking back now, perhaps he had already vaguely realized this at that moment.

But look at the present, look at that skin that he controls.

The Dark Apostle slowly extended a smile, imitating the scriptures others had etched onto his skin, which remained gleaming even after ten thousand years. They were initially painted with pigment, but now they had seeped into his very bones.

Everything has changed, but one thing remains the same: he still has everything firmly in his grasp. Even if there are occasional oversights, that's to be expected; even the Tzeentch cannot execute a perfect plan.

He easily forgave his minor failure and followed the puppet toward the tightly closed door.

The blood waited silently behind it, all was so quiet, but Erebus took a deep breath of the cold air that smelled of ashes.

They filled his three lungs until they could no longer expand, at which point Erebus slowly exhaled this long breath.

He smiled, shook his head, and unsurprisingly turned around to see Jago Sevatarion.

"How did you get here? A teleportation spell? Or did our great Corpse Emperor help you?" he asked, his tone intimate as if he were chatting with an old friend.

Sevatar did not answer; he simply activated the chainsaw and plunged it headfirst into the deck beneath his feet.

The monomolecular saw blade clashed with the enchanted steel, producing a sharp, almost screaming sound. Mars flew, casting his long Shadow on the wall.

Half a second later, the twisted and bizarre Shadow raised its hands, removed a helmet, and a cold air current swirled past them, falling into the deep darkness of the corridor, becoming like the howl of a wild beast.

Erebus stared at the pale face and sighed softly.

"You should be smiling," he said. "Isn't this the moment you've been dreaming of? Being alone with me, finally having the chance to kill me and end it all."

Sevatar threw off his helmet and slowly pulled the chainsaw from the ground.

His expression was calm yet indifferent, as if he were ignoring Erebus's words. It was as if he hadn't come here for Vengeance, nor was he facing one of the most infamous traitors in human history.

It was as if he had only come to kill something insignificant, or a worthless reptile.

It was an obvious attempt to provoke them, but Erebus readily accepted it.

"You've become arrogant, Jago."

The Dark Apostle gently raised his hands, and the guise of Lorgar Aurelian responded once more to the illusory dog whistle, standing before him and raising his fists.

"However, coming alone will likely be the biggest mistake of your life. You must kill my Primarch before you can kill me, my dear nemesis. A father protecting his son is a natural tradition."

Amidst the heavy thud of the counterfeit's armor, Erebus couldn't help but burst into wild laughter.

"Tell me, Jago Sevatarion, did your father uphold this tradition?!"

Sevatar still did not answer, but simply raised his weapon and stepped into battle.

He was calm and rational, as resolute as steel. His enemy, the unarmed imposter, however, merely swung his fists mechanically and numbly.

This may seem like an unfair battle, but Primarch is Primarch. Even without his soul, armor, or weapons, he can still gain the upper hand in battle using only his own strength.

Erebus turned around with satisfaction and placed his right hand on the door. The scene was similar, but this time, no force could stop him from pushing it open.

The sound of steel scraping against steel rang out the next moment. Erebus's power began to destroy the door that refused to open for him. He stepped inside, oblivious to the ever-changing environment around him.

The spells left behind by the Shadow Knights' Librarian here were dispelled and destroyed one by one by him. Psionic energy merged with psionic energy, and Chaos energy roared in, taking them all into its grasp.

The ritual was destroyed, the magic circle was shrouded in filth, and finally, the Dark Apostle walked step by step to a standing iron coffin.

He reached out and stroked its uneven top cover.

He already sensed it.

He clenched his fist, trembling, and then threw a punch. The lid of the iron coffin flew off, and an Astartes, eyes closed and no longer breathing, appeared before him. The golden light between the man's brows was so dazzling, so radiant.

Finally, finally

Erebus exhaled a soft breath, flicked his finger, and the dog whistle sounded again. The skin that had been locked in a fierce battle with Jago Sevatarion immediately retreated, turning into a shadow and disappearing back to his feet.

Radiance shone from his hand, and the Dark Apostle laughed as he dragged the already dead sergeant from the iron coffin. He turned around, gently placed his right foot on the sergeant's face, and bowed gracefully to Sevatar.

The hollow shell of Lorgar Aurelian rose from his back, his bones and muscles vanishing without a trace in the crack, as if it were just a thin layer of skin, within which the power of Chaos surged wildly.

A pre-prepared ritual array began to operate, forcing Lorgar's body to undergo a horrifying transformation. The towering giant was thus reduced to a point of Radiance and fell into the hands of Erebus.

Then, in the sudden burst of golden light, the drop of blood between the sergeant's brows slowly appeared.

Erebus twisted his lips into a smile, then eagerly reached out and grabbed it.

"It seems the outcome is already decided, Jago."

He gasped for breath, desperately thirsty yet forcing himself to remain calm as he spoke. His entire face was completely distorted, making him look like a slave from ancient legends, thrown into a pit of worms to be punished.

A swarm of insects called desire rampaged through his veins, tearing his body until it bled profusely, and he accepted it all.

Sevatar watched him, saying nothing, merely observing coldly. He watched indifferently as the Dark Apostle swallowed the drop of blood and Radiance, watching him grow taller and his appearance change.

Watching him gradually, bit by bit, transform from Erebus into the likeness of Lorgar Aurelian.

Only then did he utter his first words.

"You're not the only madman in this universe, Erebus."

"That's what Sevatar said," he said, pointing to himself. He listened to the sound of the Dark Apostle's flesh twisting and turning, and then slowly began to speak.

"Me too, and I hope you don't forget this. Besides, I've been hunting you for ten thousand years. In other words, there's no one else in this universe who knows you better than me. Do you really think I can't see what kind of beast you are?"

Erebus roared and hunched over. He wanted to answer Sevatar's question, but the dramatic changes brought about by the promotion rendered him speechless.

The spells he created from the knowledge he acquired from Tzeentch at a great cost were running at high speed. The Tzeentch had not Deceit him in this matter; in fact, he had even added more things to the deal that did not require him to pay a price.

Erebus, of course, did not use them; he simply hadn't expected that the most fickle of the Dark Gods would actually help him wholeheartedly.

The spell was so effective that he could clearly feel the changes in his soul and flesh.

He almost cried; for the first time in his life, he felt this urge, simply because his eyes were turning toward "Lorgar Aurelian".

The Seventeenth Primarch, Son of God, Man of Radiance

So, is this what it feels like to be a child of God? With just a cursory glance, one can see every discordant speck of psionic energy in the air.

However, what arose after the impulse to shed tears was a surge of furious contempt.

You once possessed this power, Lorgar Aurelian.

And what did you do with them?

Erebus clenched his fists in disbelief, feeling the power suddenly surging within his still-changing body, the vibrant life force emanating from the Primarch's blood, and its extraordinary self-healing ability. A surge of jealous resentment rose within him.

You were so pampered, so blessed, born different from everyone else, yet you wasted it all.

He clenched his fists, raised his head, and slowly closed his eyes. The psionic energy belonging to Lorgar Aurelian trembled and swirled around him, as if draping him in a golden veil.

The powerful physique of the Son of God was faintly visible beneath him, and Lorgar's face was incredibly handsome, yet now it revealed an expression he had never shown before.

It was a complex expression, a mixture of malice, jealousy, and pleasure, that utterly ruined his handsomeness, making him look bizarre and twisted.

Erebus was completely intoxicated by the thrill of this ascension. He could even hear the praise of the four gods, who were cheering for his actions in the Warp.

Khorne was pleased with his courage in committing such a patricidal act of defiance, Tzeentch admired his wisdom, Slaanesh was extremely curious about his current experience, and even Nurgle praised the despair he would one day sow throughout the galaxy.

However, the very next moment, Jago Sevatarion's voice, which he had deliberately ignored, shattered this hard-won enjoyment.

Do you remember Angron Tai?

Erebus closed his eyes and smiled with Lorgar's face on his face.

"Of course I remember," he said in Lorgar's voice. "How could I forget this sole traitor? How shameful it was that he dared to betray his father! I will forever etch him on the pillar of shame."

"It's good that you haven't forgotten him," Sevatar said. "He's waited ten thousand years for this day."

--What?

Erebus tried to think, but he no longer had the time or inclination to think, for when he opened his eyes, he saw the long-dead Angron Te.

He stood before him, his body formed from burning golden light. Behind him were countless identical, illusory souls. They had all borne that drop of blood, willingly bearing it and dying for it throughout the long ten thousand years.

And then, we arrived at today.

In the next second, the silent souls transformed into specks of light and surged into the body that Erebus had stolen, and he couldn't even refuse.

No father would refuse his son, even if that father had been devoured to the last shred of his being, leaving only a drop of blood still being digested.

Golden light burst forth, illuminating everything. Erebus suddenly screamed in agony, his face almost transparent in the dazzling Radiance.

Jago Sevatarion closed his eyes, began to count silently, and waited quietly. He heard the sounds of flesh being torn apart, someone's screams, and finally, a panicked outburst of curses, as well as a low hum.

He understood that it was the sound of the souls of every Aurelian's Sons had carried the blood of the Primarch over the past ten thousand years disintegrating. They were willing to become nourishment to completely revive that drop of blood.

Revive through the will of humanity, the hope of humanity, and the love of a son for his father, not through the Chaos forces of the Warp or the blood sacrifice of living beings.

This was the last thing they could do for their father.

Only

Sevatar slowly opened his eyes and saw Erebus, covered in blood, lying on his back on the ground. Lorgar's form had disappeared, leaving only his original appearance.

The Dark Apostle was struggling to stand up, but the immense backlash from the interrupted ritual completely destroyed his body, leaving him as frail as an old man, only able to keep trying.

Sevatar couldn't help but laugh. He stepped forward and picked up a golden stone from Erebus's hand. He held the chainsaw in his hand, but instead of killing Erebus, he simply looked at him calmly.

Several minutes passed before he finally spoke.

"First, I know you're using your remaining psionic energy to contact your subordinates, instructing them to board the Soul of Night so you can be rescued."

"I congratulate you on this, Erebus, because I won't stand in the way of this plan. I won't even order my brothers to board the ship and stop you. There will only be you and me on this ship."

He finally smiled.

"Do you know why?" Sevatar asked in unusually soft Nostraman.

The air began to tremble. He reached out, and in a flash of fury, a mask was placed on his face. It was a pale, skeletal face with golden lines drawn on its forehead, exuding unparalleled nobility. Yet, the eyes within its sockets were as black as those of a demon from hell.

Sevatar switched back to High Gothic, laughing as he kicked Erebus in the face, "Because you still owe a blood debt. Only after you've paid it off will it be time for me to settle accounts with you."

He turned and left, but a word in Nostraman drifted over and reached Erebus's ears.

"Revenge is a form of revenge; there are no taboos."

With an indescribable shriek, the Soul of Night suddenly trembled, as if it had been hit by Macro-cannon. It had been imbued with a Chaos power for ten thousand years, and now, it embraced its new mission without any burden.

It was no longer a warship, but an altar. It accepted it willingly, for it too had a grudge to settle.

The Veil separating the two worlds began to shake. Erebus struggled to his feet, trembling as he grabbed the iron coffin, but accidentally knocked it to the ground, falling inside as well.

Darkness descended instantly, enveloping him. Crimson fragments of hatred whistled past, and one illusory screen after another flickered before his eyes.

The images displayed on those screens were all the evil deeds committed by Erebus when he manipulated the body of Lorgar Aurelian.

They flickered, vanished, and continued endlessly, but Erebus's face twisted more and more as he realized what this scene before him truly meant.

But how is that possible?

Lorgar was clearly dead.

Panting, the Dark Apostle struggled to his feet once more. The backlash he had suffered was rapidly healing with the help of the Chaos power; however, the millions of hatred-filled fragments gathering opposite him were also quickly coalescing.

In a mere five seconds, a colossal, distorted monster stood in place. Undoubtedly, it belonged not to any of the Dark Gods; it was merely an echo cast by a demigod tormented for millennia.

It should not have taken shape until someone awakened it with the power of hatred and provided it with ample flesh and blood from the sins it had to commit in the past.

The mutilated face of "Lorgar Aurelian" slowly emerged from the center of the monster's body. His eyes were two empty holes, his teeth were sharp as steel blades, and his face was covered with fiery, burning hellish scripture.

"E--Re-Bass--!"

It roared and began to charge.

Without hesitation, Erebus turned and ran.