74th Black Crusade (VIII: Sacrifices and Gods)

If Kaspius was allowed to speak freely, and he really could, he would probably roar in his native dialect.💙♞ . cOpaw 🐙☟

He would tell everyone in the cabin how he was feeling and vehemently criticize its strangeness. He simply couldn't stand the bizarre sensation.

Don't get me wrong, he is certainly someone who is very open to new things, but right now, the scene before him has exceeded the limits that the word "new things" can describe.

He had seen the Eldar, with pointed ears, thin and gaunt, and each of them sounded like they were giving alms to beggars.

He had seen Daemon —and even if he hadn't, he'd heard of them. In this age, in this dark realm of space, how many people who spent their days on ships hadn't heard of them?

He's seen human mothers before—is that part of the parallel structure? He himself is human!

Caspius stared at himself, racking his brains to find an explanation to keep his composure. The explanation didn't have to be perfectly reasonable, but it had to be able to explain the current situation.

It had to explain three questions to Caspius's already fragile mind.

First, why did his friend's corpse transform into a Daemon covered in scales and feathers? Second, why did the Eldar kneel before this cloaked figure? Third, why was this cloaked figure...?

By the Emperor, why is it suddenly so cold?

Caspius's teeth began to chatter, and three seconds later, he realized that this was not an isolated phenomenon affecting only him.

Everyone he saw exhibited similar symptoms; a coldness that neither existed nor should have existed had invaded the depths of each of their veins, rubbing against them mercilessly like a sharp knife.

Then it continues to penetrate deeper, all the way to the heart or brain, freezing everything a human possesses, plunging them into an eternal winter.

Five seconds later, except for the Eldar, they all collapsed to the ground, falling into a peaceful, deathly silence and a state of blissful slumber.

There was no malice in this dream, no Xenos, no Daemon, or any of the hardships we worry about in daily life; only moonlight draped in a thin veil and darkness that brought warmth.

In this dream, they will shed the burdens of the past, and when they awaken again, they will forget that Xenos have visited, that Daemon have been born, and

Karyl raised his right hand and gently placed it on the top of the Daemon's head.

It had not completely shed its human skin; it hung loosely and bloodily on its scales and feathers, while its teeth encircled its beak like a necklace, displaying a kind of orderly madness.

The Daemon trembled as it felt his touch; every detail that made up its existence was revealing itself one by one under the gaze of some force, and no secrets could remain.

Its name is precisely dissected by the blade of nothingness from the dividing line between flesh and bone; its victims and conspiracies are grasped from the cracks of time; worlds that still exist or no longer exist scream in its Shadow, revealing its evil deeds one by one.

A hand gently ripped open its chest and pulled out a heart. Its skin was the second thing taken, and finally its bones. The pale hand stripped these things from the body it had stolen, leaving it a steaming mass of rotten flesh.

It cried out in despair, but was powerless to do anything. It could only watch as its bones were made into a balance scale, its tough skin was shattered and kneaded by fingernails to become weights. Its heart was placed on the right side of the bone scale, still beating, with dark blood dripping from it.

"Tzeentch, I extend my sincerest greetings to you," the Daemon wept.

"Um."

The weights were thrown onto the left side of the scale, darkness surged, and cries spread, stirring up a Chaos tide within the deathly silent hangar, from which Illuminarum, powerful enough to drive ordinary people mad, was born.

The Daemon screamed, its remaining flesh began to deform, and a power of the same origin, yet of unparalleled purity, entered its dried-up blood vessels from the light.

This power was so little, not even enough to summon the Changeling, yet it caused strange changes to the Daemon's remaining essence. Its flesh began to harden, and mechanical structures and flat surfaces gradually emerged in the light, replacing everything in its flesh.

Karyl tilted his head and stared at it, frowning as he looked at the small silver Rubik's Cube.

"You're still quite interesting," he said meaningfully.

"That's always been my way," a voice from within the Rubik's Cube replied, sounding utterly ordinary, almost like a phonograph.

"But I must tell you, this matter actually has little to do with me, my dear old friend."

Karyl nodded noncommittally. "You placed a wild beast inside a captain's body—and that's exactly why he died of a heart attack."

The phonograph responded to his question in a graceful tone.

"No, no, you've got the order wrong. He died of a heart attack first, and my informant only got in afterward. I have indeed lost a lot, but I certainly haven't fallen to this level."

"Like you, I am someone who has requirements regarding rituals or offerings. If I were a door, then those who can open me must be eager to learn and have a thirst for the unknown. We benefit from rules, and we are also bound by them."

"As you can see, I am merely a lowly prisoner, my friend, struggling to dance even in shackles. Have you ever seen me harm the ignorant?"

Karyl ignored its words; he merely glanced at the Rubik's Cube, which flew into his bloodied hand. He meticulously traced its surface with his fingers, sensing the secrets hidden behind each line, his eyes slightly narrowed.

Only then did he slowly begin to speak. The phonograph chuckled softly and emitted a sound at the same time.

First of all, I am not your friend.

"Of course, but I consider myself your friend. I saved you. Are you going to deny that, God of Justice?"

Secondly, I am not a god.

"It's the same old tune again, okay, yes, yes—you certainly aren't anymore. After all my careful orchestration, you can certainly proudly say it, Karyl Lohars. But humans are a race that never learns; you keep repeating the same mistakes, which is why I like you so much."

"So, what did you finally do?" Karyl asked indifferently, while the phonograph instantly turned serious.

"It depends on what you're asking. Is it your recovery, or the stories unfolding in Roboute Guilliman's territory?"

"The latter," Karyl said coldly.

His answer caused the phonograph to suddenly emit a hissing sound, like a greedy, addicted insect digging its festering nose into a pile of powder, frantically sucking out the source of stimulation.

The phonograph burst into laughter, its sound becoming ethereal and uncertain, like a roar or an aria. It seemed to have transformed into an experienced opera singer, performing its final act at the cost of its sanity and life.

It whimpered, screamed, and cried out.

Finally, it burst into maniacal laughter.

"Ah, I can already smell their complex scent. Darkness, terror, beauty, hope, depravity. The choices of humanity, the eternal wonder—can't you see it, my friend? Can't you smell the scent of ignorance emanating from those sheep?"

"Lower your head, search humbly like a mortal, Karyl. I want you to witness this unintentional poem with your own eyes. When you find the truth, we will meet again in a place where there is no darkness."

Karyl clenched his right hand, and the Rubik's Cube instantly turned to dust. A sudden breeze blew from the darkness beyond, carrying the dust into his Shadow. A flash of psionic light bound it firmly.

The scales, weights, and heart silently returned to nothingness; the deck rumbled, and the Moose's engines continued to run.

If nothing unexpected had happened, it should have taken the ship to the other side of the Five Hundred Worlds to sell the coal mines common near Andermung to those cold worlds that lacked this resource.

However, it probably can't do that anymore.

Karyl turned to look at the two Eldar. His gaze wasn't particularly gentle, but it wasn't exactly cold either. They were completely unaware of his gaze, their eyes tightly shut and their hands covering their ears.

They had already done this long before the Daemon spoke. What seemed like a childish act actually completely shut down sight and hearing.

"Do not look at what is improper, do not listen to what is improper," is that right?

"It's your turn," Karyl said.

His voice pierced through their frail self-defense without hindrance, tearing them to shreds with ease. The truth is often this cruel: before a higher level of power, their self-defense is utterly useless.

The Eldar obediently opened their eyes, lowered their arms, and stood up. One of them immediately spoke in High Gothic at just the right moment.

"Thank you for your mercy."

Its voice was respectful and so beautiful that it sounded like the voice of a court dancer. This provides glimpse into the Eldar's supposed superiority over "humans."

Karyl watched it indifferently, carefully observing its face, from its human-like yet more refined features to its smooth, white skin.

His gaze was not aggressive, as calm as a windless lake, yet it suddenly filled the Eldar with fear.

Forcing itself to remain calm, it said in a trembling voice, "I beg you—"

Its companion continued, "--We came in good faith."

Karyl shook his head, raised his still blood-soaked right hand, pointed at the crowd, and pointed precisely at Caspius with his index finger.

"That's ridiculous, Eldar. If Caspius could hear this, he'd probably laugh himself hoarse. He's a well-informed man by any standard, but he hasn't become any more enlightened."

"Quite the opposite is true. The more he sees, the more he hates you. He's seen your self-degrading compatriots countless times in his life, from one edge of the galaxy to another, from one planet to another, like seeing bedbugs in his own territory."

"And he was just a small merchant's bodyguard captain. Within the Imperium, there are countless people like him. Hatred doesn't come from nowhere, Eldar. Even setting aside what happened in the Old Night, you certainly didn't come with goodwill."

He smiled contemptuously, a smile so sharp it was unlike anything he would ever show.

"In other words, you're being so friendly because you need something from me. So tell me, what is your purpose?"

--

Roboute Guilliman stared intently at the light screen in front of him, focused and peaceful, as if he were reading a book.

His current Chapter Master, Tigris Decken, stood behind him, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his stern face filled with coldness.

The light screen flickered, and two Eldar appeared on it. They stood stiffly, their lips moving as if they were conversing with someone. But there was no sound in the room. Portraits of the Emperor and King Conno hung high on the overflowing bookshelves, gazing at everything without comment.

A few minutes later, the light screen went out, and Roboute Guilliman let out a long sigh of relief and stood up from behind his desk.

He agreed to Karyl's proposal, but as a very shrewd politician, he was quite adept at bargaining.

After alternating between his identities as the Lord of Macragge and Konrad Curze Curze's brother, he successfully persuaded Karyl to place a hidden mechanical device under his cloak.

This is a success, even though Karyl turned it on much too late and didn't activate the recording function, it's still a victory to some extent—at least it prevented him from getting another chance to shake hands.

He chuckled softly at the joke, which wasn't really a joke. Deken looked at his Primarch and asked worriedly, "We can move out at any time, my lord."

"No need for that, it's a waste of fuel. He's already taken care of it, you saw it, Deacon." Roboute Guilliman turned and smiled slightly at his Chapter Master.

"He handled it cleanly and beautifully, just as he promised—no bloodshed whatsoever—so why should we rush in and waste ammunition killing all the remaining Xenos on that ship?"

Deakin nodded silently. Roboute Guilliman looked away, tapped the table thoughtfully, and said, "However, we need to prepare a cell."

"Primarch?"

"Didn't you read lips? The last thing those two Xenos said was, 'Please let us help you—in other words, get my Xenos advisor. We'll meet on deck twenty-five.'"

"Mortarion, you have won again."

Roboute Guilliman turned and strode out of his office. Tigris Decken lowered his head, pretending not to hear the Primarch's mutter at the end of his sentence, and used the ship's intercom on his desk to call Third Company Captain Janus Adiyas, then quickly followed.