I Cannot See
Sanguinius continued to convey this belief, but Dante's consciousness was overwhelmed by overwhelming exhaustion and the recent blow of "gaining and losing."
He was so tired, so tired that every corner of his soul was crying out for rest.
What bright future? He couldn't see it.
He couldn't see it in the past 1,500 years, and even if he were given another 15,000 years, in that endless cycle of war and sacrifice, he still wouldn't see it!
"It's visible."
Sanguinius seemed to hear his desperate words directly, and said with unwavering certainty, "I assure you, you will see."
"No... Father... Please... spare me... Please spare me..."
Dante's "resistance" had weakened, leaving only a humble plea as he prostrated himself on the ground.
He was so tired that he had lost the strength to struggle, and all that remained was his last instinct to beg for mercy and for peace.
"Sorry."
The angel's farewell rang out in the end.
The voice was filled with resolute tenderness, as if it had compressed and poured in all the remaining strength, blessings, love and expectations in its being without reservation.
It transformed into a torrent, forcefully pouring into Dante's soul imprint, which should have dissipated, and his body, which was about to become completely cold!
Dante felt his ethereal "consciousness" being suddenly filled, stretched, and reshaped by this immense force!
The lost vitality flows back, the broken body is forcibly mended, and even the youthful vitality that has been lost over the long years reappears as if time has reversed!
"No... please... no..."
He could only utter a final, faint plea, as weak as a mosquito's buzz.
He felt himself being lifted up by that light, rising higher and higher, as if he were truly returning to the legendary, eternally peaceful heaven.
Although he knew perfectly well in his heart that he was being thrown back into that cruel material world, which he called "the cesspool of Warp."
At the last glimpse of his vision, he seemed to see that warm golden light waving to him, its voice transcending the boundary between life and death, coming clearly:
"Go for it, my child! I believe in you!"
"I... will always be by your side."
"Perhaps... I'll be going 'over there' to join you soon, who knows? Then... your burden might be much lighter..."
Dante sheds "tears," his heart filled with a sorrowful distrust.
resurrection?
To resurrect a dead man, especially an ancient warrior of his demigod-like status?
How could that be...? His father must be comforting him, or that so-called bright future is just a cruel lie to keep him going...
"No... please... Father... no--!!!"
The thick, pungent smell of gunpowder, mixed with the stench of blood, ozone, and Tyranids bodily fluids, suddenly and violently assaulted his nostrils!
The cold, hard ground came from behind, and a sharp pain instantly swept through my newly awakened nerves!
"Ugh--!!!"
Dante abruptly opened his eyes, his vision shifting abruptly from a blurry golden light to a hellish crimson sky resembling Baal's.
The instinct to survive, the excruciating pain of recovery, and the immense sense of loss as one is forcibly dragged back to reality from the depths of one's soul.
He unconsciously and violently swung his hand forward, trying to grab something, but only managed to grasp a face that was close by, stained with tears and blood— Malakim's face.
Malakim was completely stunned, tears still streaming down his face, his expression frozen between extreme grief and sudden bewilderment, making him appear even somewhat comical.
He looked at the peaceful and relieved face of the Chapter Master beneath him.
In a fleeting moment, it twisted into a complex expression that mixed endless pain, bewilderment, and a deeper weariness.
It was as if I had just woken up from the worst nightmare and been thrown into another purgatory.
"You... you're alive? My Chapter Master?"
Malakim opened his mouth, not knowing how he could have asked such a question that lacked both "emotional intelligence" and logic.
The resurrection of the dead, especially in this state, is completely contrary to any medical or Psionic Energy common sense he knew.
Dante took a few quick breaths, adjusting to his body being controlled by pain and gravity once again.
He blinked, straining to focus his vision, and finally saw the face of the Lamenters before him, a face etched with worry, surprise, and lingering grief.
His lips twitched, eventually transforming into an incredibly weary "smile" tinged with self-deprecation and dark humor.
He helplessly raised his hand, wiping away what he couldn't tell if it was lingering Psionic Energy or newly formed tears from the corner of his eye, and spoke in a hoarse voice:
"At least... it was you, Malakim, who found me, not some Techmarine or Apothecary kid rushing to meet his 'quotas'..."
He paused, as if imagining the chilling scene, his weary voice barely concealing a trace of lingering fear:
"Otherwise... if I 'wake up' again, I'm afraid I'll already be stuffed into that damned ' Dreadnought ' mech coffin."
At that time, those brats will definitely surround me and tell me with absolute certainty:
"Chapter Master, rest assured, this Dreadnought is even more advanced than Lord Berriman's! It will ensure you can fight for the Imperium for another ten thousand years!"
A dangerous glint flashed in Dante's single eye, weak yet exceptionally clear:
"If anyone had dared to say something like that to me back then... I swear, I would have used the first Bolter I could find to blast his ridiculous ass to smithereens."
The next second, before he could finish speaking, he was grabbed and hugged tightly by a tremendous force!
Malakim could no longer contain himself. Like a child who had finally found his lost parent, he tightly embraced Dante's broken body and wept bitterly, his voice hoarse and incoherent.
"You're still alive... Chapter Master! You're still alive!"
I'm sorry... I'm sorry to have pulled you back into this sad world... But I... I'm really happy! I'm really... really happy that you're still here!!!