The instant the greatsword blazing with golden fury pierced Angron's chest, another mighty power born of a god poured into his collapsing body. Like an unbreakable anchor, it pinned him-a little boat about to be swallowed by the storm-to the shallows of realspace.
The banishment stopped. Angron lowered his head in disbelief and stared at the greatsword in his chest, burning with the golden flames he knew best and hated most. For the first time, his brain, long since utterly warped by the Butcher's Nails, felt an emotion stronger than rage: humiliation.
"AAAAAAAAAAAH!"
He let out an inhuman roar more agonized, more tormented, and more filled with boundless fury and despair than any before it. He reached out with his sole remaining daemonic hand and turned toward the source of all his suffering-the white spire that still shone amid the ruins with a faint yet piercing golden psychic light, the Hymn Engine.
He gathered everything into his great axe: all the strength born of his endless humiliation and fury, the "gift" from his merciless god, the "mercy" from his wretched nemesis, and all the pain, grief, rage, and despair he had amassed over ten thousand years. Then he brought it crashing down on that symbol of order, hope, and "hypocrisy."
BOOOOOOOOM!!!
Under his world-shattering blow, the white spire snapped at its foundations, then exploded with a thunderous sound like the universe crying out in grief. Yet its explosion produced no physical shock wave. An invisible, blood-red psychic plague composed entirely of Khorne's towering hatred and endless divinity of slaughter spread furiously from the heart of the explosion, racing across the entire Malakbel System at the speed of light.
Among the surviving Imperial fleet vessels that had yet to retreat to safety, every living mortal-whether a battle-hardened Primaris Space Marine or a steadfast Sister of Battle, a revered Ministorum Priest or an iron-willed Inquisitor-heard a whisper at the same instant, rising from the deepest reaches of their souls and laden with endless temptation.
[Slaughter... blood... skulls... for... the Blood God...]
A second later, their eyes turned blood-red, and their reason was utterly consumed by the purest, most primal urge to kill. They raised their weapons, not against the enemy, but against the brothers, sisters, and comrades who had once fought beside them. Without warning, the bloodiest, most brutal slaughter of their own erupted throughout the remnants of the Imperial fleet.
Only the Sisters of Silence, born without souls, the Grey Knights, whose souls had long since been purified by the Emperor's holy light, and the Adeptus Custodes, whose wills were extensions of the Emperor's own, were truly spared the effects of this terrible murderer's curse. They stared in disbelief at the hellish scene before them. They killed, and they were killed in turn.
After the battle, when the surviving Imperial Fleet-less than forty percent of its original strength-returned to Terra with shattered hulls and wounds of the mind that could never heal, the entire Imperium was shaken. The Battle of Malakbel was declared the most devastating and tragic strategic withdrawal since the Imperium's founding. Five percent of the Indomitus Crusade's strength had been reduced to ashes in that brief battle.
But everyone knew that if the young Commissar had not used his cold, almost heretical logic at the final moment to persuade Admiral Abukhensis to order a retreat, those losses would have reached one hundred percent. If he and that mad army had not bought those precious ten-odd minutes for the fleet's withdrawal with their own flesh and blood, the entire Fourth Fleet would have met the most horrifying fate imaginable: total annihilation and corruption to the last soul.
At the cost of ten thousand lives, he had saved fully half the fleet of the Fourth Indomitus Crusade; at the cost of utter tactical defeat, he had bought the Imperium a bitter strategic victory.
Thus, on the personal recommendation of Imperial Regent Roboute Guilliman and with the unanimous approval of Terra's highest religious council, that young Commissar whose life had been filled with controversy and contradiction, that heretical leader who used the warmest words to incite the coldest slaughter, that warmonger who used the coldest logic to enact the most glorious sacrifice-Alexander von Lawrence-was posthumously canonized as an [Imperial Saint], with the title [The Burned-Out].
He and his 99th Regiment, the "Pride of Cadia," whose members were all likewise posthumously honored as Imperial heroes, became known as the [Emperor's Fireplace].
Their deeds were inscribed in the Imperium's highest heroic epics, their statues erected in the squares of countless Schola Progenium institutions, and their stories recited over and over by countless priests of the Ecclesiarchy in the lowest depths of countless hive cities. They became a legend, a dark fairy tale of family, protection, sacrifice, and redemption, steeped in blood and fire.
Meanwhile, within a pure-white void beyond time and space, Liu Zhipeng's soul slowly opened his eyes.
A cold system notification sounded deep within his soul.
[Third life: ended] [Current identity: Imperium of Man-Legion Commissar-Imperial Saint-Alexander von Lawrence (deceased)] [Behavior assessment: With a mortal body, you performed the deeds of a god. With the ultimate protective flame, you confronted the purest incarnation of rage head-on. You transformed a war destined to end in total defeat into a strategic miracle, glorious even in defeat. You profoundly embodied the ultimate meaning of "sacrifice" and "protection."] [Reward obtained: permanent passive ability-[Undying Spark].] [Ability effect: Your soul will be like a fireplace that never goes out. Any being who follows you will be kindled by your flames. They will gain unshakable courage and absolute loyalty to you, and regard dying for you as the highest honor. At the same time, when you die, you may choose to detonate your soul, using the souls of all the followers you have "kindled" as fuel to unleash a final soul explosion powerful enough to harm a god.] [Host detected to have acquired three permanent passive abilities.] [[Grandfather's Watch and Love] (Nurgle branch)] [[Heretical Leader] (Chaos Gods branch)] [[Undying Spark] (Emperor/human faith branch)] [Final evolution conditions met.] [Beginning ability fusion...] [Determining fusion direction...] [Determination complete.] [Congratulations, host. You have acquired the passive ability-[Primordial Fire].] [Ability effect: Your soul is like a flame. This effect is significantly enhanced when you face groups who are weak-willed, live at the bottom of society, or harbor despair. They will tend to trust you and see you as the hope of changing their circumstances. Your words and thoughts possess immense penetrating power, allowing you to easily identify fractures in the beliefs of a group or civilization. You can implant your own ideas like seeds. You possess exceptionally high resistance to harsh environments, allowing you to survive for long periods in desperate circumstances. Your resilience will greatly inspire the followers around you, kindling a stronger will to survive within them. The soul of any life that follows you willingly will be "lit" by your flames, becoming an "ember." They will gain extraordinary courage and loyalty. When you die, these soul "embers" will automatically detonate in sacrifice, converging into a powerful soul shock wave. Its strength depends on the number and loyalty of your followers.] [All rewards processed.] [Initiating rebirth...] [The fourth life will begin shortly...]
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