A day later, Sepulk's Throne Room.
Deathstroke sat silently on the golden throne, leaning back in the darkness. The grand hall was very quiet. Long black-and-yellow banners hung from the pillars, gently stirred by a breeze from nowhere.
His red eyepieces brightened and dimmed with his breathing in the shadows, flickering like ghostly flames.
The palace doors opened, followed by rapid footsteps and Gin's voice:
"So you were here. Why didn't you turn on the lights?"
As though those words had triggered some keyword, the hall became brightly illuminated the very next second. Blinding golden light descended from the ceiling, making Deathstroke himself shine brilliantly. Countless Skull Servitors shaped like baby angels flew out from nowhere and began playing aria-like hymns.
The grand melody of an organ echoed through the hall as poems praising the Emperor were sung in a mighty chorus.
The new song chiefly described the Emperor's wrath becoming thunderbolts, while the bones of xenos lay prostrate upon the ground. Humanity's father was wise and mighty, and countless universes would ultimately bask in His grace.
Su Ming looked at the woman speechlessly. So this was the result of turning on the lights.
Gin smiled and shrank her neck slightly, as if she knew she was in the wrong—though she looked more like she was enjoying his misfortune. She walked toward her man, climbed the red-carpeted steps, and casually sat on the throne's armrest.
"Don't you like being praised? I think the song and lyrics are quite good. In my memory, even Odin liked watching plays commemorating his great achievements."
"That's why he died." Su Ming removed his mask and took out a cigarette, placing it between his lips. Strangle immediately extended a tiny tendril to light it for him. "There's no benefit in wallowing in the past.