The sudden arrival of the Dark Angels Chapter, with several ancient Dreadnoughts joining the fray, instantly turned the tide of the entire battlefield.
The Daemon Primarch, in particular, received special attention. Not only was he besieged by several Contemptor Dreadnoughts, but he also faced the most troublesome opponent: Ezekiel, the Chief Librarian of the Dark Angels Chapter, whose psychic prowess was truly astonishing.
His wide-ranging psychic abilities cleared an offensive zone for the Dark Angels and, what's more, constantly suppressed the Daemon Primarch, causing him to frequently rage impotently, yet he found it difficult to break through the tight defensive line formed by the Contemptor Dreadnoughts.
grandmaster of Repentance Asmodai personally led the elites of the Deathwing, like a sharp blade, tearing open the encirclement of Khorne Daemons.
However.
As the Sons of the Forest trembled, treading on thin ice, fearing they would be dragged back, the grandmaster of Repentance merely gazed at them for a moment, then let out a cold snort, and continued to lead his Chapter members to help stabilize their battle line.
"This isn't over!"
He suppressed his anger, his voice low and hoarse, like sharp objects scraping together.
"Not one of you is allowed to die. You all must to live well!!!"
As he spoke, as if venting, he swung his power hammer, smashing a Bloodletter, then turned with a sneer to face the Khorne Daemons.
"As for you—you chaotic scum, do you really think you're worthy of interfering in our affairs?!"
It was then that Krast noticed that these reinforcing Dark Angels, including the Supreme grandmaster, the grandmaster of Repentance, the Chief Librarian, and the grandmaster of the Deathwing, were almost all wounded, clearly having endured many battles.
"Are you all right?" Suddenly, a voice came. Krast turned to look and saw the one-armed grandmaster of the Ravenwing. His gaze searched left and right for a moment, and the light in his eyes dimmed slightly.
"Malven, he—"
"I'm sorry," Krast sighed softly, a hint of regret on his face.
"Malven sacrificed himself to cover our retreat, forcibly trapping the Daemon Primarch, which bought us time—"
The grandmaster of the Ravenwing remained silent, his heart very complex. Their hatred for the Fallen was no less than their hatred for Chaos, yet now they had been saved by the Fallen.
The complexity of these feelings was inexpressible.
Azrael strode over, glancing at the heavily wounded Krast, his tone filled with extreme sarcasm.
"I was wondering who it was that could mobilize so many 'Fallen Angels.' Turns out it's the famous 'Former Knight-Captain of the Angelic Blades.'"
"Azrael."
Krast also recognized the other party.
"It's me."
Azrael sneered.
"Last time, you saved us. This time, we've repaid it."
It turned out that after receiving the intelligence that the Ravenwing had desperately transmitted, the First Company of the Dark Angels Chapter, the Deathwing, had rushed forward under the leadership of Supreme grandmaster Azrael.
They had crossed hundreds of kilometers, endured dozens of bloody battles, large and small, to finally arrive at the Daemon Forge Palace in time!
And the grandmaster of the Ravenwing had successfully held out until reinforcements arrived, but the cost was—the entire Ravenwing was decimated, with less than one in ten surviving.
Witnessing the Ravenwing, who had been holding out for reinforcements and were severely damaged under the siege of the Chaos legions, the awakened ancient Dreadnoughts immediately fell into a frenzy.
Thus, even Azrael couldn't dissuade them. These ancient Contemptor Dreadnoughts, like battering rams, forcibly crushed several Chaos strongholds, trampling the chaotic scum inside into meat paste, and then fought their way up to the Daemon Forge Palace.
Krast, who could imagine the difficulties involved, nodded in silence.
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me."
Azrael sneered.
"You should thank yourself. After all these years—you still have the audacity to live. I don't know who gave you the courage to even dare to run in front of us. Don't think that saving us once can atone for the sins you've committed!"
Facing the Supreme grandmaster's sarcasm and the implied threat in his words, Krast initially felt a little worried.
But then he thought about it again and realized something was wrong.
Damn it, they weren't Fallen anymore, what was there to be afraid of!
So, he also sneered.
"You'd best speak with more respect. Who are the 'Fallen Angels'? We have already received the Lion's pardon. We are now 'Angels of Salvation,' and—we are no longer Dark Angels. We are 'Sons of the Forest,' and it's not for you, the Supreme grandmaster of the Dark Angels, to lecture us!"
"???"
This statement infuriated Azrael.
"Who? Who did you say pardoned you?"
"The Lion!" Krast, hearing this, proudly raised his head, looking directly into Azrael's bewildered eyes, his lips curving into an uncontrollable, wild grin.
"The Lord of the First Legion, the Genetic Primarch, the Emperor's Eldest Son, Lion El'Jonson, he has returned from his slumber, has discerned the truth of what happened back then, and has pardoned our sins!"
Azrael's heart felt as if thunder had struck.
His mind went blank for a few seconds. If there was a pleasant surprise, it wasn't entirely so. The news of the Lion's coming home was indeed heartening.
But what followed was—fear!
Deep fear, mixed with guilt, swept over Azrael like water, as if an invisible hand had gripped his heart.
If—if the Lion truly had returned, and he learned of all the events that had transpired on Caliban over the years, and even the reasons for the Dark Angels' current perilous situation, how could he face his genetic father?
He dared not imagine the genetic father's disappointed gaze!
"You, you mean—the Lion, has returned?" Supreme grandmaster Azrael still found it hard to imagine, swallowing hard, his entire mouth filled with dryness and bitterness, his pupils shaking like an earthquake.
"That's right! The Lion has already returned!" Krast's gaze was firm as he said in a deep voice.
"And the Lion has already led a portion of the Sons of the Forest to reinforce the Rock. Once communications are restored, you can verify it."
Azrael completely panicked.
He knew that Krast would never lie about this, nor would he use the Lion's name to deceive them.
Before, he had been puzzled. When had these rats, the Fallen, dared to challenge them? It turned out—their backer had arrived!
"The Lion already knows what you've done."
Seeing the Supreme grandmaster's face filled with shock and fear, Krast felt an immense satisfaction, like being splashed with cold water on a scorching summer day. He couldn't help but gloat.
"You'd best hurry and think about how you're going to explain to the Lion all the mistakes the Dark Angels Chapter has made over these ten thousand years because of you!"
""
Azrael's pupils trembled slightly.
He didn't fear atonement, nor did he fear death, but he feared the Lion's disappointment in them, his sons, after learning of all the Dark Angels' actions over these ten thousand years.
"Still chatting? Are you all sick in the head?!"
Suddenly, an angry roar came.
Krast and Azrael, who were staring at each other, including the grandmaster of the Ravenwing, Asmodai, and Ezekiel, all looked in the direction of the sound.
They saw a figure at the Brass Altar fiercely clashing with the massive, blood-red figure, each time almost risking his life.
"Are your eyes just for decoration? Can't you see I'm getting beaten up here? Hurry up and help, I'm about to collapse!!!"
The speaker was Emrys.
He was risking his life to hold back the Daemon Primarch Angron, not so these people could reminisce about their past glorious years here.
It wasn't until Emrys' roar that Azrael noticed a massive, bloody figure standing on the brass altar nearby, radiating a terrifying pressure, thick bloodlust, and sulfurous stench that far surpassed the Daemon Prince blocking the way!
Boom!
Another loud bang, and shockwaves filled the Blood Palace.
Amidst the roaring dust and smoke, Emrys was dragged back by a humanoid shockwave, knocked back dozens of meters by the bloody figure, and slammed into a pillar, deeply embedding himself within it.
The ground of the Blood Palace trembled, and the bloody figure gradually became clear, fully entering everyone's vision.
Giant daemon wings, blood-red nails embedded in his skull, every bulging muscle like hard steel, scorching heatwaves spreading with the bloodlust, the ground corroding where his feet landed, and the two twisted horns reaching for the sky were covered in malevolent Chaos runes.
His mountain-like body was imbued with an ineffable Chaos power!
His mere aura made the battle-hardened Azrael, including the Dark Angels, feel a deep-seated… fear.
That was… the Daemon Primarch, Angron!
For a a second, Azrael gasped.
"How could he be here?!" It wasn't just him; Ezekiel, Asmodai, Belial, and the other high-ranking Dark Angels all looked at Krast with incredulous eyes.
"…Hasn't he always been here?!" Krast was also puzzled. Such a large daemon—were your eyes completely blind when you came in?
"I'm asking, why is a Daemon Primarch here?!" Azrael twitched his mouth. He couldn't very well say that their attention had been focused on the Fallen Angels after they entered, and they hadn't paid much attention to the bloody figure, could he?
"The Chaos summoning ritual—we thought we could stop it, but we failed—" Krast said rapidly, "His target is Merlin Emrys, the grandmaster of the Sons of the Forest. The Lion commanded us to protect him no matter what before he left!"
These few brief sentences made Azrael keenly aware that this was an opportunity to redeem himself.
Seeing the critical situation, he couldn't care about much else, so he immediately ordered.
"Ezekiel, Belial, Asmodai, and Sammael, follow me to provide support; the rest of you hold your ground!"
This lineup was arguably the most luxurious the Dark Angels could muster at the moment.
Ezekiel, Chief Librarian of the Chapter.
Belial, grandmaster of the Deathwing.
Asmodai, Chief Interrogator-Chaplain.
Sammael, grandmaster of the Ravenwing!
Coupled with him, the Supreme grandmaster, it was almost an all-out effort.
However, even with this luxury lineup, Azrael still didn't believe their chances of victory were high; in fact, he could say they were still very low!
Simply because that was a Daemon Primarch!
Unlike Daemon Princes, every Daemon Primarch was once a son of the Emperor, and this meant that they too were a 'god'!
Everyone says the Thirteenth Primarch is weak in a one-on-one fight, but what's the truth?
When the Thirteenth Primarch, Guilliman, first awoke, he almost overwhelmingly tore apart dozens of Chaos Space Marines of the Word Bearers Legion, then, even when ambushed, nearly beat a Chaos Lord to death with his bare hands.
The combat power of a Primarch was evident.
They could even overturn a main battle tank with their bare hands, withstand direct heavy artillery bombardment, and even tear apart Space Marines in Terminator armor with their bare hands. A mere few hundred Space Marines were nothing more than 'mortals' in front of a Primarch!
And the Daemon Primarch Angron, imbued with Chaos power by Khorne, the Butcher God of Chaos, was even more terrifying, an existence that Space Marines could never hope to defeat.
In other words, under other circumstances, the only way to expel a 'Daemon Primarch' would be to suppress him with an overwhelming number of Space Marines, to literally pile bodies high enough to kill him!
But now, not to mention that even combining the numbers of the Dark Angels Chapter and the Sons of the Forest Chapter wouldn't fill this void, there were also Khorne's daemon legions and the world Eaters Legion lurking around!
As he pondered, Azrael had already charged forward, wielding the blessed holy relic, the treasure of the Dark Angels Chapter, the 'Blade of Secrets' gifted by the Robe-clad figure, and he swung it at Angron's right leg.
Angron's mind was filled with 'Emrys'; he didn't notice these few people at all.
Unaware, his right leg was suddenly struck by the blade.
Despite being a daemon's body, the sword was no ordinary object; it managed to cut through Angron's thick, hard skin, opening a bloody gash.
Angron's stride faltered, and his Hammer Skulls swung down.
Boom!
Missing by just half an inch, the axe blade grazed Emrys, and its furious power carved a gash into the brass altar.
While Angron stumbled, Chief Librarian Ezekiel began chanting spells, and a torrent of psychic energy surged from a Warp rift, transforming into surging gravity that pressed down on Angron's body.
Buzz!!!
The surging torrent of gravity firmly pinned Angron to the ground, preventing him from rising.
But Angron's rage grew even more violent. He let out a deafening roar, his muscles tensed, unleashing an unimaginable brute force. The entire brass altar trembled, as if it were about to be shattered by his sheer strength.
"Quick!"
Ezekiel's voice was hoarse.
He knew a Daemon Primarch would be terrifying, but he never expected that merely suppressing him for a second would almost completely drain him.
"I'll help you—!" Emrys gritted his teeth, disregarding the cost, and once again cast "Crimson Chains of Cyttorak."
Iron chains flew through the air, falling like a spiderweb, binding Angron's limbs. Pulling from all directions, they caused the struggling Angron to be forcefully dragged down with a crash, falling onto the brass altar again.
"Now!!!" Ezekiel and Emrys, both exerting their utmost effort, barely managed to control the enraged Angron.
Azrael, Belial, Sammael, and Asmodai naturally wouldn't lady this rare opportunity; four figures simultaneously charged forward.
"Die, heretic!!!"
"Go to hell and repent to the Emperor!"
Swords, fists, and hammers, combining the strength of many, all struck Angron's head while he was restrained!
However.
The result was unacceptable to everyone.
Angron's bulging muscles made his neck like steel; the sword, great hammer, and power fist, all delivered with full force, struck him, erupting in dazzling sparks. They failed completely to, as imagined, sever the Daemon Primarch's head and banish him back to the Warp.
Restrained, Angron's eyes became even bloodier, terrifying bloodshot veins filling his pupils, as if substantial fire ignited within them.
He glared at these lowly beings, and the excruciating pain of the Butcher's Nails drove him completely mad.
"Ahhh!!!"
With a thunderous crash, the brass altar finally gave way, shattered by Angron's roaring brute force!
Visible gales of wind violently spread outwards from Angron, layers of bloodlust like steel blades, striking armor and producing deafening sounds. Everyone was thrown back by this surge of air, falling around the collapsed brass altar.
Immediately after, a figure emerged from the ruins of the brass altar, a massive Hammer Skulls dragging on the ground, making a chilling scraping sound—it was Angron!
He had completely succumbed to being a slave to rage!
"Do you think—you can kill me?!"
A storm-like roar made the surrounding space violently tremble, terrifying air currents spread like a tsunami, and the Blood Palace, in this roar, had its dome collapse, and the ground cracked and crumbled!
Looking at Angron, who was enveloped in thick bloodlust, as if he had transformed into a god of slaughter, Emrys couldn't help but swallow, his pupils suddenly shrinking to pinpricks, and he inwardly thought, "This is bad."
The boss has entered phase two!
Blood.
Thick, scorching, boiling blood, a rain of blasphemy and endless fury, poured down like a waterfall from the shattered dome of the Blood Palace, drenching the ruins of the collapsed brass altar and throne.
The air grew searing hot; with every breath, a sharp pain, caused by sulfur and poison, could be felt deep in the throat, as if swallowing a red-hot blade. Even with a helmet and filter, the thick, bloody stench could not be filtered out.
The blood rain hissed as it hit the armor, raising crimson smoke, as if even the power armor itself was wailing in agony.
The Daemon Primarch Angron stood at the center of the blood rain and sulfur storm. The pure will of destruction emanating from his eyes, under the influence of the Warp rift, seemed to materialize. A single roar unleashed a pressure capable of disintegrating mortal souls, and waves of energy spread out, cracking the ground in a spiderweb pattern!
If the Daemon Primarch Angron had previously harbored some intent to toy and mock, now he possessed only endless rage and boiling killing intent.
The massive axe named 'Soul Cleaver' was inscribed with Khorne's blasphemous runes. Its serrated blade eternally imprisoned the souls of those who had met a horrific end by this 'demonic artifact'.
They could never escape, for all eternity.
They could only be confined deep within the axe blade, wildly spinning, tearing, and devouring!
Whenever the serrated blade, driven by the Soul Cleaver's internal core, rotated at an astonishingly high speed, it unleashed not mechanical hums, but a terrifying noise – a cacophony of billions of dying screams, capable of tearing reality apart!
"You, cannot escape—!"
Angron had completely lost interest. His current goal was singular.
"Emrys, you, belong—to the Blood God!!!"
His roar was not a sound; it was a pure torrent of destruction!
Waves of sound, carrying substantial bloody impact, swept across the battlefield like a tsunami.
In an instant, sand and stones flew, and mountains collapsed like a tsunami!
Chief Librarian Ezekiel, directly in the path, immediately stepped forward, blocking for everyone. His runic staff, wreathed in a pure aura of soul light, was a 'divine artifact' from Caliban's secret vault!
Boom—!!!
The energy wave crashed against an invisible wall.
That was Ezekiel, who was deploying a psychic barrier to shield everyone from this pure torrent of destruction.
But the psychic runes meticulously carved into his tightly gripped staff, under the impact of this terrifying destructive torrent, instantly dissolved with a sizzling sound, as if dropped into strong acid.
The next moment, this staff, which had accompanied Ezekiel from his early days as a Librarian to becoming Chief, shattered completely with a mournful cry.
Amidst the splashing psychic fragments, Ezekiel was struck as if by a heavy hammer, sent flying backward and crashing heavily against a ruined wall dozens of meters away.
The wall collapsed, and cracks spread.
Ezekiel, eyes wide with disbelief, violently spat out a mouthful of hot blood that flowed from his helmet's filter, his visor shattered.
"Shield of Seraphim!!!"
Emrys knew his psychic power was insufficient and could only rely on Kamar-Taj's magic. A massive runic barrier, like a spinning ring, appeared before them.
But the result was the same as Ezekiel's.
Bang!
The barrier shattered instantly.
The surging, terrifying destructive impact immediately engulfed everyone.
The terrifying force made Emrys experience what Ezekiel had felt; he felt as if he had been run over by a Leman Russ, every bone in his body wailing in agony as he was uncontrollably flung away.
The others?
He had no time, nor the spare energy, to pay attention.
Then, a violent crimson figure suddenly smashed through the air, charging towards him with terrifying energy waves like a thunderstorm, utterly brutal!
Yes, it was a smash!
The air, like a mirror, was shattered by Angron, revealing just how terrifying the Daemon Primarch's power truly was!
Before he even arrived, the immense pressure had already enveloped him, as if he had fallen into a ten-thousand-meter abyss.
Just then, a roar came.
"For the Lion! For Caliban!!!"
It was Deathwing grandmaster Belial. Amidst this terrifying, violent wind pressure, he and the Terminators behind him transformed into a mobile fortress, stubbornly resisting the pressure and blocking Angron's path.
With Emrys and Ezekiel having bought them time and blocked the destructive torrent, the pressure had significantly reduced, allowing Belial and the Terminator squad ample time to do this.
At this moment, they were the unshakeable Wall of Sighs, and the only line of defense against the Daemon Primarch!
The deep green Terminator armor, as heavy as a city wall, every piece of ceramite and adamantium, was a silent historical record of the chapter's ten millennia of existence.
"Hold!!!"
At Belial's command, the Terminator squads, facing the enraged Angron, raised their storm shields, fearlessly blocking Angron's path of destructive charge!
"Come, daemon!!!" Belial showed no fear. His massive power fist hummed with stored energy, its disruption field and pressure mechanisms pushed to their limit, glowing blindingly.
At this moment, he was the bedrock of the chapter's defense, and the dam against the torrent.
"Get out of the way, insect!!!"
Angron, like a high-speed train, directly crashed into the impregnable steel fortress formed by the Terminator squad.
Boom—!!!
In an instant, the victor was decided.
To mortals, the inscrutable Terminators were fragile and vulnerable before the Daemon Primarch. Their temporary defensive line, the dam against the torrent, was utterly shattered in a flash.
Angron was like an insurmountable peak, and even more like a tsunami unleashing endless fury—a natural disaster!
And humanity, even the Astartes who had undergone twenty genetic modifications, remained as small as ants before the Daemon Primarch, who was like a 'natural disaster'.
After sending the Terminator squad flying, Belial, who had been charging his attack for a long time, awaited Angron.
However, Angron merely lifted his massive axe and performed a simple downward chop, with a speed and power that was terrifyingly beyond the reach of humans, and even Astartes.
Clang!!!
The 'Soul Cleaver' axe, re-forged by Khorne, collided with Belial's storm shield, unleashing a sonic boom that could tear eardrums!
Immediately following was the grating, metallic shriek of metal being violently torn apart.
The storm shield, which could deflect the main cannon of a Leman Russ tank without a scratch, was like soft butter under the 'Soul Cleaver's' axe.
The serrated teeth, forged from billions of tormented souls, furiously bit and gnawed at the storm shield under super-high-speed rotation.
The energy field covering the shield surface lasted less than half a second under the 'demonic artifact's' impact before a massive gap was cleaved open by its terrifying rotational and tearing force.
Unstoppable immense force transmitted through, savagely smashing into Belial's chest plate.
But the battle-hardened Belial showed no fear. He dragged a streak of electric light with his long-charged power fist and slammed it into the Daemon Primarch's body.
"Die, daemon!!!"
Boom—!!!
The power fist, enveloped in a disintegration field, struck the Daemon Primarch's armor, merely leaving a shallow dent.
But Belial wasn't so lucky.
His heavy power armor instantly caved inwards with a terrifying crunch. Belial spewed a torrent of hot blood, and his entire body was sent flying as if hit by a main cannon, plowing a trench dozens of meters long into the ground, his fate unknown.
Samuel seized the moment Angron paused, continuously unleashing melta beams.
Beams of scorching light wove into a dense net of fire, precisely targeting Angron's Butcher's Nails, armor, joints, and other weak points.
However, most of these beams were blocked by a bloody air current before they even got close, deflecting their trajectory and landing elsewhere.
Of course.
As a Daemon Primarch blessed by Khorne, how could he be killed by "firearms"?
These ranged attacks didn't even have the right to touch him, being directly deflected by his "Blessing."
Even if a few attacks managed to land on him, they were instantly swallowed by his writhing flesh, leaving only a shallow indent, as if merely tickling him.
Samuel bit open the pin of a melta bomb. Although he had lost his left arm, he still had his legs!
Gripping the armed melta bomb, he disregarded his own danger and forced his way into the Daemon Primarch's attack range, pressing the melta bomb directly against Angron's wings.
Angron, sensing someone behind him, didn't even bother to fully turn. He simply, casually, with the impatience of crushing an ant, swung his massive arm—covered in thick keratin and bone spikes—which was several times larger than Samuel himself.
!!!
The explosive roar was the sound of air being compressed to its limit and then suddenly bursting open.
That thick daemon arm was like a giant siege hammer, slamming heavily into Samuel's high-speed trajectory.
Even though Samuel had a premonition of danger, throwing the melta bomb in advance and performing an emergency evasion with superhuman reflexes, he was still not fast enough for Angron, and the massive arm smashed into his waist.
Crack!
His armor shattered piece by piece, and he was slammed to the ground like a volleyball, bouncing several meters high before falling silent.
But his desperate strike was not without meaning.
After being flung, the melta bomb landed precisely on the back of Angron's head.
Boom!
The high temperature of the melta explosion caused even the Daemon Primarch to stagger back a few steps. His obsidian-like body, oozing with chaotic blood and filth, was melted by the super-high temperature of the melta, revealing his bright red, pulsating internal organs.
"Ah ah ah—"
The pain stimulated the Daemon Primarch, his twisted features contorting even further as he roared, wanting to hack apart the ant that dared to harm him.
Just as he turned his head, grandmaster Azrael, the commander of the Dark Angels, the inheritor of the Lion's will, finally found a chink in his armor!
The ancient Blade of Secrets, burning with extremely pure psychic fire, was like the only dawn in a dark night, becoming the break of day that pierced through the darkness!
He seized the moment Angron shifted his target, and with a sword strike condensed from his life's martial arts, filled with determination, he thrust towards Angron's "Heart"!
A daemon's heart is its only weakness!
As long as this "artifact," the Blade of Secrets, could pierce the Daemon Primarch's heart, no matter how powerful Angron was, he could only be banished back to the Warp.
With unwavering conviction, the grandmaster's blade, trailing a stream of light, sliced through the air!
However, as a Daemon Primarch, Angron's senses had long surpassed biological levels, and he detected this sole opportunity.
"Coward!!!" he roared, forcefully twisting his upper body to shift the position of the sword strike.
The hope-filled strike only grazed his foul, oozing chest, the psychic fire fiercely scorching the blasphemous flesh.
But that was all.
Angron's movements were beyond physical limits; his massive body displayed incredible agility. With just a slight sidestep, the heavily armored muscles writhed, twisted, and tensed like living things.
His muscles, like living creatures, bit into the blade, clamping down on its end, preventing it from advancing an inch, making it impossible to penetrate any further!
The psychic fire coiling around the blade furiously scorched Angron's flesh, making a burning sound.
Angron gripped the blade with one hand, a more savage grin spreading across his face. Pain only added to his pleasure. "Coward, offspring of Lion!"
Angron roared, his massive hand, with a shriek that tore the air, like swatting a fly, whipped out a giant wave of force, directly slamming towards Azrael!
If that slap had landed, even with his helmet on, Azrael would have instantly gone to meet the "Emperor"!
"Repent, heretic!!!" A deep, metallic-grinding roar rang out. It was Asmodai, who had been lurking in the shadow, like an Angel of death coming home from hell, his skull helmet appearing particularly grim in the bloody light.
His power hammer, at full power, smashed into Angron's bent arm, buying Azrael a sliver of hope.
Hmph!
The power hammer, enveloped in a field of retribution, made Angron's strong arm bend.
Azrael seized the chance to pull out the blade stuck in Angron's chest and ducked.
But for Angron, the combined full-power strike of the two only caused him a momentary stiffness; in an instant, he unleashed another punch.
Azrael didn't have time to dodge this time and could only barely avoid a vital spot. His ceramite shoulder guard was shattered by the punch, and his scapula was also broken, but Azrael merely grunted, then suddenly exerted force, swinging the Blade of Secrets back at Angron, carving a bloody gash across his front.
All of this happened extremely quickly.
The Dark Angels' most powerful Heroes—the Chief Librarian, Lord of the Deathwing, Blade of the Ravenwing, Commander of the Legion, and Scourge of Faith—were already staggering, critically wounded.
Their boasted strength, speed, defense, psychic power, and faith were as fragile as a child's toy before the pure, savage, and overwhelming destructive power of the Daemon Primarch Angron.
The air was thick with the heavy scent of blood, the acrid smell of burning metal, and a despair that permeated to the bone.
Angron, like a cat playing with a mouse, cruelly and playfully, took slow, heavy steps, dragging his Gorechild across the ground. Amidst the howling of billions of soul fragments within its teeth, it carved a trench filled with churning foul blood and lava, emitting a pungent, sulfurous stench.
"You, who belong to the Blood God, come with me, into the embrace of Chaos—Atropos!"
That name again?!
"Atropos" - this was the second time Emrys had heard this "name" from Chaos.
As a "Transmigrator," he naturally knew that this name originated from Greek mythology, one of the three Fates born to Zeus.
In Greek mythology, the authority of the three Fates was such that even Zeus, the King of Gods, could not interfere with or change it.
Legend has it that the three sisters always stayed in the divine realm, weaving on a loom that spun the threads of all life's destinies.
The youngest, Clotho, controlled the future and spun the thread of life, symbolizing the birth of life; the second sister, Lachesis, was responsible for measuring the length of the thread of life, symbolizing the length and encounters of one's life.
And the eldest sister, Atropos, was a bit more special.
In mythology, she possessed a pair of scissors that could sever the thread of destiny, responsible for adjudicating fate.
The name "Atropos," in ancient Greek, also meant "irresistible fate" or "unavoidable end," embodying the ultimate judgmental nature of the power of destiny that this goddess of fate represented.
If the last time, when encountering a Tzeentch daemon, the other side used this appellation, it might have just been an anomaly; then this time, Emrys seemed to vaguely guess something.
He knelt on the ground, surrounded by ruins and debris. The side effects of overusing psychic energy caused his cerebral cortex to throb with needle-like pain. Several consecutive heavy blows had also left this finely crafted Power Armor riddled with cracks, on the verge of collapse at any moment.
The helmet's filter had long since broken.
Even the auspex and visor had been shattered during the previous violent Impact, making his vision almost completely black. He simply took off his helmet, threw it aside, and took a deep breath of air.
The scent of poison and sulfur, mixed with the overflowing blood, directly entered his lungs through his throat.
"The one who severs destiny?" Looking at the slowly approaching, blood-shrouded daemon figure, like an insurmountable peak, Emrys couldn't help but smile bitterly.
"The Emperor's expectations of me are really quite high, aren't they? Is he perhaps hoping that I'll sever this chaotic situation?"
From the appellation "Chaos" gave him, Emrys could vaguely guess the reason for his importance.
But he was never so arrogant as to believe he had such great ability, that he alone could solve the Imperium's troubles, nor did he think he could save humanity.
"Such a grand vision as saving humanity, let's leave that to the suitable people," Emrys muttered to himself, gasping for breath, as he straightened his kneeling body.
"As for me? I'm still suited to be an ordinary Rogue Trader, in my leisure time, traveling to other Worlds, experiencing different journeys and adventures—that's the life I want"
His rambling somehow made Angron feel extremely annoyed. What was he mumbling about?!
"But-- if anyone doesn't let me live in peace!"
Suddenly, the human in front of him had bloodthirsty, crazed eyes, his entire face contorted into a grimace, like a vengeful spirit, letting out a hoarse, low roar.
"Even if I die, I'll drag him down with me!!!"
His wish was to be a leisurely Rogue Trader, whose life wouldn't be threatened, who could adventure everywhere. But if - even this small wish couldn't be granted, if someone wanted to drag him into the abyss.
Then he'd fight to the death!
Emrys' eyes were bloodshot, his five fingers, clad in Power Gauntlets, tightened their grip on the 'Blade of Atropos.' He exhaled a heavy, burning breath. The psychic energy that had been completely drained now surged forth from his body once more, even more powerful than before!
"Not enough, still not enough!!!"
He had completely thrown caution to the wind.
Previously, Emrys had always, consciously or unconsciously, suppressed the speed at which he drew psychic energy from the Warp. Due to the unique nature of psykers, the more one relied on the Warp, the more one would be backlashed by the Warp. He had maintained a good balance in this regard.
But now, under the extreme pressure from the Daemon Primarch Angron, Emrys finally stopped deliberately controlling it.
A roaring sound like a tide, like a spring thunderclap, echoed through the Blood Palace. The previously invisible psychic energy transformed into a visible, surging torrent, drawn by an invisible force from the Warp rift behind the Khorne daemon, rushing towards Emrys! Surging forth madly!
The torrent of psychic energy surged from all directions, vying to pour into Emrys' body. An immensely powerful force flooded his limbs and bones.
At this moment, Emrys felt extremely good.
"I seem to lack nothing."
He murmured, his gaze falling on a certain spot, and he extended his five fingers, forming a virtual grip.
Boom!!!
The next moment, hundreds of Khorne legions, including world Eaters Berserkers and Bloodletters, in that direction, seemed to be squeezed by an invisible force, instantly exploding into a mist of blood!
"So, it's just this simple," His eyes were completely stained with blood, a terrifying killing intent swirling around him as he turned towards the culprit who had pushed him to the brink, the Daemon Primarch Angron.
A several-hundred-ton Blood Palace pillar was easily grasped by him and flew towards Angron like a cannonball.
Rumble—!
The air was pierced by the dozens-of-meters-long, several-hundred-ton heavy object, pulling out rings of air. The booming sonic boom spread, and even the surrounding Space Marines found it difficult to withstand the ear-splitting roar.
"That's right! This is it!"
Angron seemed to see the scene he had long awaited, roaring with high spirits, and returned the favor.
The Hammer Skulls named 'Soulrender' was swung in a blur, smashing fiercely into the thrown pillar!
Boom!
The two collided, and a terrifying sound wave spread.
The massive pillar was shattered by a single axe blow. Angron didn't stop, taking destructive charging strides, the great axe once again drew an arc of death, splitting directly towards the slender figure.
Emrys swung his blade to meet it.
Clang!
Metal clashed, yet it sounded like a great bell.
A terrifying sonic boom, accompanied by an airwave, instantly caused the ground beneath their feet to collapse and crumble. Visible layers of Impact, like a world-destroying storm, completely swept through the entire Blood Palace!
The outcome of this clash was Emrys being sent flying, temporarily marking a pause.
Emrys crashed through several sturdy pillars, his entire waist and abdomen almost torn apart by that axe blow. Blood mixed with internal organs sprayed out as he heavily slammed into a metal wall, embedding himself within it.
However, Emrys seemed to feel no pain from this seemingly terrifying blow. He easily walked out of the wall,
Staggering, as if in a trance, he stared intently at Angron.
"Not enough - power - I need more power"
Buzz!!!
As his words fell, like a giant rock falling into a lake,
The calm lake surface rippled. The Warp rift, which was originally only tens of meters wide, was forcibly torn even wider by some power, becoming a hundreds-of-meters-in-diameter, 'Cursed Scar' like a miniature version, spanning between the Blood Palace and the sky of Draconys!
Like a gaping chasm in the sky, the psychic power surging from the depths of the turbulent Warp poured down like a tsunami, gushing into Emrys' body!
"Now, I feel very good."
Emrys' lips curved into a wicked smile, his eyes containing a strange purple mist mixed with rich blood-red. He swayed as he walked towards Angron.
"Come, today one of us must die!"
Emrys made no discernible movement, yet Angron's massive body was flung backward at an incredible speed, as if struck by a battleship's main cannon. His demonic form exploded, foul and blasphemous blood spattering everywhere!
Bang!
This was the first time the Daemon Primarch had been knocked back!
Even Angron seemed stunned. He looked down to see his entire chest almost caved in, with a clear indentation, as if he had been punched.
"Come on!"
Emrys sneered, beckoning with a finger, "Don't you like to fight? I'll let you have your fill today!"
"Despicable worm!!!"
Feeling insulted, Angron roared and charged at Emrys like a crimson bolt of lightning.
In an instant, the two were locked in battle.
Gales of furious wind raged, their figures almost blurring into afterimages. Every clash of weapons was like a terrifying shockwave,
sweeping through the ruins of the Blood Palace.
However, this scene, through the eyes of Ezekiel, the Chief Librarian of the Dark Angels, was like a 'horror movie'!
"This, this is—"
On Ezekiel's auspex eyepiece, several lines of data soared like a rocket, and his pupils instantly constricted, utterly horrified.
"Warp readings are dramatically increasing? How is this possible—he should only be an Epsilon-grade psyker, how can he have such a strong psychic reaction?!"
A psyker's talent determines their future strength.
That is to say, from the moment they are born, a psyker's future strength is almost predetermined, making it difficult to cross that chasm.
But among the many psykers, there are a very few exceptions whose psychic talent can change with time, emotion, environment, and other external influences.
However—to leap from an Epsilon-grade psyker to an 'Upsilon-grade' strength, even Ezekiel had never encountered such a case.
As Emrys' emotions fluctuated wildly, his psychic reaction index had reached the extremely dangerous 'Upsilon-grade'!
According to the Imperial psyker Classification, this was already in the ranks of extremely dangerous psykers!
What shocked Ezekiel even more was that...
The Warp index on the eyepiece, after reaching Upsilon-grade, showed no signs of stabilizing; in fact—it was still rising.
One must know that if it were to rise any further, it would be the terrifying existence of Delta and Gamma grades, capable of destroying worlds!
If it continued to grow at this rate, it wouldn't be long before they would witness the birth of an Alpha-grade psyker!
Alpha?!
The thought of this possibility made Ezekiel shiver, his heart squeezed by an invisible hand, and a bone-deep fear completely consumed his mind.
"Quick, stop him!" Ezekiel's lungs were severely damaged, and he coughed up blood clots with every word, but he still shouted with difficulty.
"We cannot, we cannot let him—continue to draw psychic energy from the Warp—. Otherwise, the entire Draconys will be destroyed by him, and this place will become the second 'Cursed Scar'!"
If Emrys continued to draw psychic energy from the Warp so recklessly and madly, he was very likely to become an Alpha-grade psyker!
By then, it wouldn't just be 'Draconys' that suffered.
This place would become a second, true 'Cursed Scar', and the entire Iconoclast Sector, and even the entire Imperium, would suffer!
But the aftershocks emanating from the two fiercely battling figures made it impossible for them to approach.
As the psychic index climbed, the severely wounded Ezekiel was almost in despair.
Was there really no other way?
At this moment, Emrys was not only fighting a deadly battle with Angron, he was also fighting himself.
The endless roar of battle drowned out his own voice, as if countless hands were dragging him, pulling him little by little into the abyss.
Yet he could not stop, for if he did, the counter-attacking Angron would cleave off his head.
This put Emrys in a dilemma.
But just then, as the surging blood energy was about to completely engulf the light of his soul, an imperceptible purple light suddenly roused Emrys from it, as if enlightened, pulling him away from the desire for slaughter.
At the same time, another voice came.
"Ignite it."
"Ignite yourself."
"Ignite—the Torch!"
A ethereal voice suddenly echoed in the depths of Emrys' soul, who had fallen into a frenzy.
It wasn't heard through his ears, but directly from the soul plane. It wasn't thunderous or grand, but carried a kind of absolute tranquility, as if it had transcended time and space, surpassed life and death, incomprehensible to mortals, along with an ineffable majesty.
The voice was like a pure light cast down from an ancient, ever-present star in the depths of the cold universe, illuminating Emrys, who was shrouded in gloom.
This voice soothed Emrys' consciousness.
Like a burning brand, it dispelled the despairing ice that had frozen his soul, pulling him back to reality from the brink of the abyss.
A pure golden flame, like an inverted galaxy, poured into Emrys' body.
Centered on him, a column of light shot into the sky without warning, instantly dispelling the foul blood mist and sulfurous clouds that enveloped the battlefield.
This blasphemous Blood Palace was instantly illuminated by golden light, transforming it into a sacred temple.
Vast, scorching, and imbued with absolute order and purification, psychic energy spread out like a tangible tsunami, bathing every Dark Angel in a faint golden glow, making them appear like sacred, solemn Angels!
Angron's massive hand, reaching for Emrys, suddenly froze when it was only an inch from its target. For the first time, his blood-red eyes, always filled with pure destructive desire, clearly reflected surprise, and even a hint of...
...jealousy!
His body, constructed from the power of Chaos, began to sizzle and emit thick black smoke under the illumination of the golden flame.
It was as if this pure, holy, golden flame was his natural nemesis!
"Why?!"
"Why?!"
"Why?!"
Angron, furious to the extreme, roared three questions at Emrys in a fit of rage.
And at the very same moment...
In the depths of the Empyrean, filled with malice and the emotions of all living beings, not far from the cold Sun, a faint flicker, like a candle flame that could be extinguished at any moment, suddenly ignited.
It was like a Torch in the darkness.
It could only illuminate a few inches, but it was incredibly steadfast, and the cold Sun seemed to shelter that tiny, faint candlelight in its embrace.
"Finally, it's ignited."
The ancient, ever-present star, the cold Sun, seemed to have a gaze from its depths watching the faint flame it protected, and it let out a soft sigh of relief.
Meanwhile, upon the Brass Throne, the crimson figure crowned with the names "Butcher" and "Blood God" let out an enraged roar. His gaze seemed to pierce through layers of space, falling upon the Weird figure deep within the Crystal Labyrinth.
That gaze, condensed with hatred and fury, collided with the figure's eyes, which were full of mockery and derision.
Boom!!!
In every corner of Khorne's domain, the Brass Citadel, the daemons could feel the figure's tyrannical and wrathful aura.
Elsewhere, in a palace of extreme pleasure, the androgynous figure, full of elegance and charm, let out a soft snort. From within the seductive purple curtain, he provocatively licked the tip of his tongue.
"No rush, he will be mine eventually—hehe."
In a space filled with filth and putrid smells, a large cauldron boiled. A colossal figure, seated like a mountain, stirred the cauldron, but his gaze was fixed on a certain spot, greedily coiling his tongue, openly displaying his desire.
"Atropos, Atropos—you are mine, you can only be mine!"
Burning golden fire surrounded Emrys, an unseen force lifting him into the air. His power armor peeled away layer by layer, revealing his slender body.
However, under the illumination of the golden fire, Emrys' entire body seemed to be made of jade, his whole being presenting a translucent quality, utterly unlike a human, or even a biological entity.
Visible golden energy, like molten lava, surged and boiled in the blood vessels beneath his skin.
His black short hair stood on end, flying like burning fire, and in his molten, fiery golden eyes, there were no pupils, only pure, burning flames, coldly locking onto the Daemon Primarch, who was within an inch of him yet raving mad.
"He does not belong to you."
Emrys' voice rang out.
But what was shocking was that the voice emanating from "Him" was not his familiar clear tone, but a reverberation of countless voices superimposed, full of power and a metallic quality.
Every syllable uttered shook the air, carrying with it the power to burn away heretics and chaos, and the most extreme contempt for all that was profane.
This voice ignored the Warp-distorted barrier on Dranlin, echoing clearly through every Dark Angel's communication array and into their very souls.
Ezekiel, and even the Supreme grandmaster of the Dark Angels, were utterly stunned at this moment.
They gazed at that figure, as if from the rising, scorching, yet incredibly warm golden fire, they saw a magnificent golden figure.
That figure stood above the Imperium.
He was the cornerstone of the Imperium, and the key to humanity's continued existence, protecting his people throughout the long ten millennia.
That was—the Emperor!
It could not possibly be wrong, that was the Emperor!
This power, to them, was like a warm Sun, yet any Chaos touched by the golden fire was completely incinerated to ash amidst their screams!
"It, it really is the Emperor…" Ezekiel's pupils dilated, his entire body trembling, not from fear, but from overwhelming excitement.
They were actually fortunate enough to witness the Emperor's will descend here; wasn't this a miracle?!
Similarly, the Daemon Primarch also recognized him.
"It's you—!!!"
Angron looked at the translucent figure, suspended in mid-air, enveloped in golden fire, and his fury was completely ignited.
An earth-shattering roar, mixed with rage and the searing pain of being burned, pushed a wave of air towards that figure like a terrifying tsunami.
The excruciating pain, and the soul-burning agony, shattered the last thread of sanity in the Daemon Primarch Angron at this moment.
The Butcher's Nails embedded in his brain lobes erupted with frenzied scarlet electrical arcs, their brightness instantly increasing to a dazzling degree as they danced like countless venomous snakes.
There was no longer any hint of playfulness; the will to destroy climbed to its peak, mixed with hatred, jealousy, and other negative emotions. He violently stomped the ground, and his massive blood-colored figure, as if tearing the air, charged directly towards the figure suspended in mid-air.
"False Emperor—!!!"
Every step Angron took was like the descent of a Titan, carrying with it a suffocating aura.
The massive blood-colored axe blade named "Soulrender," empowered with all his might, carried the force to tear the sky, stirring destructive blood clouds. Its high-speed rotating teeth gathered a destructive torrent of billions of screaming souls, and brought it down upon Emrys!
Boom—!!!
The atmosphere trembled, and space wailed!
As if the very firmament was lamenting, thick blood-light filled more than half the sky for a moment, and along with the anger of the one on the Brass Throne deep within the Warp, it smashed towards the translucent figure.
This strike condensed all the Daemon Primarch's power and fury, vowing to utterly crush this golden torch, along with its irritating light, into dust!
Time, at this moment, seemed to stretch infinitely.
"No—!!!"
Azrael, already gravely wounded, gathered his last breath, forcing himself to crawl up, clutching the 'Sword of Secrets' to his knees, wanting to block this blow for the figure in the golden fire.
Belial struggled futilely in the deep pit.
Samuel, spitting blood, used his remaining strength to barely lift his bolter, pressing his index finger joint down hard, firing a bullet at the Daemon Primarch.
Asmodai's gaze beneath his skull helmet was fixed on the Daemon Primarch, who was bringing his blasphemous great axe down upon the holy 'Emperor,'
letting out a powerless roar.
Ezekiel leaned against the ruined wall, his dim eyes reflecting the soaring golden flames, and a faint wisp of psychic power,
like a response, lit up at his fingertips.
"Daemon—you shall not harm the Emperor!"
The six wounded Dark Angel Space Marines, one after another, exerted their last strength in their own ways.
They would never allow the holy Emperor to be touched by that blasphemous Daemon; it was an insult!
However, just as the destructive Hammer Skulls was about to touch Emrys' head, threatening to split him in two—Emrys, as if waking from a dream, his body suspended in mid-air, neither dodged nor parried, but flew forward with a speed and precision beyond physical rules.
Facing the descending great axe and the high-speed rotating teeth of billions of screaming souls, he lightly threw a punch.
The speed of this punch was slow.
It seemed to have no power, yet this slow, clearly-traced punch contained an unchangeable will.
At the moment when gold and blood intertwined and merged.
The world seemed to be covered by a gray curtain; color and sound, light and perception, all were stripped away, and even time was paused.
Then came an indescribable, deafening roar, as if the entire world had been torn apart, completely overwhelming all other sounds!
This earth-shattering roar should have unleashed terrifying destructive power, demolishing this ruined blood palace, or triggering phenomena like landslides and tsunamis!
But the truth was, nothing happened.
Emrys' fist, burning with golden fire, effortlessly stopped the 'Soulrender,' the high-speed rotating teeth that gnawed and tore with billions of souls.
The screams of billions of suffering souls were forcibly suppressed by a greater, more majestic, and more undeniable power.
The high-speed rotating saw teeth, as if striking the hardest stellar core in the universe, emitted a teeth-grinding, twisting friction sound, and the torrent of energy wantonly unleashed was completely extinguished by the golden fire!
The most fundamental and pure power easily crushed Angron's full-force attack.
Then, under the Daemon Primarch's furious and shocked gaze, "Emrys" floated lightly, and his hand, burning with golden flames, landed on his chest.
The next moment.
Blinding golden light erupted like a tsunami!
The Daemon Primarch's massive figure was completely engulfed by this burst of golden flames!
"ROAR!" A roar, filled with extreme rage, pain, and madness, echoed over the ruins of the Blood Palace.
Even the deepest part of the Warp rift, torn open by Chaos sorcery, the core furnace of Khorne's domain, seemed to empathize with the Daemon Primarch's agony, and the fragile veil of reality was shattered by the Daemon Primarch's roar.
This roar, from the deepest reaches of the Warp and filled with an Eternity of curses, swept over the surviving Dark Angels like an invisible tidal wave.
After an unknown period, Ezekiel finally awoke from the soul-piercing wail of pain, barely opening his eyes to look at the Daemon Primarch.
Angron's massive form reappeared after the burning golden flames vanished.
He was still standing, but his state was completely different from before; the heavy armor covering his entire body was almost completely incinerated, and the blasphemous and defiled blood plasma was entirely evaporated, revealing severely burned, charred, and carbonized parts underneath.
His obsidian-like strong muscles were melted away, leaving mostly exposed black bones, and the residual high temperature still scorched his daemon blood, with wisps of white smoke swirling around him.
The 'wings' that the daemon prided himself on were reduced to nothing but a pathetic skeleton.
To be a Daemon Prince yet fall to such a state was utterly tragic.
But what was even more terrifying was that this power would never disappear; whether his body recovered or not, the 'Emperor's' furious flames would forever burn his blood, bones, muscles, and even his soul!
That lofty, jade-like translucent figure, in the blazing golden light, cast down a pair of emotionless eyes.
He gazed at the disheveled Daemon Primarch, whose entire body was almost charred by the flames, yet whose eyes still held venomous resentment, and softly said, "You—should not be like this. This is not your path, yet you still betrayed me."
"Betrayal?!"
With the Butcher's Nails piercing his brain lobes, the intense pain made Angron glare ferociously at the figure, roaring, "No, it wasn't I who betrayed you, you—you were the first betrayer, it was you—who betrayed us, you wove a ridiculous future with your false lies, and Chaos, to reveal the truth, tore open your hypocritical face!"
"Emrys" was silent for a moment, his tone seemingly mixed with a hint of complexity.
"You should have been—the 'sharpest sword'."
"The sharpest sword?!" Angron glared ferociously at "", his mad laughter like the wails of billions of beings, shaking the surrounding space into an agonizing moan, as he struggled to control his body to stand up, looking directly at the figure, his twisted daemon giant hand pointing at his head, sharp nails piercing his flesh, letting the blood flow, grasping the 'Butcher's Nails' deeply embedded within him, radiating endless pain and fury.
"Look at this sword! This is the masterpiece you forged with your own hands! Is this the result you wanted?! You have always regarded us as mere 'tools', stop speaking with that hypocritical tone, your hypocrisy sickens me! False Emperor!"
"Emrys" sighed, but offered no explanation, and an atmosphere of desolation and loneliness seemed to materialize, enveloping the entire ruin.
At this moment, though unspoken, the Dark Angels could feel the deep sense of loss emanating from that magnificent golden figure.
But the more silent he was, the more Angron raged, his sinister and violent gaze piercing through the figure enveloped in golden flames.
He stared at that face.
"You are protecting him, aren't you? It's simply too ridiculous... Why?! Why did his prayers receive a response, while I... only received neglect? Tell me, you hypocritical thief!"
"He is the key, and also hope."
In the dense golden flames, 'Emrys' gazed at 'Angron'.
That heavy gaze seemed to penetrate hearts, to peer beneath the facade of madness, into the depths of Angron's soul, into the ruins and wreckage utterly destroyed and crushed by the Butcher's Nails, seeing the shattered heart and jealousy.
"I have never abandoned any of you."
"Lies! Hypocrisy!!!"
Seeing 'Emrys'' face, Angron's heart grew even more twisted, jealous, and even hateful, the intense pain making him shriek.
"Where were you when I was in the gladiatorial arenas of Nuceria, when these filthy nails were driven into my head alive?
Where were you when I was in endless wails and pain? Where was this 'Father' of yours when those slave masters whipped me, choked my neck with chains, making me tear at my comrades like a beast?! Where was this 'Lord of Man' of yours when I knelt and begged you to save my comrades? Answer me!!!"
Every question, every roar.
In the painful, hoarse voice, it seemed to contain the impact of Angron's shattered soul.
Facing each question, the golden flames rippled slightly, like a giant stone dropped into a calm lake, yet remained motionless.
Only, the gaze on that blurred face seemed to become even more profound, heavy, and complex.
"You are wrong." The figure under the golden light was silent for a moment, then whispered.
"From the moment you placed hope in others, you were destined to walk this path. Whether it's humanity, or you, or them—you must walk alone. No one can rely on another forever, not even me."
"Walk alone? Hahahahaha!"
Angron seemed to have heard the most absurd joke.
"Hypocrisy! Utter hypocrisy! It was Chaos that tore open your false disguise for us, allowing us to glimpse the truth! And you... are nothing but a hypocritical betrayer, you not only betrayed us, but also humanity, betrayed your promise! Betrayed our trust! Betrayed the name of Father! All of us... are just your tools!"
"No, I have never thought that."
The golden figure sighed heavily.
"Liar!" Angron glared at "", sneering ferociously.
"He is also your 'tool', I am very much looking forward to... what kind of path he will take when he sees through the hypocrisy hidden beneath your face!"
"He is not like you, and he does not need to walk your path."
The golden figure's voice remained steady, completely unaffected.
"Is that so?"
Angron laughed madly.
"Will his future truly be as you envision? If he knew that his destiny would be" "You talk too much" The golden figure suddenly took a step forward, and the blazing golden fire instantly condensed into a sword.
Then, the blade gently thrust out, a sharp sword forged from pure will, as if compressing the radiance of billions of stars,
Forcibly pushing back the surging crimson around it, without the slightest tremor, like a divine decree, transforming into a light of judgment that severs fate.
The sword light flew towards Angron little by little.
It was not a thunderous cleave, but a 'descent' that transcended the conceptual level.
The 'sword' entwined with golden light and flames, along with 'Emrys'' resplendent golden figure, seemed to cross the distance of space, intending to completely erase the 'daemon' before him from the most fundamental level, from the essence of his soul.
However, just at this moment.
In the surging depths of the highest heaven, the terrifying figure on the Brass Throne suddenly stretched out his palm across the void.
Carrying the absolute power of the Chaos God and boundless bloodlust, he forcefully crashed into the cold, solitary Sun in the Warp!
"No more!"
A chilling, tyrannical voice, carrying a terrifying wave, rushed towards that 'Sun'.
Holy Terra, Astronomican.
But that eternally unextinguishable light suddenly dimmed.
In the terrified gaze of the Astropathic families, the absolute pillar symbolizing the Imperium of Man's continued existence, guiding the Human Imperium's fleets, that psychic light column like a 'lighthouse' in the chaotic, surging, malicious dimension of the Warp, actually—extinguished!
At the same moment, in the Human Imperium's fleets on long voyages, the Travelers who relied on the 'Astronomican' completely lost its radiance in their perceptions.
Emrys felt like he was dreaming again.
But this time, unlike before, he was clearly aware that he was in a 'dream state', a 'lucid dream'?
But what shocked him even more was that he actually saw the 'Emperor', the Lord of Man!
This was already the third time he had seen the 'Lord of Man' in his dreams, but unlike previous times, this 'Lord of Man' was not the skeletal figure sitting on the 'Golden Throne', but a real, living 'Emperor'.
The Emperor stood majestically atop a snow-capped mountain, appearing as a benevolent middle-aged man with an extraordinary demeanor. His features were sculpted and profound, his dark hair fell over his shoulders, and a pair of golden eyes, as if plated with gold, rested upon him.
The Emperor in everyone's eyes depended on their perception of the 'Emperor'.
It could be said that for ten thousand people, there were ten thousand images of the Emperor. Of course, in the eyes of some more blasphemous individuals,
He might even be a blonde loli?
Emrys quickly shook his head, expelling this blasphemous thought from his mind, lest the Emperor actually turn into a blonde loli.
Just then, the 'Emperor' in front of him spoke.
"Hello, human."
The Emperor's voice was unique, as if billions of lives were speaking simultaneously, regardless of gender. Yet, amidst so many voices, every word uttered, when it reached Emrys' ears, became incredibly clear.
"Em—... Emperor?"
Emrys was stunned.
He wasn't dreaming, was he?
A living Emperor, and one who could speak! If Old Thirteen knew about this, he would surely die of envy and jealousy!
When Old Thirteen went to see the 'Emperor' back then, he cried for half a day, yet the Emperor didn't say a single word, only hinting at certain things through his psychic power.
"You—... Hello?"
Emrys swallowed, this was the first time he had truly, in the real sense, faced the 'Lord of Man' and conversed with him.
"My time is short. I have two things to entrust to you." The Emperor lowered his gaze, his tone gentle but carrying an undeniable authority.
Ah?
Emrys immediately broke out in a cold sweat.
He was merely a Rogue Trader, what virtue or ability did he possess to be entrusted with such an important task by the 'Lord of Man'?!
"The first thing, you are already doing. Follow the ancient covenant established between Emrys and me, and retrieve the 'thing' lost in the Imperium Nihilus."
The Emperor seemed truly urgent, not giving him a chance to speak, and directly said.
"That is a 'Old Ones' creation, originating in the late stages of the War in Heaven. Due to certain special reasons, it was sealed in the Imperium Nihilus. You must retrieve 'it'."
Old Ones creation?
Emrys' pupils constricted slightly.
Although the 'Emperor' revealed very little information, he still vaguely guessed something.
A creation linked to the 'Old Ones' and so highly valued by the 'Emperor' was very likely related to the 'Webway', or even—the 'Golden Throne'!
At this thought, Emrys couldn't help but gasp. The truth, which had been very vague, finally connected and surfaced.
It turned out that the 'Emrys' family, along with the other three great Rogue Trader families, had made a covenant with the 'Emperor' ten thousand years ago: to go to the Imperium Nihilus and retrieve this important 'Old Ones creation'!
"I understand."
Emrys suppressed the shock in his heart, nodded, and accepted this promise.
"I will definitely retrieve this 'thing',
Emperor."
"The second thing also concerns you."
The Emperor nodded slightly, his gaze gently falling upon him, speaking with a tone of admonition, slowly saying.
"From now on,
for a long time, I will no longer appear. This time it was Khorne, next time it might be other Chaos Gods. The value and significance you represent are far greater than you imagine. Those who target you—perhaps it's not just them. You yourself need to be careful."
Emrys' mouth hung open, without a hint of pleasant surprise, only shock. He asked bitterly.
"Emperor, what is
so special about me? What makes me worth so much to so many people?"
"You should ask, why is it you."
The Emperor's reply seemed to contain some deeper meaning, he said profoundly.
"Atropos is an irresistible fate. In Greek mythology, her scissors were endowed with the power of 'judgment'. The moment the thread of fate is cut also means—Atropos determines the final outcome of fate. If you can understand and comprehend the meaning behind why you are named after 'her', then you will also understand why they will target you."
"I understand nothing—"
Emrys fell into a funk. If he could understand the meaning of that sentence, why would he need to ask?
It was all so vague, who could understand!
"No need to rush, you will understand eventually." The Emperor still looked like a riddle-teller, but his next words were truly a 'horror film'.
Forget it, there'll be a way when we get there.
There was no point in worrying now, as he couldn't think of a solution. Emrys exhaled a murky breath and looked up at the 'Emperor'.
"Is this the second thing you wanted to say?"
"No, the second thing is that the Astromican's light will temporarily extinguish for a period." A chilling depth seemed to permeate the Emperor's gaze.
"Perhaps for a few days, perhaps for a few months, perhaps—for a few years."
"!!!"
If the previous words had only made Emrys a little depressed, then this statement, once spoken, left him with only shock and terror.
The Astromican's light was about to extinguish?!
This was pure horror! The Imperium of Man's continued existence relied most importantly on the 'Astromican'. Once it lost the 'Emperor's' light as navigation, the human fleet, if it entered the Warp, would completely lose its only 'lighthouse' and direction!
Even more severely, the Imperium of Man would once again experience the 'Dark Age' of human fragmentation and chaotic wars, with various colonial worlds enveloped by the shadows of the Warp, thus completely disintegrating!
This was no laughing matter!
"You—you're joking with me, right?" Emrys swallowed, his eyes already showing a hint of terror.
Humanity could lose any fleet, but it absolutely could not lose the Emperor's 'Astromican'!
"No."
The Emperor remained calm, his gentle gaze fixed on Emrys, and he said softly.
"Don't be too alarmed. This extinguishing of the Astromican is also within my expectations. Some—existences are displeased with my actions this time. Consider it a warning; there won't be overly severe consequences. You can rest assured."
Some existences?
Emrys paused slightly, seemingly guessing something. He looked at the 'Emperor', his lips moving slightly.
"Is it—the Blood God? Because of me?"
"He alone cannot achieve such a degree." The Emperor smiled, raised his hand and pressed it on Emrys' head, saying softly.
"Nor do you need to feel guilty. Compared to this 'outcome', this is already an 'outcome' that 'everyone' can accept."
"What comes next is what I need to instruct you on."
The Emperor slowly said.
"During the period when the Astromican is extinguished, I need you—to become the Imperium's, humanity's second 'torch'."