A dark blue metallic skeletal hand, glowing with a dark green light, extended from the scythe and took the metal scythe, which flowed with the aura of death, from the Stormlord's hand.
Dark, tattered cloth, like a phantom, swirled out and wrapped around the scythe along with the skeletal hand.
The metal scythe suddenly expanded, and emerald lightning shot from it, striking the monotonous walls of the office like solar flares from a dying star, burning molten wounds into them.
Amidst the roaring plasma lightning, a gaunt, towering figure emerged. A dark cloak woven from living metal billowed, and the energy of the pure material universe clustered around him. His dark blue metallic body floated in mid-air, and the swirling dark cloth formed a wheel behind him, transforming into a hood that covered his figure, which resembled the Human Death God of the night.
Fear, wailing, pain, and sorrow permeated the air. The figure stood in Guilliman's office, like Death walking among mortals once more.
In the distance, Cegorach, who was dealing with the three C'tan Shard, raised his crescent-moon-like pale clown face.
On the clown face of this rare survivor among the Eldar gods, who was crazy and enjoyed mockery, a hint of fear actually flickered.
"Kaelas Ra."
That was an ancient name, meaning the Death of Living Beings and Destroyer of Light in the Eldar language, used to refer to an existence whose name dared not be spoken.
He was the First Death, the beginning of all evil.
He was the thirsty slaughter, using the scythe in his hand to dye the stars with blood.
Once, the dense clusters of stars in the galaxy were extinguished by his desire for destruction; once, millions of thriving civilizations among the stars perished due to his desire for torment.
The figure of this cold Reaper rampaged among the stars. The fear of him was etched into the genes, into the souls, and permeated the very existence of all living beings.
Millions of civilizations feared death because of him, and millions of civilizations used him as the archetype for their Death God. Even beings who had not experienced the War in Heaven would instinctively fear him.
He was the Nightbringer, Azzag-Rôd, the first C'tan to enter a living metal body, once the most powerful C'tan, the source of the Necron's short lifespan, and one of the origins of all evil in the galaxy.
He was so powerful that even when shattered into hundreds of fragments by the Necron, he remained extraordinarily potent.
The fragment released by Imotekh was a treasure of the Sotek Dynasty, a collection of multiple Nightbringer C'tan Shard, one of the largest among the Nightbringer's many fragments.
The instant he was released, all life, and even the Necron, within the entire Pariah Nexus experienced a series of deathly illusions, feeling as if their throats were being choked by cold fingers.
And aboard the Macragge's Honour, those Astartes and mortal servants too close to the Nightbringer were instantly enveloped by a sense of suffocation and a grim fear of death, freezing in place, unable to move. Their bodies even began to grow cold, sliding towards death.
This was the Stormlord's last trump card, yet even he found it difficult to control this supremely powerful C'tan Shard. He could only issue rough commands while the Nightbringer had just awakened and had not yet regained his will.
Like a cold wind on a deep winter night, a chilling aura of death aimed directly at Roboute Guilliman. Surging plasma currents reached out like the pale fingers of Death towards the Human Regent.
The power of the C'tan transmitted along the current. The touch of entropy swept over everything the lightning touched, accelerating the process of material disorganization. The floor of the office crumbled into dust, documents turned to ash and vanished, and Guilliman's heavy wooden desk also disappeared in the blink of an eye.
The Emperor's Sword suddenly ignited, its scorching golden flames illuminating the dim room, and collided with the roaring lightning.
Fire and electricity rippled and shot out like waves in water, while the Nightbringer transformed into a vortex of darkness, following the lightning, and instantly appeared before Roboute Guilliman.
The Nightbringer, whose body resembled a dark blue metal statue, raised the long metal scythe in his hand. The aura of death caused the surrounding space-time to congeal.
The scythe descended with a tearing sound. Reality, space, time, dimension, energy, matter—everything met its death at this moment.
More than half of the office vanished in the blink of an eye, and even a section of the Macragge's Honour's hull behind it was instantly wiped away, exposing everything to the cold void.
Guilliman, like a helpless blue fragment, was thrown into the cold void without a helmet or any form of vacuum-protection equipment.
The Nightbringer once again transformed into a cold, deep, vortex-like darkness, following his desires for torment and destruction, swirling into the void, hunting Roboute Guilliman.
The Stormlord stood at the edge of the vacuum; his metallic body was immune to the vacuum.
But Roboute Guilliman was, after all, human; he could not survive for long in a vacuum.
Even if he could endure for a while, how would he contend with the Nightbringer, how would he face the scythe of the archetype of Death for a million races?
"Regent of Humanity, I express my respect to you."
"Your logic and reason have constructed such a powerful order that I must seek the power of Death to defeat you."
Stormlord Imotekh said softly, gazing at the cold void.
The deep space was so cold and dark that the Stormlord could not see the figures of Guilliman and the Nightbringer.
But it was likely that Guilliman's life was already close to being taken.
He shook his head slightly, taking a gentle step forward, with half a foot resting on the void.
If he could catch up, perhaps he could still seal the Nightbringer again before he fully awakened—
"In the past, the Human Death God indeed appeared in this form, hooded and holding a scythe."
A voice suddenly rang out behind the Stormlord.
The Stormlord's body stiffened. He turned his head slightly, only to see an ordinary human standing by the doorway of the ruined office, leaning against the wall and looking at him.
The entire office was clearly exposed to the vacuum, and air was rapidly escaping, yet that mortal stood beside him without any protective equipment.
The human smiled, looking at the Stormlord who had turned his head, and nodded slightly to him:
"But now, the Human Death God has taken on another appearance."
"The Dying-worshippers on countless worlds believe that the true Death God is a piece of old cured meat that has sat on the Golden Throne, dried for ten thousand years."
Old cured meat—
The Stormlord was slightly stunned. The moment the human's voice fell, in the deep void, a bright golden light suddenly burst forth, dazzling like a star in its prime.
Imotekh sharply turned his head, looking at the dazzling light, only to see that the center of the light was Roboute Guilliman.
But... but...
Roboute Guilliman held the Emperor's Sword in one hand, standing upright in the void. The longsword, burning with bright flames, shone like a lighthouse among the stars, blocking the Nightbringer's pale metal scythe.
The scorching fire slowly melted the frost on Roboute Guilliman's body, hair, and face. The Primarch slowly raised his head.
A pair of burning golden eyes appeared in the void.
Around him, golden Warp storms roared, swirled, and howled. The veil between reality and the Warp grew thin. Even Imotekh, who had no connection to the Warp, saw it.
Behind Guilliman, a dark, dazzling great sun hung in the void, exuding infinite death, staring at the Nightbringer.
At this moment, it was as if Guilliman was the true Death God, and the Nightbringer was a departed soul waiting to be hunted by Death.
Meanwhile, in the Warp,
The Astartes in his mithril-colored power armor was wielding his sturdy shield, inscribed with dense runes, and slammed it into the face of the Bloodthirster before him.
A burst of hot mist erupted from the Bloodthirster's face. Exorcising runes were tearing at the Greater Daemon's body.
"Kaldor Draigo!!!" The Bloodthirster let out a savage roar, calling the name of the silver knight.
The Khorne Greater Daemon swung the chainaxe in his hand, attempting to cleave the silver knight's head.
"I am not a profane daemon like you. Chanting my true name cannot save your life."
The silver knight's tone was cold. Before the chainaxe touched him, the long, silver blade in his hand, like a crucifix, pierced the Greater Daemon's neck, easily twisting off its dog-like head, which he then grabbed and threw to his feet.
The Greater Daemon's body also crashed down, becoming part of the crimson mountain of flesh beneath the silver knight's feet.
One hundred sixty-nine Bloodthirster and countless other lesser daemons' bodies piled up into a mountain of blood beneath the silver knight's feet. These daemon bodies were slowly dissipating into the Warp.
The silver knight's eyes, gleaming with silver light, looked down at the blood mountain, at the Khorne army surrounding him, and pointed his silver sword at them.
"Who else wishes to face my wrath?" he coldly demanded.
"Kaldor Draigo!!"
"The cursed one's Arch-daemon!"
"M'kar, I'll f*** your mother!"
"Why did that beast M'kar trap such a monster in the Warp??"
A chorus of curses erupted among the daemons, reviling daemon Prince M'kar, who had used a curse to trap this living terror in the Warp.
The silver knight sneered—
—His smile abruptly vanished.
The silver knight, or rather, Grey Knights Grand Master Kaldor Draigo, turned his head. His gaze pierced through the tides of the Warp, and he saw the bright, dark sun, and the golden figure faintly appearing on Roboute Guilliman's body.
The Will of the King of Kings had left his Golden Throne, manifesting on his son, thereby displaying his divine power.
"Your Majesty?!"
"How have you fled your throne again!!!"
"How many times has this been!!!!"
The burning straight sword pierced Imotekh's chest; his living metal body proved surprisingly fragile.
The Stormlord silently watched the flames spread across him. He felt his will being incinerated, his memories ignited, and even his very existence marching towards death.
He was going to die!
The Stormlord clearly realized this.
This would be a complete death; even the Necron's resurrection protocols could not save him.
A true God of Death?
The Stormlord still remembered the scene he had just witnessed.
The Golden One, the Burning One, the Warring One.
Roaring light and fire erupted from Roboute's body, making him shine as brightly and blindingly as an entire star. The Emperor's Sword in his hand instantly transformed into a magnificent interstellar lighthouse, tearing through the dimensions of reality and the Warp, revealing the dark sun suspended in the Warp.
Clearly, some powerful Warp entity had always been hidden within Roboute Guilliman.
Perhaps from the very beginning, the Roboute Guilliman he had been speaking with was that entity; it had only begun to display its power after the Nightbringer was released.
The Nightbringer was subdued; the Stormlord could barely comprehend the battle that erupted between them.
Physical laws were altered multiple times, time was repeatedly killed and resurrected, parallel timelines constantly intertwined, countless possibilities presented themselves simultaneously, and reality was molded and remolded like clay in the hands of those two entities.
Ultimately, he only saw the fiercely burning Emperor's Sword being plunged into the Nightbringer's chest, as powerful psyker reached out from all directions and pierced the Nightbringer's body, forcibly restraining it in the void.
Then that seemingly mortal entity stepped into the void, grabbed the Nightbringer, and stuffed it into his pocket.
Imotekh actually still maintained quantum entanglement communication with the Nightbringer. This communication was embedded within the Nightbringer's living metal shell. Theoretically, as long as the Nightbringer was not destroyed or did not re-melt its outer skin, the connection would never be severed.
But, after the Nightbringer was stuffed into that strange white pocket, the communication was cut off.
Before it was severed, Imotekh only saw the deep, cold void within that pocket, an seemingly infinite space.
Then, darkness engulfed the Nightbringer, like an abyssal maw devouring its existence.
Subsequently, a fragment of the Nightbringer, the archetype of a million civilizations' God of Death, once considered death itself, vanished forever from the galaxy.
To be able to kill a fragment of a C'tan...
Such a thing had only happened once, even sixty million years ago.
And the Necron who carried out such an act were cursed with the eternal malady known as the Flayer Virus.
Yet, nothing happened to that seemingly human entity after it killed the Nightbringer's fragment.
And before Imotekh could react, the scorching Emperor's Sword had already pierced Imotekh's chest.
Death was now before him.
Imotekh felt it clearly.
"You clearly had better choices, but you never made them. What a pity." Looking at Imotekh, the human standing beside him sighed softly.
"Not at all..."
Imotekh was puzzled as to why this human, whom he had never met, spoke to him with such familiarity, but Imotekh still replied sincerely:
"It was your order, the future you wished to build, that surpassed mine in the practice of war."
"Practice tests everything. The practice of order is war. If it cannot be proven in practice, if you do not utterly destroy me in war, my logic will never allow me to submit to you."
"And you proved that my order was more fragile than yours. To prove this, I am as satisfied as if I had achieved victory myself."
Imotekh's body slowly turned to ashes in the Emperor's flames, leaving only a metallic head, still bearing a satisfied expression, bathed in the inferno.
"I never craved to be a ruler. What I craved was only an order that eliminated chaos, a better order, regardless of whether its master was me or not. That your order can be realized is my final desire. I, I so earnestly beg you to realize it."
Flames surged, and the air on Macragge's Honour dissipated into the vacuum, becoming a fierce gust of wind. Stormlord Imotekh vanished with the wind.
Alexander watched this scene and sighed lightly.
In over twenty-two thousand grand dreams, Alexander had cooperated with Imotekh many times, forging friendships, but Imotekh's ultimate choice was always the same.
To test in war, to judge through practice which of his order and Alexander's was stronger. At first, Imotekh could achieve some victories, but later, only Alexander won. Alexander even gradually grew tired of developing friendships with Imotekh.
"A part of my order was forged by your order during our thousands of wars," Alexander replied calmly.
"..Eh?"
Just then, Guilliman, standing beside Alexander, let out a soft, confused gasp:
"I just...? Father?"
"Eh! Where's my office?? Where are the documents I just finished??!"
Guilliman suddenly awoke, realizing he had just been in some kind of semi-conscious state and was only now fully alert.
"No! Why am I in a vacuum!? Where's my helmet!"
"..It was swept away with your documents by the magical Warp storm unleashed by Tzeentch," Alexander said, chuckling twice as he watched Guilliman ponder his inability to survive in a vacuum.
Watching the Emperor's will return to his body on the Throne,
Kaldor Draigo breathed a slight sigh of relief.
For some unknown reason, during this period, the Emperor's will increasingly detached from the Golden Throne in some way, possessing certain individuals to reappear in the galaxy, manifesting his existence and wielding his power.
If it were anyone else, they would likely only praise the God-Emperor's might and extol his power, but Kaldor Draigo was the Supreme Grand Master of the Grey Knights, and he knew things others did not.
The Grey Knights inherited a secret, simple wooden box, which only the Supreme Grand Master could open. Inside was the Final Edict, the Emperor's last command to humanity and to the Grey Knights.
"The Emperor is absolutely forbidden from leaving the Golden Throne, whether he is resurrected, reincarnated through another's body, or ascends into some Warp entity."
"And if he does so, the Grey Knights must bring him back to the Golden Throne, forcing him to continue his cruel duty."
In the official records of the Imperium, the Grey Knights, possessing powerful psyker abilities, all of whom were psyker, and skilled in combating Warp entities, were created to fight daemons.
But Kaldor Draigo understood that the Final Edict—to forever confine the Emperor to the Golden Throne—was the true reason for the Grey Knights' creation.
If the Emperor refused to return to the Golden Throne, then the Grey Knights would have no choice but to turn their blades against the entire Imperium, slaughtering the warriors loyal to the Emperor, and even holding their blades to their master's throat.
Kaldor Draigo nervously watched the roaring dark sun, his fingers slightly tightening on his silver longsword.
Before this, the Emperor had always returned to the Golden Throne himself, without fully reincarnating through the souls he occupied.
But Kaldor Draigo constantly worried that the next time, the Emperor would refuse to return to the Golden Throne, refuse to continue fulfilling the duty he had imposed upon himself.
If that moment truly came, Kaldor Draigo did not even know to whom he should pray to be able to fulfill the Final Edict.
He had to start taking some action, at least making some preparations, to prevent the worst-case scenario from happening directly.
Kaldor Draigo silently descended the mountain piled high with daemons.
The Warp around him began to disintegrate.
In the Warp, will was everything; everything was will, and only will was real in this dimension.
As long as his will was strong enough, he could control the facts within the Warp, control everything within the Warp.
Everything around him was like a malfunctioning player; the daemons' curses grew more distant, their figures slowly dissolved into the Warp, and the crimson sand became fragmented.
In the blink of an eye, everything in this part of the Warp disintegrated under Kaldor Draigo's will.
In an empty space, Kaldor Draigo began to think about what he could do, and what allies he could rely on.
In his eyes, which shimmered with silver flames, these figures gradually appeared, and these figures then manifested before him.
The first wore power armor forged from gleaming gold, held a finely crafted, sharp power spear, and had a physique far more robust than an Astartes.
"Constantin Valdor, the first Captain-General of the Legio Custodes," Kaldor Draigo whispered the name of this potential helper.
This Custodes commander had mysteriously disappeared ten thousand years ago, but according to information Kaldor Draigo found in the Warp,
This Captain-General had taken the name King in Yellow and was searching the galaxy for the Emperor's true name.
If he could gain his help and the Emperor's true name, then at least there would be some chance of success.
The second wore Grey Knights power armor similar to Kaldor Draigo's, with one eye swollen due to scar tissue, and powerful psyker energy rippling from him, even more exaggerated than Kaldor Draigo's.
"Janus, our ancestral master, the first Supreme Grand Master of the Grey Knights." Kaldor looked at the figure and nodded slightly to show his respect for this ancestor.
This individual was one of the eight founders of the Grey Knights, and also their first Grand Master, but almost no one knew his origin.
However, Kaldor, as the Supreme Grand Master, knew perfectly well.
This Janus was originally the loyalist Thousand Sons Remuel Avida, but he was not entirely Remuel Avida. He was the product of a ritual; under Malcador's manipulation, Remuel Avida fused with a fragment of Magnus that had fallen on Terra, forming Janus.
In a sense, Janus was also Magnus, just fused with fewer fragments than the traitorous Magnus.
Kaldor Draigo vaguely sensed that individual was still sleeping deep within the Grey Knights' Titan fortress.
The last one.
Kaldor Draigo's gaze shifted slightly, looking at that last figure.
A figure like an ice-plain wolf stood before him, with an easily overlooked cunning hidden beneath its savage eyes.
"Leman Russ."
The Silent King's court had never been so silent, and His flagship, the Annihilation Song, was as quiet as He was.
Every Necron could vaguely sense the Necron Lord's rage.
"Why are there so many traitors! These despicable traitors dare to betray the Silent King's mercy and trust!"
"Imotekh, a shameless traitor! Zandrekh, a shameless traitor!"
Only Radiant Hapsalast stood by the Silent King's side, roaring continuously.
He was like the embodiment of the Silent King's wrath, vehemently condemning the Necrons who had betrayed the Silent King's will.
Orikan remained silent, merely staring at the battle map in mid-air.
The Syndus System had been breached, and the Silent King's direct forces were caught in a pincer attack by the Stormlord's fleet, the human fleet, and Zandrekh's fleet. The entire fleet lasted less than four hours before being completely annihilated.
After all, with the fleet's supreme commander, Zandrekh, having defected, how could they possibly fight?
Only the World Engine under Zellars' command was still desperately resisting, but the human forces and Zandrekh's forces had already boarded the World Engine, and it was highly likely the World Engine would not hold.
Within it lay the method for Reverse Biotransference, on which the Silent King had placed immense hope.
Many dynasties were already wavering between the Silent King and Alexander; on one side was Alexander's promise of bestowing souls, and on the other was the Silent King's promise of Reverse Biotransference.
Most dynasties leaned towards the Silent King, simply because He was the Necrons' original ruler, influenced by inertia.
Now, with the Silent King suffering military setbacks, the Pariah Nexus was on the verge of being lost, and the Reverse Biotransference method was likely to fail. Many dynasties gradually began to lean towards humanity. Of course, much of this was secretly orchestrated by Orikan.
Using his astromancy and Alexander's hints, Orikan clearly understood the pain points of every Phaeron and every Overlord, and often subtly induced the Silent King to strike at those pain points, thereby creating dissatisfaction among those Phaerons and Overlords.
This went so smoothly that Orikan himself found it a bit unbelievable. Was the Silent King really so easy to manipulate? He, Orikan, was an astromancer, not The Deceiver?
It was almost as if The Deceiver was whispering in the Silent King's ear, helping Orikan to mislead and deceive the Silent King.
"Do these foolish traitors not see the great radiance of Silent King Szarekh?"
"Have they forgotten the great contributions that the great Silent King Szarekh made to His race?"
"Can they not place their hands on their metal chests, feel their non-existent heartbeats, and recall what the Silent King brought them?"
Radiant Hapsalast continued to rant.
Listening to him, Orikan couldn't help but place his hand on his metal chest, feeling his cold body. Orikan almost burst out laughing.
Isn't that precisely what the Silent King brought them?
Bloody Hapsalastras, are you Cegorach in disguise? How do you have such clownish talent?
Orikan subtly raised his head, looking at Hapsalastras.
But... his gaze involuntarily shifted towards the Silent King.
The Silent King's face no longer showed clear anger, only an indifference, a self-mockery, a bitter smile as if mocking Himself.
It was as if, after the fire of anger had burned out, what remained was...
Screech!!!!
A metal spear, wreathed in unquenchable bright flames, was suddenly drawn, and before Hapsalastras could react, it pierced his back.
Hapsalastras' mouth slightly opened, and a sharp wail escaped, but soon, this wail was mixed with a mocking laugh.
Hapsalastras' body suddenly exploded, metal bones scattering everywhere, and a golden figure made of searing energy and living metal burst from his body.
The golden figure was agile, wrapped in golden ribbons, its face twisted like a mocking clown... the C'tan, The Deceiver... Mephet'ran!
This C'tan shard sharply mocked the Silent King, but his chest was also pierced by the Silent King's spear.
From the spearhead, the dimensional lattice began to burst, disintegrate, and fall apart amidst wailing, and the framework of reality also cracked inch by inch in twisting. This C'tan Deceiver shard on this reality also began to crack and disintegrate.
This C'tan shard shattered into even more C'tan shards in the blink of an eye, exploding in all directions, but before they could fly a few meters, the Silent King subtly waved His hand, and a series of hyper-dimensional cube mazes captured all these C'tan shards.
Bloody Hapsalastras really was The Deceiver!!
Orikan was somewhat stunned.
But the Silent King's expression remained unchanged, and He walked step by step towards Orikan, standing before him.
"Master Orikan."
This time, the Silent King did not remain silent, but spoke to Orikan in His slightly elegant voice:
"You said, why are there so many traitors."
Within Orikan's metal body, he felt an unbearable, bone-chilling coldness.
The Silent King now felt completely different from before; it was almost as if, as if...
Orikan suddenly remembered.
The Silent King now greatly resembled the Silent King who led the Necrons in rebellion against the C'tan.
Though not entirely the same, it was very close...
"Because... because the shameless traitors forgot the Silent King's greatness, forgot Your past achievements, because the traitors do not understand loyalty..."
"Are you the same, Master?" The spear in the Silent King's hand flickered with unquenchable bright flames.
That was not the spear's own fire; it was the wailing and curse of a shattered god.
It was a god-slaying weapon.
The Silent King once wielded this spear, and alone, shattered the C'tan The Burning One. the Burning One's pain, wailing, and curses transformed into eternal flames that wreathed this spear.
After destroying the C'tan, most god-slaying weapons were destroyed by the Necrons, but it was clear that the Silent King preserved this one.
Orikan's gaze shifted from the spear to the Silent King.
"You mean to kill me?" Orikan asked calmly.
"No, Orikan, my friend, I will not do that."
The Silent King offered a slight smile:
"Sixty million years ago, you advised me not to perform biotransference. Although I did not heed your counsel, I have always remembered your contribution."
"I therefore forgive your betrayal this time, and sincerely invite you to continue serving me in the future."
"I refuse. I already have a new object of allegiance," Orikan said, shaking his head gently.
"You have no need to refuse," the Silent King was not in a hurry, "because I allow you to continue serving that god for now, Saint Doraemon, is that right?"
"But when I achieve victory, you will eventually return to my side. We can search for a way to reverse biotransference together."
"As for now, you may leave my Annihilation Song, Orikan."
Orikan stood up, watching the Silent King return to His throne, and with a slight gesture of His finger, Radiant Hapsalast's broken body was restored to its original state, though his gaze was blank, like a pure puppet.
"Are you going to the Syndus System?" Orikan stared at the Silent King, asking.
The Silent King seemed amused.
"Why go to the Syndus System? To witness my foolishness?"
"Zellars' so-called Reverse Biotransference, now that I think of it, was probably just a trick to get me to fund him."
"..What are you going to do?" Orikan's tone suddenly rose. As an astromancer, even without observing the stars, he possessed a certain ability to foresee the future.
He predicted...
"I once destroyed a group of gods in the material universe."
"Now, I am going to hunt a god in the Empyrean."
"I will kill Saint Doraemon."
"You..." Orikan was shaken by the madness emanating from the Silent King: "Why must you do this! Why are you like this?"
"That one truly can give us souls, make us indistinguishable from true living beings, and give our race hope."
"Isn't this better than reversing biotransference? We can have perfect souls in eternal bodies..."
"You."
The Silent King bit out the word:
"You have never been those Necrons destroyed by my mistake."
"..What." Orikan froze in place.
"You are merely the lingering souls of my subjects, tormenting me as you wander the earth."
"Just as I am the lingering soul of the Silent King who made that mistake, wandering the earth, trying to find a way to reverse the error."
"My constant remorse is for those subjects I killed, not for you, puppets and slaves created by the C'tan with their memories."
"What you want is the future."
"And what I must do is redeem the past."
Orikan looked at the Silent King in disbelief.
He vaguely understood, understood why the Silent King spoke of being filled with remorse for His past actions, yet remained proud, arrogant, and autocratic when facing the Necrons; why He so decisively rejected Saint Doraemon's proposal to grant souls to the Necrons; why He occasionally displayed terrible cruelty towards the Necrons.
The Silent King's remorse was for the Necrontyr of old. The Necrons were merely a phantom of the Necrontyr, merely ghosts reminding Him of the mistakes He had made.
He said He would atone for His past mistakes, but it was never to atone for the Necrons, but to revive the Necrontyr.
As long as it did not jeopardize His plan to revive the Necrontyr, He was willing to project some remorse onto the Necrons and act for their benefit.
But He could not tolerate the Necrons refusing the revival of the Necrontyr, so He could only accept biotransference as a method. Whether it was the Stormlord's maintaining the status quo, Zellars' and some dynasties' ascension to light, or Saint Doraemon's bestowal of souls, He rejected them all.
The astromancer finally let out a low laugh.
"Good, good, good."
"So, this is a war between the Necrons and the Necrontyr, between the future and the past."
"I will forever curse you, lingering soul of Silent King Szarekh of the Necrontyr."
The astromancer turned and left.
The metallic giant worm, originally a Necron but now heavily mutated, twisted its long body, using its claws to cling to the walls of the World Engine's corridor as it charged towards Zandrekh.
But Zandrekh's guard, Obyron, was faster than the metallic giant worm.
His warblade swung, clashing against the metallic giant worm's bladed limbs.
Facing the impact of the massive beast's immense weight, Obyron did not retreat a single step; he even used his strength to forcefully halt the metallic giant worm's charge.
Blades and claws intersected several times in an instant, and dazzling electric sparks and emerald arcs splattered everywhere in the corridor.
The metallic giant worm suddenly twisted its body, using three pairs of limbs to trap Obyron's warblade, then raised its head, which barely resembled a Necron, and opened its hollow metallic maw, where the light of a Gauss weapon flickered, making Obyron's metallic skull shine.
Bang!!!!
Zandrekh lightly raised the Staff of Light in his hand, and a whistling electric arc struck the metallic giant worm's head, causing the Gauss weapon to graze past Obyron's body.
Obyron seized the opportunity to push away the metallic giant worm's weapon, and his sharp warblade directly pierced into the head, which Zandrekh's shot had already half-shattered.
The metallic giant worm's body crashed down, lying at Obyron's feet.
Zandrekh looked at the metallic giant worm, which had once been a Necron, and sighed softly.
He knew this was the handiwork of Illuminor Szeras, the sinner who created biotransference, a master of both biological and Necron modification.
On his way boarding the World Engine, Zandrekh had already seen countless highly distorted Necrons.
"Silent King, how can you expect me to believe?"
"Believe that this madman, who treats his own kind as test subjects and wantonly distorts our bodies, will create technology to save our race?"
Zandrekh shook his head slightly, lamenting—
A sharp tearing sound suddenly echoed behind Zandrekh.
Space and dimension were torn beside Zandrekh, revealing a Pocket Dimension, from which emerged a hunched Necron with six mechanical legs, six eyes, and six arms, each equipped with sharp phase blades.
Six phase blades stabbed at Zandrekh from six directions, seemingly intent on severing Zandrekh's head.
The phase blades whistled, and a purple figure flashed out, its slender, rapier-like blade rapidly swinging, simultaneously parrying all six phase blades, then seizing a brief opening to stab the phase rapier into the six-eyed metallic head.
"Somewhat like a Deathmark," Zandrekh said, looking at the fallen deformed Necron. "Very similar to the Six-Eyed Destroyers that Deathmarks become when they go insane. It should be Szeras' specialized product for close combat."
"You are truly at leisure," Sol said to Zandrekh, pulling the phase blade out of the metallic head. "I hope you would pay more attention to your own safety, as I have yet to redeem myself."
"Sol, your swordsmanship has improved again. To think our race has such a young talent as you, I wouldn't mind even if I died," Zandrekh said with a smile.
"You are delusional again, I am not a Necron—" Sol shook his head and said.
"When did I say we were Necrons? Isn't our race human?"
The emerald light in Zandrekh's eye sockets flickered playfully a few times:
"You know, I have always been a loyal general of the Imperium of Man. What kind of xeno is a Necron?"
Sol was momentarily speechless. He found this old man to be flexibly, casually, and selectively insane.
"Trazyn, have you located Szeras?" Zandrekh turned to look at his other side.
Trazyn the Infinite held a staff in one hand and a red circle and blue cross in the other, constantly gesturing with them.
"Szeras, that son of a Deceiver, must have a master behind him!"
Trazyn said, looking at the divining staff that kept spinning on the ground without falling:
"He must be hiding in some Pocket Dimension, which is why Saint Doraemon's divining staff cannot pinpoint his location."
"And I suspect that his Pocket Dimension and the room it's bound to are constantly moving, making it impossible to pinpoint him in one go."
"I am currently trying to hack into the World Engine's operating system to fix the positions of these rooms first."
Trazyn's emerald eyes were constantly flickering, and a small pyramid, also emitting an emerald light, sat atop his head.
That was the Portable Pyramid, an item that could stimulate the wearer's potential. Trazyn used it to activate the potential of his logical brain, rapidly hacking into the World Engine's operating system.
He was also humming a tune:
"Such a dream~ Such a dream~ I still have so many~"
"All, all, all~ Make them all come true for me~"
"With that magical Pocket~ Make them come true for me~"
Zandrekh's guard, Obyron, looked at this scene with some confusion.
"Does this really work?" Obyron couldn't help but ask.
Click—
A clear mechanical sound suddenly rang out, and the surrounding walls vibrated and shook slightly.
Moments later, the shaking stopped, and the constantly moving rooms within the World Engine also ceased their movement.
"Saint Doraemon's great power, boy," Trazyn said, glancing at Obyron.
While completing the hack and pausing the movement of the rooms within the World Engine, Trazyn also stole the internal blueprints of the World Engine.
He quickly marked hundreds of possible hiding locations for Szeras.
Then, Trazyn picked up the cross and circle in his left hand, saying something so fast it was almost inaudible.
The crosses kept flying up until, after half a minute, a circle finally flew into the air.
"Here." A map of the entire World Engine quickly appeared before Trazyn. He pointed his finger, indicating one of the rooms: "Szeras' hidden Pocket Dimension is concealed within this room."
According to the Truth and Falsehood Divination Machine's judgment, Szeras was inside.
Upon seeing this, Zandrekh did not hesitate. He waved the phase cloak behind him, and a surge of emerald crystals instantly spread out, enveloping everyone.
Then, dimensions and space overlapped, and everyone was pulled by Zandrekh into a Pocket Dimension. Zandrekh then manipulated this Pocket Dimension, connecting it to Szeras' Pocket Dimension—
Bang!!!
A series of emerald crystal walls blocked their path, preventing Zandrekh's Pocket Dimension from merging with Szeras' Pocket Dimension.
"Szeras has sealed his Pocket Dimension with some technology, I have to—" Zandrekh had just begun to speak when he realized Trazyn had suddenly requested to take control of his Pocket Dimension.
Zandrekh paused for a moment but still agreed to Trazyn's request.
Then, a crackling sound echoed, and the crystal wall blocking Zandrekh's Pocket Dimension shattered, opening Szeras' Pocket Dimension wide.
"Have you not read Szarekh's 'Treatise on Dimensional Mechanics,' Volume 69, Chapter 8, Section 179?"
"It explains how to deal with such situations."
Trazyn asked, looking at Zandrekh and Obyron, two Necrons, with a surprised expression.
"I don't understand these things, I'm just a guard," Obyron said with an unmoving expression.
"I don't understand these things either, I'm just an old madman," Zandrekh's eyes drifted for a moment.
Trazyn was speechless. Although he was not particularly loyal to Szarekh, the Phaeron, he always felt that "Treatise on Dimensional Mechanics" was a crystallization of Necron dimensional technology that every Necron should read, and the numerous "Supplements to Dimensional Mechanics" published by Szarekh after becoming a Necron were rare technological advancements for the Necron.
But he did not say much more, as time was of the essence. Everyone stepped out of Zandrekh's Pocket Dimension, instantly entering Szeras' Pocket Dimension.
Sol, the only one with nostrils, immediately covered his nose as the stench of rotting corpses continuously surged forth.
Corpses—human corpses, Aeldari corpses, Green-skinned Orks corpses, T'au corpses, Squat corpses, Tyranid corpses, corpses of various different xeno races—
These incomplete, dissected corpses were piled together, forming small mountains that reached the very top of the Pocket Dimension.
"He didn't even spare the children!!"
Zandrekh knelt on one knee, looking at a small skeleton and said.
Sol's attention was drawn by Zandrekh's voice, and he looked at the corpse.
"By the hooks of the C'tan, that's a Squat! Old madman!" Trazyn said, speechless, a moment before Sol.
The dwarf's corpse had a terrifyingly twisted face, as if, before death, he had been bound to the High King's low throne, forced to listen to dwarf jokes for ten thousand years, and literally laughed to death, clearly having suffered immense torment in life.
Sol's gaze moved from the dwarf's corpse to the depths of the mountain of corpses and sea of blood.
In stark contrast to the putrid corpses all around, the core of this Pocket Dimension was extremely clean, with only pristine metallic floors, operating tables, various experimental instruments, and several massive blackstone spires.
Those blackstone spires were active, suppressing the Warp energies around them. Sol could feel the wills of Lucius and Taviel within him becoming much thinner.
And between those spires stood a rather large Necron, resembling a giant spider.
He was Illuminor Szeras, the creator of biotransference, the commander of the World Engine, and the target of their journey.
"Welcome, esteemed guests. Your visit to my humble laboratory fills me with immense joy, and I have naturally made thorough preparations to receive you."
Szeras' voice rang out coldly. A dazzling light descended from above his head, and a burning humanoid figure wailed within the light.
That was a shard of a C'tan serving as the World Engine's core.
"You shall witness my ascension—eh?"
Two blades, like raven's wings, suddenly stabbed out from everyone's blind spot, sharply slashing across Szeras' throat.
Reyna stood on the bridge of the Light Lord, looking at the barren planet before her with some concern.
This was an unnamed planet, known in Imperial archives only as Duart-8, signifying it as the eighth planet in the Duart system.
This planet held no importance whatsoever in the entire galaxy.
It contained no valuable minerals to mine, its atmosphere was insufficient to sustain life, and it had no inhabitants.
But at this moment, in Reyna's eyes, this planet was almost as important as Terra, even surpassing Baal and Macragge.
This was solely because Alexander was on this barren planet, accompanied by the two Primarchs, Sanguinius and Roboute Guilliman.
However, aside from them, there were no other forces on Duart-8; neither Alexander's Doraemon Battle Group, Sanguinius' Saint Blood Guard, nor Guilliman's Invicta Guard had followed them.
Three of the Imperium of Man's most crucial individuals stood unprotected on this planet, and even Reyna's Light Lord was ordered to swiftly withdraw from the system.
Reyna felt fear, worried about their safety, but Alexander refused any form of protection.
"Giving me a hundred thousand Astartes is less useful than giving me a single Space dwarf."
"At least I could tell some dwarf jokes and entertain myself."
Reyna had to admit, Alexander was right.
If a real battle broke out, neither the Astra Militarum nor the Astartes would be of much use, nor could they provide any protection to the two Primarchs and Alexander. The likely outcome would be the Primarchs and Alexander protecting the Astartes and the Astra Militarum.
But Reyna was still full of worry. She truly felt the risk was too great.
"You once believed that everything was the Emperor's best arrangement, yet you are unwilling to believe that everything now is Doraemon's best arrangement?"
Reyna stood beside Reyna, also gazing at the barren planet as she spoke.
"I trust Saint Doraemon, but I worry about Alexander," Reyna couldn't help but cup her hands over her chest, "May the Emperor and Saint Doraemon protect them."
".." Reyna looked at Reyna, finding her logic a bit hard to understand.
The Emperor and Saint Doraemon themselves, protecting the Emperor and Saint Doraemon themselves?
"Can your precognitive abilities locate where the Space Dwarfs are?" Reyna suddenly asked.
Reyna tilted her head slightly, confused, not understanding what Reyna meant.
"Dwarfs?" Reyna asked, puzzled.
"Alexander said he wanted to tell dwarf jokes. dwarf jokes should be jokes told by dwarfs, right?"
"Let's go catch some dwarfs to tell jokes to Alexander."
Although Reyna was a bit slow, she had noticed that Alexander's mental state seemed to have a subtle new feeling compared to before.
It was as if he was a little bored, so Reyna tried to find something interesting for Alexander.
"There's a group of Space Dwarfs trying to sneak in at the edge of the Pariah Nexus," Reyna said, her eyes flickering with light, then she changed the subject: "Do you know which Primarch's descendants are least adept at dealing with Space Dwarfs?"
"..Which one?" Reyna, while ordering the Light Lord to head towards the position Reyna indicated, asked in confusion.
"It's Jaghatai Khan's descendants, the White Scars. The White Scars once issued an extermination order against the Space Dwarfs, but not a single Space dwarf was harmed," Reyna said with a straight face.
"Wh-why?" Reyna was a bit bewildered.
"Because Chogorians don't kill men or women shorter than a chariot wheel," Reyna said matter-of-factly.
"Huh??" A string of question marks appeared above Reyna's head, but before she could ask, a red dot appeared on the Light Lord's auspex.
In fact, no auspex was needed; Reyna could see with her naked eye the magnificent vessel that had intruded into the Duart system.
It was like an entire city of black tombs suspended in space, tearing through the stars. Its immense size was unlike anything Reyna had ever seen; even the Abyss-class Battleship doraemon Cabinet could not compare to that warship, and even the Phalanx was slightly inferior.
Reyna even suspected it was a black star that had crashed in.
Fortunately, the other party completely ignored the Light Lord and headed straight for Duart-8.
In the last moment before leaving the Duart system, Reyna only saw three burning fires fall from the void, and a sharp laugh echoed from the void.
"Szarekh! Silent King! You pathetic fool!"
"Miss me? Your dear old friend has come to visit you!"
A sharp, mocking laugh resounded in the void, and a figure shimmering with golden light appeared.
Golden ribbons floated in the void, a mocking face emerged from the darkness, and a lithe body, like an Ancient Terra Greek statue, lay across the Silent King's flagship, Annihilation Song.
That lithe body rested upon the stars, feet planted on a sun, a sneering curve on its lips. A hand, larger than the Silent King's flagship, reached into the system, and from its fingertips, three C'tan Shard fragments, woven from lies, hung suspended.
The Shaper, The Deceiver, and the Transcendent, three C'tan Shard fragments, deceived by lies and controlled by the hatred in their hearts, launched an attack on the Silent King's flagship, Annihilation Song.
Dark matter meteor showers, metallic Tyranids, tearing spacetime—the C'tan Shard fragments displayed the power of the gods of the material universe, wantonly twisting physical laws, vowing to completely tear apart the Annihilation Song.
But the moment these attacks approached the Annihilation Song, the temporal expansion field enveloping the entire Annihilation Song instantly activated, causing all attacks to become extremely slow, and even the three C'tan Shard fragments were instantly restrained within the expanded time.
On the Annihilation Song, the Silent King's fingers held a small crystal. The crystal constantly refracted the surrounding light, reflecting different scenes with the movement of the Silent King's fingers.
In an instant, the figures of the three C'tan Shard fragments were reflected within it.
Crystal, light, dimension, space, causality, and reality connected. The Silent King's fingers abruptly crushed the crystal.
And those three C'tan, along with the space they occupied, simultaneously collapsed and disintegrated, shattering them into thousands of fragments, scattering them to different locations in the galaxy.
"In the most prosperous period of our civilization, this was merely a small trick, establishing a causal link between that crystal and a region of space in the universe through light refraction. When the crystal shattered, everything in that space shattered with it."
The Silent King looked at the crystal shards falling from his fingertips, thinking indifferently.
Now, it was a treasured item from his vault, becoming one of the top hundred powerful offensive methods on the Annihilation Song.
A strong sense of guilt surged in his non-existent heart.
"How can you stop in the present, how can you go to the future?"
"If all of you go to the future, then my past mistakes can never be atoned for."
"You can only… only return to the past."
The Silent King looked at the golden figure suspended above the star system, the entity disguised as The Deceiver.
"Cegorach, must you play these ridiculous tricks?"
"Do you think you can provoke me with this?"
Silent King Szarekh saw through at a glance that The Deceiver was merely Cegorach's disguise.
In the void, the lithe golden figure flickered slightly, and brilliant colors emerged from beneath its golden body, forming a robe that draped over it. Its once muscular arms instantly became pale and slender, like a ghost.
Those slender hands pressed against its face, pulling its chin long, its forehead long, its nose protruding, its cheeks sunken, transforming that cunning face into a twisted, crescent-moon face.
Then, its fingers lightly swept across its entire face, and a layer of pastel colors immediately covered its features.
Laughing God Cegorach chuckled, resting his large, moon-like head on the Silent King's flagship, Annihilation Song, his eyes reflecting the Silent King within the bridge.
"Silent King, old friend, if your eyes had been so sharp back then, you wouldn't have fallen for my trick."
"Your trick?" The Silent King gave a cold laugh: "You've been exposed, are you still pretending to be The Deceiver?"
"..You really aren't smart enough!"
Cegorach laughed heartily, his voice gradually becoming ethereal, as if twisting already-happened history:
"Have you forgotten me? The Deceiver and I often disguised ourselves as each other. People could never tell whether some of the pranks in the galaxy back then were done by me or The Deceiver."
"How can you be sure… that The Deceiver who tricked you back then wasn't my disguise?"
This was a completely nonsensical lie, but spoken by Cegorach, it burrowed into the Silent King's will like a worm, stirring the Silent King's memories of that time.
His thoughts became slightly disordered, and some originally non-existent memories surged forth, seemingly hinting that it truly was Cegorach disguised as The Deceiver who had coaxed the Necron into destruction...
But why would he do that?
What benefit would that bring him?
"If I hadn't done that, how would the Old Ones have been destroyed? How could the Aeldari have risen to become the Overlords of the galaxy?"
This was, of course, a pure lie, full of holes, but Cegorach never intended to truly deceive the Silent King at this moment.
He merely used words to fabricate false memories, twist original facts, stimulate the Silent King's nerves, and awaken the Silent King's anger.
In fact, Cegorach succeeded.
Although he knew Cegorach's words were false, those worm-like words stimulated the most sensitive point in the Silent King's will, and in those false memories, the scene of Cegorach pushing the Necron into the furnace kept flashing back.
And those memories for which the Silent King felt the most guilt gradually transformed into a ridiculous drama under Cegorach's arrangement.
Thus, anger erupted in the Silent King's will.
He raised the God-Slaying Spear, pointing it at Cegorach, pointing at the Aeldari's Laughing God.
"Then you shall die."
Cegorach is the God of Mirth, the God of Mockery, the God of Sarcasm, and the Clown God.
In the entire Eldar Pantheon, his position is extremely insignificant. He does not possess the boundless divine power of the God-King Asuryan, nor the terrifying combat prowess of Kaela Mensha Khaine. He is not as beautiful as the Maiden Goddess Lileath, nor can he predict fate like the Crone Goddess. He cannot forge unrivaled artifacts like Vaul, nor can he roam the stars like Hoec. He does not even possess Isha's compassion.
The Clown's only skills are to amuse, to amuse himself, and to amuse others. He is merely a jester in the court of the gods. No matter how he twists and turns his clever tongue, he cannot change the fact of his extreme weakness.
Especially when the Silent King stepped out of his flagship, with his foot on the Dias of Dominion, and thrust that metal spear towards Cegorach, at that very moment,
Cegorach realized his weakness so clearly.
He saw the spear, enveloped in the undying flames of the Burning One, a spear capable of slaying C'tan.
In the past, it was with this spear that the Silent King, single-handedly, shattered the Burning One into dust.
The metal casing of the spear unfolded, or rather, that layer resembling a spear was merely a limiter for the true weapon.
After the metal casing unfolded, what was exposed was a slender crystal filament. This filament was unimaginably thin, so thin that it seemed to have no width or height, thinner than an atom, thinner than a quark, thinner than the Planck length, thinner than any matter Cegorach knew.
As a result, this spear pierced into the very seams of reality, into the veil where the Warp and reality intersect.
Relying on that probe-like crystal filament, the Silent King was able to glimpse the hidden gears of creation rushing past him, Cegorach, and all things. He saw the form of the Omniverse's 樞, and witnessed the universe's secret knowledge slowly flowing, forging, and projecting.
He saw the things that determined the shape of the universe, those infinite wonders, the source of infinite dimensions. Everything in the material universe was ultimately just a projection of what he saw across different dimensions, a layer on its infinite facets.
He saw the first cause of all things, the prime mover, the ultimate initial cause setting of the causal chain, the fundamental source of all existence, the end of infinite regression, those texts, those settings.
Vast energy was continuously being consumed. The Silent King tampered with what he saw but could not comprehend, gently leaving two diagonal lines between the things representing Xi/Gao/qi, symbolizing that Cegorach's existence was cut off from its very root.
This alone consumed most of the spear's power, temporarily preventing it from operating at such high power, at least for fifteen minutes, it could not display such might again.
Xi/Gao/qi perceived himself becoming disjointed. It was an indescribable feeling, as if he was being separated by something invisible. This separation was not material, nor was it of the Warp, but a more thorough, more intense separation.
If it were Asuryan, if it were Kaela Mensha Khaine, they would likely be gravely wounded by such an indescribable blow. But Xi/Gao/qi... Xi/Gao/qi had no way to resist and could only fall apart. This was within Xi/Gao/qi's expectations.
He struggled to hold himself together, casting his gaze towards the Eldar Pantheon.
Apart from Xi/Gao/qi, most of the divine thrones in the Pantheon were empty, all covered in dust and shattered.
Only Kaela Mensha Khaine's throne, though broken, had not yet extinguished.
Only Isha's throne, though empty, remained intact.
Only the throne that once belonged to Ynnead and now belonged to Alexander, though incomplete, had someone seated upon it.
But Xi/Gao/qi did not intend to seek their help, nor rely on their power. He had a better option.
Xi/Gao/qi's gaze turned to the highest point of the Pantheon.
There, there was a fifth divine being of the Eldar, besides Xi/Gao/qi, Isha, Kaela Mensha Khaine, and Alexander.
That was the most rebellious youngest daughter among the Eldar gods.
"Sister! Save your brother!" Xi/Gao/qi cried out into the boundless Empyrean.
Clad in a thin veil, with lust and purity coexisting, divinity and demon-hood present together, a soft body like a mermaid and a venomous snake subtly wriggled. A face with both handsome male and beautiful female features looked down upon the reality dimension from above.
In an instant, in Slaanesh's garden, millions of flowers with beautiful female faces opened, and sweet fragrance emanated from the mouths of these souls, restrained for tens of thousands of years. Six hundred and sixty thousand unceasing dancers leaped around him, six hundred and sixty thousand singers, stripped of their lower bodies, sang his beauty, six hundred and sixty thousand harpists, whose harps were made from their own intestines, played opening pieces for him, six hundred and sixty thousand keyboardists played while vowing to perform for him for life, six hundred and sixty thousand bassists brought wine and delicacies.
"Clown, be grateful to your Lord God."
The Eldar Goddess revealed a sweet smile. The Thirsty Lady opened his deep, mucous-filled mouth, and an orange-yellow light erupted within it. A ball of fire surged out of his mouth, transforming into a roaring phoenix that flew into Xi/Gao/qi's body.
That was the divine power of Asuryan, once swallowed by Slaanesh, which he now bestowed upon Xi/Gao/qi.
In the real universe, every part of Cegorach shattered in the blink of an eye. He was like a piece of finely cut and divided minced meat, each piece equally sized, each piece equally tiny.
He turned into dust, the smallest and finest dust, slowly dispersing in the vacuum.
The Silent King was not surprised by this. Cegorach was merely the Clown God; his existence, his power, were too weak. the Burning One had endured five spears back then. If it were Asuryan or Kaela Mensha Khaine of the Eldar, they might also be able to withstand a few spears.
But Cegorach could not. Although his mouth was extremely dangerous, he himself could not even withstand one spear.
The Silent King could probably guess that Cegorach was merely a pawn, a tool to cool down his spear and create an opportunity.
But the Silent King had to admit that Cegorach was an extremely tempting bait.
The Silent King still remembered the immense damage Cegorach had inflicted upon the C'tan during the War in Heaven. A major reason why the Necron could defeat the C'tan was that Cegorach's lies caused significant mutual attrition among the C'tan.
A Cegorach who could move freely and manipulate his tongue was too dangerous. The Silent King would rather risk the spear cooling down for fifteen minutes than allow him to live.
"Quack! This is the bond between us siblings!" Cegorach's playful voice suddenly echoed in the void.
"Hmm?" the Silent King let out a soft, confused murmur.
The Fire of Asuryan ignited on Cegorach's shattered ashes. Cegorach's torn existence was re-adhered in the fierce flames. His body was still fragmented, his aura extremely weak, and his sharp, moon-like face was full of cracks. His very existence had suffered a nearly fatal blow, but he was at least still alive, still existing.
He looked at the spear in the Silent King's hand.
"So that's how it is..."
"Similar to the Old Ones' creative tongue, directly acting on the fundamental self-evident principles that constitute this world."
"That, this Clown also knows a little."
Cegorach revealed an extremely mocking smile, and a Curse surged from his lips.
Curse, that was the language of the Old Ones. This power was not the power of the material universe, nor the power of the Warp, but the 'sounds' and 'words' hidden beneath the appearance of existence, a power that directly acted on the self-evident principles of the world itself.
The so-called self-evident principles are the axioms of this world that exist without needing proof from other things. They act naturally, like a string of words written by an author in a book, which only need to be recited to take effect on their own, transforming the entire world.
In Alexander's words, this was the Old Ones' cheat code in the game of the universe.
The spear in the Silent King's hand also did something similar, and its effect even surpassed most Curses.
The Curse Cegorach mastered could not directly and intensely alter the 'sounds' and 'words' hidden beneath the appearance of existence like the Silent King's spear. That was too complex.
But among the Curses Cegorach mastered, there was one that could copy the damage he suffered onto other beings.
"Fus!!!!"
"Ro!!!!"
"Dah!!!!"
Extremely complex syllables spewed from Cegorach's mouth.
Reality began to twist, and strong ripples began to appear in the Warp. The sound itself seemed to possess no energy, but the moment it was uttered, its effect was self-evident, naturally acting upon the Silent King in front of Cegorach.
The Silent King subtly tightened his grip on the spear. In the storm raised by the Curse, his body was like a fortress nailed to the surface of the sea, unmoving and unwavering. The Curse's effect of replicating the spear's damage did not affect the Silent King's existence in the slightest.
Cegorach could only slightly redirect the Curse's direction.
The Annihilation Song beneath the Silent King's feet instantly began to shatter. This colossal flagship, which almost no other vessel in the galaxy could rival, instantly turned into dust and vanished, just as had happened to Cegorach moments before.
In truth, Cegorach had hoped to directly use the Curse to replicate the damage he had just suffered onto the Silent King, directly tearing apart the Silent King's existence.
But the spear held in the Silent King's hand was like a nail and an anchor, fixing the Silent King's existence, making it difficult to alter. Cegorach could only settle for the next best thing, tearing apart the Annihilation Song, the massive flagship that housed a large number of the Silent King's terrifying weapons.
The Silent King's eyes flashed with anger for a few moments, but Cegorach chuckled, and in the blink of an eye, he plunged into the Warp, disappearing from the Silent King's sight.
With a bang, Zellars' metal head was cleaved off by two sharp blades resembling raven wings, falling to the ground with a clatter, rolling across the smooth floor until it stopped at Thor's feet.
An Astartes, clad in paint black power armor and a helmet resembling a common raven's head, silently appeared where Zellars' headless body stood.
Zellars' heavy metal body crashed to the ground.
Raven Guard Sarojin, a legendary Raven Guard, had been hidden among the group using the Blind Spot Star since entering the World Engine, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. He had decisively taken Zellars' life without giving Zellars a chance to retaliate.
But this was not the end; Zellars was a Necron, and he had a resurrection protocol within the World Engine, allowing him to quickly reform his body.
"Did you find Zellars' resurrection protocol?" Zandrekh asked Trazyn.
Trazyn's eyes, shimmering with green light, flickered continuously, as if he was calculating and searching for something.
His will surged through the World Engine's core, searching for Zellars' resurrection protocol within the data stream.
But slowly, Trazyn's expression became increasingly troubled.
The moment Zellars died, Trazyn's will forcibly connected to the World Engine, replacing Zellars. This was one of Trazyn's specialties; his will was all-pervasive. Not to mention the World Engine, even the bodies of other Necrons were often inexplicably taken over by Trazyn.
It was with this skill that Trazyn moved freely through the tomb worlds of various dynasties, protecting those ownerless, pitiable artifacts.
But this time, no matter how Trazyn's will probed within the World Engine, he couldn't find Zellars' resurrection protocol. Even now, Zellars' will had not reappeared in the World Engine to contend with Trazyn for control, as if Zellars were truly dead.
"Could his resurrection protocol be outside? Did he abandon the World Engine and flee?"
Trazyn's face gradually darkened as he realized an unpleasant possibility.
"Found it."
Trazyn found a fragment of Zellars' resurrection protocol in a data Abandoned hole.
Zellars' resurrection protocol had been destroyed long ago, even before the battle within the Pariah Nexus began.
Zellars' will had almost completely vanished, with only a fragmented obsession lingering.
"..I...ascend."
"..The Deceiver..."
The Deceiver.
Crack—
A crisp cracking sound suddenly rang out. Zellars' head at Thor's feet suddenly twisted on its own, looking up at everyone present.
Zellars' head showed an expression of sudden realization, then a playful smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Alas!"
"I never thought I was the C'tan Deceiver!!"
A sharp, mad laugh echoed, and dazzling golden light burst from Zellars' head. The mountains of corpses and seas of blood around them instantly transformed under this light.
The corpses of those tortured to death by Zellars all stood up, their mouths twisted into joyful smiles, piling together, their broken limbs malfunctioning as if welcoming a great actor to the stage.
"This is bad!" Trazyn roared, realizing he had fallen into a blind spot in his thinking.
Saint Doraemon had warned them about the possible presence of The Deceiver. The two Saints beside the Silent King, the Silent King himself, Imotekh, Zellars, and even many Phaeron could be The Deceiver. The Deceiver might randomly choose one of them to possess or replace. However, most of these possibilities were eliminated one by one, and eventually, the message from Orikan confirmed that The Deceiver was Radiant Hapsalast.
But after entering the World Engine, Trazyn's mind seemed to be blocked, automatically ignoring one possibility: that there might be more than one fragment of The Deceiver active in the Pariah Nexus.
Light as hot as a star burst forth, and a golden, agile figure slowly emerged in the Pocket Dimension. Its body, like a gilded marble statue, gently opened its arms and bowed slightly to the people before it, as if welcoming their arrival.
"Thank you for your visit, gentlemen. If not for your arrival, this poor old Deceiver wouldn't know how much longer he'd have to work overtime!"
"To commend you for seeing through the old Deceiver's trick, I'll give you nine seconds to escape."
"One."
Trazyn, Zandrekh, Obyron, Thor, and Sarojin exchanged glances.
Trazyn was the first to realize the strength of this Deceiver fragment.
This fragment was composed of at least nine or more Deceiver C'tan fragments, having reached the strength of a Supreme C'tan, and was absolutely beyond their ability to contend with.
With almost no hesitation, everyone turned and retreated into Zandrekh's Pocket Dimension.
"Two." The Deceiver watched as everyone ran back into Zandrekh's Pocket Dimension, making no attempt to stop them, as if he truly was commending them for seeing through his trick and allowing them nine seconds to escape.
Only after Zandrekh and the others' figures disappeared from The Deceiver's perception did he slightly shift his gaze to the nine Blackstone Pylons beside him.
In just a few words, The Deceiver had injected a lie into the wills of Trazyn and the others; even letting them go for nine seconds was part of The Deceiver's lie.
During his days of transforming into Zellars and acting as Zellars, The Deceiver discovered that lies involving the number nine were more easily believed. Although he didn't understand the principle, he now deliberately made his lies related to nine.
The lie The Deceiver injected into their wills was that they had uncovered The Deceiver's conspiracy.
But in reality, The Deceiver had completed all the cooperation he had agreed upon with the Lord of Change.
Firstly, to trick the Silent King into a disadvantage in his confrontation with Saint Doraemon, and to facilitate Saint Doraemon's reclamation of the Necrons.
The part of this task that The Deceiver was supposed to do had been fully completed.
The Lord of Change secretly pushing Saint Doraemon to reclaim the Necrons was, of course, not out of kindness, but to ensnare Saint Doraemon in the web woven by Him and The Deceiver.
This was also the second part.
The Deceiver and the Lord of Change needed to use Zellars' mind, using the Void Dragon's past research on Blackstone obtained from the Silent King, to complete the technology the Void Dragon had not finished in the past: the technology to manipulate Warp currents by constantly flipping the polarity of Blackstone.
Unfortunately, Zellars saw through The Deceiver's enticement, strongly expressing his disdain for the Warp and his contempt for The Deceiver. The Deceiver had no choice but to steal his identity, his existence, and all of him, to become him, and thereby steal Zellars' wisdom and mind to research Blackstone.
Finally, based on the Void Dragon's research, combined with the minds of The Deceiver, the Lord of Change, and Zellars, They completed the Void Dragon's past fantasy, and could now control the Blackstone Pylons throughout the galaxy with a chain reaction by changing the polarity of just one Blackstone.
This was the trap set by the Lord of Change. As long as the Necrons submitted to Saint Doraemon, the Blackstone Pylon technology they possessed would inevitably fall into his hands.
As soon as he attempted to deploy Blackstone Pylon arrays across the galaxy to suppress the Warp, the Lord of Change could reverse the polarity of the entire galaxy's Blackstone arrays, plunging the entire galaxy into the Warp.
Furthermore, the Lord of Change also promised that he would redirect the Warp currents channeled by the Blackstone Pylons towards The Deceiver, making The Deceiver a dual deity of the Warp and reality. But The Deceiver was not a fool; although he didn't understand the Warp very well, he knew that this bird-man wasn't so generous, and was most likely just dangling a carrot in front of The Deceiver.
The Deceiver only ever cared about...
The polarity of the Blackstone Pylons suppressing the Warp was reversed, and Warp ripples began to undulate in this Pocket Dimension.
A twisted, deformed wizard, covered in bulging muscles, emerged from the Warp ripples and bowed slightly to The Deceiver:
"Great Deceiver, I am honored to see you complete the most crucial step in our great endeavor. The great Lord of Change expresses His immense respect to you."
"Where are my fragments?" The Deceiver slightly raised his finger, and a series of complex information streams flowed in his hand—that was the technology the Lord of Change desired.
The wizard smiled slightly and gently waved his hand, and more than ten C'tan fragments belonging to The Deceiver shimmered in and out of sight within the Warp current.
The Deceiver smiled slightly, pushing the information stream in his hand towards the wizard. The wizard, in turn, kept his promise, pushing more than ten C'tan fragments into this Pocket Dimension.
Those smaller fragments that once belonged to The Deceiver let out cackling laughter, swirling around The Deceiver, one by one merging into his body.
The Deceiver gradually felt his connection with reality becoming clearer, more vivid, and closer to complete. He could even clearly feel the fragments of himself scattered across the galaxy, and at his call, those fragments were flying towards him, beginning to merge with him...
"I look forward to our next collaboration." The wizard bowed respectfully and stepped back into the Warp current, disappearing from sight.
The Deceiver chuckled two or three times. He had buried a small trap in the technology he gave to the Lord of Change.
The technology itself was sound, absolutely viable.
But The Deceiver had secretly sent an escaped fragment to the vicinity of several Blackstone Obelisks built by the Void Dragon in the past, twisting the physical laws near those Blackstone Obelisks.
It was a very slight alteration, and would absolutely not be discovered unless one had an unparalleled understanding of the structure of the real universe.
But physical laws are like that; a small decimal point, a tiny constant deviation, can lead to completely different results.
As long as the Lord of Change reverses the polarity of the Blackstone array at that time, all the Warp currents summoned into the galaxy will flow to one place:
Humanity's birthplace, Mars in the Solar System, flowing towards The Deceiver's old acquaintance, the Void Dragon.