Chapter 122 - Humanity's Slow Death
The Emperor's breathing was heavy, His shoulders seemingly weighed down by the weight of the universe. Endless weariness and grief enveloped Him, but beneath that calm surface, the hidden power of the Dark King boiled like a volcano.
With Horus's death, the power of the Four within the Vengeful Spirit receded rapidly like a tide pulling away from shore. The chaotic runes and energy cracks that once filled the warship instantly dimmed, and the entire vessel fell into an eerie silence.
But in that instant, the Dark King's power, which had been suppressed within the Emperor for so long, suddenly erupted. Dark energy surged from His body like black flames, accompanied by a deep yet deafening roar.
Buzzing!
The shields of the Vengeful Spirit had already been shattered. A squad of Custodians clad in golden auramite armor stormed in at this critical moment. They held guardian spears, their eyes burning with loyalty and an absolute sense of duty to the Emperor. Shouting battle cries, they marched with firm steps toward the kneeling Emperor.
"For the Emperor!"
"For the Emperor!"
However, the power of the Dark King swept out like a roaring storm, instantly engulfing them. The Custodians' golden armor melted in the dark flames, and their flesh was mercilessly burned. In an instant, the loyal warriors turned into piles of charred remains, falling onto the deck of the Vengeful Spirit.
Francis and the others were not spared either. The dark energy blew them away like an indiscriminate storm. Francis's armor emitted a piercing scream as his exposed skin was instantly scorched, leaving large burn marks and brands across his body.
Leman Russ used his spear to support himself, struggling to avoid being overturned by the storm. His hair was already singed, and he continued to spit blood, his face contorted in pain.
"Francis, help me up!" Leman Russ's voice was weak. "I have no strength left!"
Although the three stab wounds had avoided vital organs, the massive blood loss had made him see stars.
Sanguinius's wings were torn apart, and the glimmer of warp-light flickered uncontrollably around him, trying to resist the destructive force.
Francis, enduring the searing heat, slowly approached Leman Russ and roared, "Here! Drink this!"
Leman Russ found the blood in front of him very familiar. "What is this? It looks so familiar!"
Francis leaned close to the other's ear and shouted over the howling energy. "It's yours!"
Leman Russ "...."
The entire warship's deck began to collapse. The walls twisted and deformed, and the center of the dark power resembled a collapsing black star.
The Emperor's head was lowered, his fists clenched, his breathing deep and heavy, like a volcanic eruption. The surrounding dark flames devoured everything, yet spread uncontrollably.
All the blackstone on site converged into a massive black staircase under the Emperor's will. The Emperor stood at the top of the steps. The rate at which His power expanded slowed. With a single step, His figure vanished abruptly along with the black steps.
Inside the Golden Throne Hall of Terra, the air was silent and oppressive. Numerous Mechanicum adepts busied themselves repairing and maintaining the Throne's operation. The immense Golden Throne towered in the center of the hall, emitting the faint light of countless complex runes.
On the Throne sat a colossal figure, Magnus the Red, his face deep in thought, as if planning his own future.
"My father became a god. Could it really be my turn next?" Magnus muttered. "I'm not ready to be Emperor yet!"
Suddenly, space twisted violently, and intense psychic energy waves tore through reality. The Emperor stepped onto the blackstone stairs and appeared directly next to the Golden Throne.
"Father! What brings you here! Aren't you...?" Before Magnus could finish speaking, he discovered that the hand gripping him was sealing his psychic powers, and he could not break free no matter what.
Without hesitation, the Emperor yanked him off the Golden Throne.
The Emperor strode toward the Golden Throne, His black cloak trailing on the ground, stained with the glow of molten blackstone. He turned around and slowly sat down.
As if sensing His return, the Golden Throne's runes lit up once more, and a torrent of psychic energy surged through all of Terra. His hands gripped the armrests lightly, and He seemed to be the center of fate itself, with a sense of oppression sweeping through the entire space.
The runes on the Golden Throne flashed wildly. The Astronomican, originally used to sustain Warp travel, now burns as brightly as the sun itself. However, this was not warmth, but a sign of destruction.
In the outer reaches of the galaxy, the Emperor's power cut through entire star systems like a sharp blade. The civilians were bewildered and helpless. They looked up at the sky only to see the apocalyptic scene of the earth cracking and volcanoes erupting.
Hundreds of millions of people vanished in that instant, their souls torn into the Warp by this terrifying psychic energy.
The Four roared in fury within their own domains, watching countless burgeoning souls surge toward them, their future servants and sacrifices, only to vanish into nothingness under the Emperor's will.
"These sacrifices are necessary for the future of humanity," the Emperor whispered. This was the only way He could prolong the ascension as much as possible, by feeding it souls.
Magnus stood at the foot of the stone steps, his eyes wide open, reflecting the Emperor's indifferent face.
"Why?!" Magnus's voice echoed throughout the throne room. His hand gripping the scepter trembled slightly, and the psychic energy around him flickered but could not take form.
"Magnus," the Emperor spoke, His voice deep and majestic. "These are unavoidable sacrifices to ensure the continuation of humanity. At least humanity is still alive."
...
On the Vengeful Spirit, Leman Russ lay in Francis's arms, his face contorted with pain, but his eyes remained as resolute as a blade.
"Francis... cough cough..." Leman Russ's voice was weak but firm. He struggled to lift his head and grasped the other's shoulder with his blood-stained hand.
"I know... my time is running out. Cough cough... From this day forward... the Space Wolves are yours. You... cough cough, you must lead them to continue the fight. Don't let them lose their way... cough cough, don't let them forget... what we are protecting..."
"Don't talk bullshit! You'll be alright!" Francis forcefully reopened Leman Russ's wound, searching for something.
"Enough... cough cough, don't lie to me..." A faint smile appeared on Leman Russ's lips, but it couldn't hide the weariness in his voice. "The Wolf King knew his fate... cough cough, this is my destiny. I don't blame you for stabbing me. As long as it can save Father, cough cough, stabbing me twice more would be worth it!"
Russ's eyes gradually dimmed, but he still stubbornly stared at Francis. "You can do it... You can do it better than anyone else... because you're my brother, the only person I can trust..."
Sanguinius looked at him with great concern, as strands of his hair covered his eyes.
Squelch!
Francis forcefully pulled the broken fragments of the blackstone sword from Leman Russ's body and then applied a massive dose of regenerative serum.
The tissue grew wildly, spreading like spring weeds, covering the deep wound. The wound that should have been fatal healed at an astonishing speed. The bones and tendons rejoined, and even the broken ribs could be heard cracking as they returned to their original positions.
"Why isn't he reacting yet? Russ's eyes have turned gray!" Sanguinius frowned, his heart filled with worry.
"Oh! I know this condition, it requires emergency treatment!" Francis raised his right fist and slammed it into Leman Russ's groin.
Thump!
The dull impact seemed to freeze the air for a moment.
Leman Russ's eyes widened suddenly, his pupils contracting violently, like a wild beast utterly startled. His body arched instinctively, his hands instinctively protecting his abdomen, and a low roar, filled with pain and indignation, burst from his throat.
"Awooo—!!!"
Leman Russ looked at his hands, completely bewildered. "I'm alive!"
His body had been getting weaker and weaker, and he had even thought he was dying.
"Isn't that obvious? I'm a physician! I have a hundred ways to stab you ninety-nine times and still not kill you!" Francis crossed his arms.
"How could I possibly kill you in three strikes? It's just that a fragment of the blackstone fell into your body and suppressed your psychic energy. You just said you'd give me the Space Wolves, so even though you survived, you'll be the company commander of the Space Wolves from now on. How about that?"
Francis silently took a few steps back. He had never seen anyone so good at feigning death!
Leman Russ scratched his head and didn't continue arguing.
They stood before the corpse, silent.
Horus's body lay there silently, his once incomparably majestic form now utterly ruined. His power armor was already shattered, revealing mangled, desiccated flesh. His face showed both angry contortion and a sense of relief.
Francis slowly extended his hand, then slowly withdrew it, as if he dared not touch the great warrior of the past.
"Is he still the same Horus?" Sanguinius asked in a low voice, his voice hoarse and filled with sorrow, his golden wings drooping to the ground.
"Yes and no," Leman Russ replied, his voice low and hoarse.
...
Horus's death sent shockwaves through the ranks of the traitors. His followers felt a deep fear they had never known before; their leader had fallen. The various traitor Legions decided to flee to the Eye of Terror. The warships started their engines, pierced through empty interstellar space, tore through the boundary of the void, and sped toward the distant chaotic abyss.
Inside the Primarch meeting chamber on Terra, the air was heavy, and the surrounding light was dim as if shrouded in dark clouds.
Various battle reports and tactical assessments were scattered on the table. The Primarchs sat around a huge round stone table, their eyes filled with deep anxiety.
Malcador stood to one side of the table, his gaze sweeping over the assembly. "The Emperor's current situation is extremely precarious, and we urgently need to make a decision on how to protect the galaxy while curbing the Emperor's tendency to destroy life on entire worlds at intervals. We might even need to completely eliminate the Aeldari from the Webway as a last resort!"
His voice, like a stone sinking into water, resounded throughout the entire chamber.
"How about we deliberately damage the Golden Throne slightly? That way it can absorb more psychic energy, and Father will be more stable," Magnus said, his voice deep and resolute.
Everyone "...."
"Oh! How about we mass-produce humans? We make it so that the rate at which Father consumes them can't keep up with the rate at which new humans are born?"
[End of Chapter]
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