"Father, wonderful! You've broken free from that fraud! All you need to do now is find me, and I'll lead you to the truth!"
"Father, come find me! Please, you must find me!"
Caelan stood in a desert. On one side stretched endless dunes, and on the other, at the horizon, a green oasis shimmered in the heat.
He remembered clearly that before he fell asleep, he had been lying on a soft velvet bed. Yet when he opened his eyes, here he was, standing in sand, with some voice yammering in his dream.
"So… where the hell is this now?" Caelan sighed.
He had just helped Curze conquer Nostramo. He hadn't even had time to savor the victory before being dumped into another strange world.
This was certainly not Nostramo. Here, there was a sun, and no hive cities in sight.
Nostramo had no deserts, no oases, only wastelands choked with industrial waste.
'This must be another Primarch's homeworld. But where was the Primarch?'
Last time, Curze's incubation pod had been dropped right in his face. But this time, no trace of such a pod could be found anywhere.
At least, unlike before, he wasn't empty-handed. He actually had a weapon this time.
Caelan touched his waist. A plasma pistol hung at his side, a gift from Philly.
Unfortunately, Curze had never liked her much, because that girl had also started calling Caelan "father."
Sighing again, Caelan set off toward the oasis. Since he had no clue where he was, he might as well find someone to ask.
The sand glittered gold under the blazing sun as he trudged forward.
As he drew nearer, the outline of a town emerged through the shimmering heat haze.
Yellow adobe walls encircled a cluster of flat-roofed houses. A few tall trees cast dappled shadows at the gate. Smoke curled lazily from clay chimneys, tracing soft lines against the deep blue sky. The wind carried with it the scent of roasted bread and cumin.
But just as Caelan approached the town, he froze. He had just witnessed a murder.
In the shade of a boulder, a boy with hair crept up behind another, a bald, dark-skinned boy, and looped a rope around his neck.
The Emperor himself had once watched his uncle murder his father, the first murder in human history.
Now Caelan was watching another murder unfold. The boys were barely eleven or twelve, but one was trying to kill the other.
Smack!
Caelan grabbed the would-be killer by the neck and lifted him off the ground. Curze loved this move; Caelan had picked it up from him.
Though he wasn't a Primarch, he was still a grown man. Lifting a scrawny child wasn't difficult.
To make sure he wasn't punishing the wrong boy, Caelan asked the victim: "Why was he trying to kill you?"
The bald boy dropped the rope and coughed violently, gulping in fresh air.
It took him a long moment to recover before he rasped out: "I don't know. We're from the same town, but I've never had a conflict with him."
Caelan studied the boy's eyes. 'No trace of a lie.'
He wasn't Curze; he couldn't sniff out the stench of sin.
But he was certain: when the boy in his hand had been strangling the dark-skinned child, he had been smiling. A cruel, delighted smile, the thrill of murder.
"What's your name?" Caelan asked.
"Erebus," the dark-skinned boy answered.
"…What?"
Caelan snapped his head down, staring hard at the would-be murderer in his grip.
The boy's skin wasn't truly dark. His face, scalp, and body had been painted over with black ink inscribed with script.
Caelan slowly lowered him, then clapped both hands on his trembling shoulders.
"So you're Erebus, huh?"
Caelan's boot came down hard.
With a sickening crunch, the boy's foot collapsed under the pressure. Flesh burst, bone splintered through skin, and a pool of thick crimson spread across the ground.
"Aaah!"
The boy's face twisted in a mask of shock and agony, but the scream stuck in his throat, because Caelan's hand was clamped around his neck.
"Don't scream. I'm a softhearted guy. I can't stand the sound of screaming."
His boot pressed down again. Leather ground against bone, producing a nauseating crunch.
One by one, the boy's toes snapped, each crack like dry twigs breaking. Blood and pulp smeared beneath Caelan's sole.
"Mmmhh…"
Muffled sobs slipped from the boy's crushed throat, wheezing like a man trying to cry while suffocating.
"Did I… do something to make you hate me?" the real Erebus asked timidly.
The look on Caelan's face when he spat out that name, it was terrifying.
This man had saved his life, and he looked kind enough. But why did he hate the name "Erebus" so much?
And if he hated him, then why was he torturing someone else instead?
"Shut up. This has nothing to do with you," Caelan barked.
Erebus obediently closed his mouth. His eyes flicked toward the mangled boy. His feet were nothing but shredded, bone-studded meat.
Even though that boy had just tried to kill him, Erebus felt pity.
Caelan ground his boot a final time, making sure every bone was crushed.
Curze hadn't liked torture. But Caelan… Caelan found he rather enjoyed it.
And who could blame him? Anyone would, in this case.
Patting the boy's bloodied face, Caelan muttered: "Even if it weren't you, Erebus, there'd still be an Erebaty, a Moriarty… the Four Chaos Gods always have their plots. Leaving you alive might help expose them earlier, but I just can't resist."
Releasing his grip slightly, Caelan asked in a soft voice: "Does it hurt?"
"I was wrong… please… spare me…" the boy sobbed hoarsely, the last of his strength wrung into his plea.
Caelan drew the pistol from his hip. He had thought his psychic powers would make such a weapon unnecessary.
But now he realized, this little gun was a gift from heaven.
"I hereby declare Philly to be my little lifesaver!"
He pulled the trigger.
One plasma bolt cored through the boy's chest. A second obliterated his skull.
Caelan stepped back a few paces to avoid the spray.
"Is he dead?" he asked.
Erebus stared at the ruined, headless corpse, shivering. "He… shouldn't be alive anymore, right?"
"I think so too. But just in case…"
Caelan closed his eyes. Psychic power surged around him like a rising tide.
In the unseen dimensions, the boy's shattered soul still clung to his body, twisting and howling silently.
'Unacceptable.'
'Even his ashes had to go.'
Brilliant blue light spilled from Caelan's fingertips. To Erebus, it was as if a sun had exploded before his eyes.
When his vision cleared, the boy's body had vanished, reduced to drifting motes of light.
And more chilling still, Erebus sensed something deeper had been erased as well. As though someone had scrubbed away the final stain on a canvas, leaving behind not even the faintest trace.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
[email protected]/DaoistJinzu