Two blurry, indistinct figures flickered in and out of the bloody mist.
They were tall and robust, walking step by step towards Alexander and the others under the light of the Scarlet Scar.
They looked just like the giant ogres from ancient Terra legends.
Alexander suddenly stood up, frowning as he watched the figures in the blood mist grow closer.
He smelled the pungent scent of thirst and blood, and in his ears, he heard the lament of Sanguinius.
"What's wrong?" Danton was startled when he saw Alexander suddenly stand up.
He turned his head and looked into the blood mist, following Alexander's gaze.
Danton's vision was naturally not as good as Alexander's; he could only vaguely see indistinct dark shadows in the blood mist.
If Alexander's gaze hadn't pointed out their location, he might not have noticed them at all.
"Get your weapons!" Danton said sharply.
He immediately pulled open his clothes; a lasgun, clearly taken from the battlefield of Ashford, was tied with cloth strips inside his broad, linen-colored garment.
Danton raised the lasgun and aimed it at the two dark shadows in the blood mist.
The other Ashfordians around them also reacted quickly.
They were all survivors of the Tyranid invasion, and every one of them was on edge.
The driver quickly pulled an automatic infantry rifle from the vehicle and threw it to Alexander.
Alexander merely hung it at his waist after catching it, not holding it in his hands.
"What is it? Can you see clearly?" Danton asked in a low voice, "Some kind of beast?"
Alexander shook his head slightly, taking a step forward and looking at the two tall figures in the blood mist:
"Leave this place; there's nothing here for you!"
Alexander said in a low, grave voice:
"For the sake of Sanguinius' blood, Baal Prime needs everyone's strength now. Do not let humanity consume its own power."
The two tall figures in the blood mist stopped their advance. They seemed somewhat surprised that they had been discovered by a mere group of mortals.
But a voice filled with thirst and anger still came from deep within the blood mist: "Do mortals also dare to invoke Sanguinius' blood?"
They seemed to think Alexander was begging for mercy, pleading with them not to kill these mortals.
But Alexander did not mean that.
"What I mean is," Alexander sighed, "for Sanguinius' sake, I hope your deaths are on the battlefield."
"To die here brings no glory and brings tears to the Archangel."
"Leave. For his sake, I will spare your lives."
Alexander was telling the truth.
He knew that the two in the blood mist, though controlled by the curse of Bloodthirst, were still loyal at heart.
They had to be destroyed, had to face death, but for the sake of Sanguinius, and for the sake of Baal Prime needing every ounce of strength now, Alexander wished they could die on the battlefield.
"Roar!!!" A nearly bestial roar erupted from the blood mist.
The two figures emerged from the blood mist, gradually revealing themselves to the mortals.
They were giants in red and silver power armor, the Death Angels of the Emperor, the sons of Sanguinius, the Blood Cavaliers Battle Group, consumed by Bloodthirst and branded as renegades.
"Angels?!" an Ashfordian exclaimed, lowering his rifle barrel, almost ready to prostrate himself.
"Raise your weapons!!" Danton was sweating profusely, his body trembling slightly as he looked at the two Astartes before him.
He could sense the thirst emanating from them, and the gaze from beneath their power armor helmets—a gaze that saw food.
Danton felt his throat dry and his head spin. He couldn't understand why the Astartes would look at them, mere mortals, in such a way.
"Sir!" Danton shouted, "We are Ashfordians! We fought in the Underworld, with General Drost and Lord Dante!"
But the two Blood Knights seemed to have no intention of speaking further with mortals.
"This is serious," Alexander thought, staring at the two Astartes.
He could vaguely sense that the two Astartes were almost completely consumed by Bloodthirst.
If not for the faint trace of loyalty still remaining in their hearts, they would have long since devolved into complete monsters.
It was this tiny bit of loyalty that prevented them from feeding in Angel's Landing, choosing instead to hunt in the desert.
But this tiny bit of loyalty could not fight against the craving brought by Bloodthirst, the craving for blood.
They were almost uncontrollably driven to consume flesh and blood, to the point of ignoring that this group of mortals had also fought for the Imperium.
They even ignored the threat and warning in Alexander's words, taking them only as mockery. A rational Astartes would at least be cautious.
Alexander also understood that neither in the Emperor's name nor the Angel's name could he persuade these two Astartes to abandon their feeding.
Their perception was already warped.
In their eyes, mortals were just livestock, the Emperor was the shepherd, and they were the sheepdogs.
As hounds, they had the right to feed on some of the livestock.
But the Emperor did not wish to be the master of humanity, and mortals were not his livestock, nor did the Angel wish for his sons to be sheepdogs.
".."
Sanguinius let out a heavy sigh, as if pleading with Alexander for something.
"Please..." Alexander faintly heard his voice.
This was not a plea for Alexander to spare their lives, but a plea for Alexander to stop them from committing a grave error.
One of the Blood Knights moved. They moved at a speed imperceptible to mortals, reaching out a hand towards Danton's head.
Danton did not hesitate. Although he couldn't see the Blood Knight's figure clearly, he fired without hesitation.
But it was useless. Before he could even pull the trigger, the Blood Knight's large hand, encased in power armor, was already before his head.
However, a mortal hand suddenly reached out and firmly grasped the Blood Knight's ceramite-covered hand.
"Hm?!" The Blood Knight looked in surprise at the mortal with glasses and short hair.
"I was going to say you were the spiritual successors of ghouls in the 40th Millennium."
Alexander said amidst the astonished gazes of the mortals and Astartes:
"But I thought about it, and that would be an insult to ghouls. The Ninth Legion before Sanguinius' return was much stronger than you."
"You mock the Crimson Blades for mistaking their father. Believe me, Guilliman is at least not the worst Primarch. You two..."
"You two probably also mistook your father. Sons of Sanguinius, you might be the product of Angron's robust gene-seed."
"If you have nothing else to do, go get two Butcher's Nails for yourselves."
The two Blood Knights let out roars of near-fury. They drew their Chainswords and charged angrily at Alexander.
Then, to Danton's shocked gaze, Alexander was even faster than the Astartes.
His figure almost vanished from the mortals' sight; only the two Astartes were able to catch a glimpse of Alexander.
The one closer to Alexander immediately swung his Chainsword at Alexander.
Sparks flew from the Chainsword. the machine spirit of this weapon seemed to sense anger.
But it wasn't the Blood Knight's; it was Alexander's.
The Chainsword suddenly jammed, stopping in mid-air.
The Blood Knight was instantly bewildered, and Alexander seized the opportunity to grab the Chainsword.
His strength was even greater than an Astartes', and he almost instantly wrested the Chainsword into his own hands.
Buzz!!!
The Chainsword let out a deafening buzz, almost a roar.
The moment Alexander gripped the Chainsword, he seemed to feel the unwillingness, anger, and pain surging within the blade.
It had served many warriors, its every roar meant to cleave the enemies of humanity. But with the Blood Knight's fall, those who died beneath its chain-blades gradually became humans themselves. For this, it was unwilling, for this, it was angry, for this, it was pained... and for this, it was sorrowful.
It was like a child who had suffered a grievance, whispering to Alexander.
It pleaded with Alexander to free its wielder from this shameful life.
"..Good." Alexander agreed, and then the roaring Chainsword plunged directly into the Blood Knight's chest.
The chain-blades tore through the Blood Knight's chest like cutting butter, as if the power armor itself cooperated with the blade's penetration.
Alexander violently pulled out the Chainsword, blood gushing forth. This Blood Knight let out a mournful cry, his body crashing heavily to the ground.
The other Blood Knight roared, raising his bolter and aiming it at Alexander.
Then...
Bang!!!
The bolter exploded out of nowhere, sparks flying, showering the Blood Knight's face.
Then Alexander appeared before the Blood Knight in the blink of an eye, his Chainsword slicing through the power armor, splitting his body in half.
The Blood Knight fell in two pieces onto the sandy ground. The Ashfordians looked at the two corpses of the Angels, their faces pale for a moment.
Their gazes towards Alexander also became somewhat disbelieving.
A mortal had killed two Angels, and almost in an instant.
"Big G brother," Danton took a deep breath. He touched the scar on his face, then took another deep breath and said, "Thank you."
He hesitated for a moment and asked, "But what exactly was that?"
"..What? These aren't Blood Angels; these are a kind of beast on Baal Prime."
Alexander turned his head to Danton and the other Ashfordians, speaking earnestly:
"They grow bigger and taller when they encounter people, sprouting fake power armor and Chainswords. They're very vampiric..."
Danton and the other Ashfordians stared blankly, as if they couldn't understand what Alexander was saying.
Danton was silent for a moment, then looked at the Ashfordians behind him: "Yes, Big G brother is right. I've heard of them too; they're a kind of mimetic beast on Baal Prime."
"You all remember, we were attacked by beasts. Of course, for everyone's good, don't talk about what happened today."
Alexander nodded approvingly, and the other Ashfordians quickly agreed.
Alexander glanced at the two Blood Knight corpses on the ground, rubbed his temples slightly, then looked at Danton and said:
"You go ahead; I'll catch up later."
"Huh?" Danton was startled and asked, "What are you going to do? We can deal with the traces together..."
"No, you can't. If you see the faces of the Blood Knights under their power armor helmets, who knows what trouble that might cause."
"I'm hungry; I'm going to eat these two beasts." Alexander said earnestly, "I don't like to be watched when I eat."
"Huh???" Danton looked utterly bewildered.
Danton and Ashford's people swiftly drove away, promising to wait for Alexander a short distance ahead.
After watching them leave, Alexander turned his head to look at the two Astartes corpses on the ground.
If these two corpses were not dealt with, the Astartes could easily track them and follow the trail to find Alexander and the others.
Alexander walked over to the two Blood Knight corpses, squatted down, and forcefully removed their helmets.
The two descendants of Sanguinius were able to expose their faces to Baal's sun, bathing in the same light as their gene-father.
Aside from eating, the Blood Knights almost never removed their helmets; they rarely even showed their faces when resting.
They must have been ashamed and afraid for others to see such faces, even their battle-brothers who shared the same fate.
The faces beneath the helmets could not be called human at all.
Even the most magnanimous person could not believe that the person with this face was a member of humanity.
After all, this face was even less human-like than Xenos such as the Eldar.
It was a twisted face, with taut muscles coiled beneath the pallid skin, faintly visible like clusters of blood-red shadows.
Their eyes were still wide open in death, those eyes almost entirely enveloped in yellow were particularly horrifying, filled with inhuman greed and thirst.
Sharp, elongated teeth grew out, extending from their upper lips, forcing their lower lips back until they rested on their chins.
Alexander had seen many mutants in Ashford; the Blood Knights' appearance was more inhuman than most mutants.
Sanguinius watched this scene, almost silent.
This was the curse etched into the bloodline of Sanguinius, a mutation called the Red Thirst, which would ignite the Blood Angels' craving for blood and flesh.
"It's dinner time! The Ultramarines, Space Wolves, and Blood Angels have all begun their meals."
"The Ultramarines clapped their hands, and Chapter serfs brought exquisite noble dishes and red wine."
"The Space Wolves roared, and Chapter serfs brought large platters of roasted meat and barrels of fine wine."
"The Blood Angels elegantly gave an order, and the Chapter serfs sprinkled some salt on themselves and climbed onto the dining table."
Alexander couldn't help but mutter softly.
Sanguinius visibly flinched.
But there was a lot of truth in that joke; not only the Blood Knights, but many Blood Angels successor Chapters also suffered from the Bloodthirst, even developing a culture of cannibalism.
It was just that the Blood Knights had fallen deeper, to the point where a warrior once loyal to the Emperor was twisted into a complete beast.
Blood Knights mutated to this extent had long since passed the point of no return.
They always mumbled something about how only an Astartes could judge the loyalty of another Astartes.
But in their current state, even if the Emperor himself came, the only outcome they would receive was death, which was a mercy to them.
"I've always thought the Blood Knights' path was too narrow. I have an idea that would suit them perfectly."
Alexander glanced at Sanguinius and said:
"Since they've mutated to this extent and have been classified as renegade Space Marines, why not just change their paint scheme..."
"..and disguise themselves as a World Eaters Warband? The World Eaters have long since shattered into fragments, and their gene-seed is almost chaotic, so no one would be able to tell the difference."
"Then, when they have nothing to do, they can go hack at other Chaos Warbands, or hack at the Tyranid and Orks, and slurp the blood of the Eldar and Tau—blood doesn't necessarily have to be human blood, after all."
"When the Imperium is in trouble, they can then pretend to be a Khorne Warband joining the invasion, feigning being caught up in the frenzy, and conveniently hack at their other Chaos allies. After all, the World Eaters, those Butcher's Nails enthusiasts, usually do that, so no one would find it strange."
Sanguinius was first stunned, then he began to babble incomprehensibly like a startled large bird. Separated by the barrier between the Warp and reality, Alexander couldn't hear clearly.
However, he assumed it was praise for Alexander's astonishingly wise idea.
Alexander grinned, extended his hand, and stuffed the two Blood Knight corpses, along with their power armor and weapons, into his four-dimensional pocket.
When he touched the power armor and weapons, Alexander clearly sensed faint emotions emanating from them.
Not as strong as during the battle, but definitely present.
"The machine spirit?" Alexander raised his eyebrows.
He had previously been able to make surrounding machinery operate efficiently to a certain extent, exciting the machine spirits within them.
Now, this ability seemed to have strengthened considerably.
According to Sanguinius, this was a further awakening of Alexander's Warp essence.
Alexander raised his eyebrows. If he could similarly overpower his opponents' weapons during battle, it would be a very practical skill.
Thinking this, Alexander took out the Superpower Hat from his four-dimensional pocket and placed it on his head.
Powerful telekinetic energy spread out from him, radiating in all directions.
Alexander repeatedly swept the area with his telekinesis, completely erasing all traces.
This was enough. The Blood Knights would certainly investigate the disappearance of the two Astartes.
But as long as no bodies were found, they would never investigate openly, nor would they report this matter to other Chapters or Dante.
After all, if someone really found something out, it would be too disastrous.
Alexander nodded in satisfaction, his body swayed slightly, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished from his original spot.
The Red Council was the institution responsible for initiating and commanding wars for the Blood Angels, with a total of twenty-five seats.
But now, the original Red Council was no longer sufficient to meet the demands—more and more Blood Angels successor Chapters were arriving to provide support.
Fifteen thousand warriors had already reached Baal, and more would follow, perhaps reaching the astonishing number of twenty-five thousand, or even more.
More than Dante had hoped for. For ten thousand years, never had so many sons of the Archangel gathered together to defend the same planet.
All these warriors flowed with the blood of Sanguinius, most of whom had been separated from the Chapter for too long; about several thousand of the arriving warriors had never reached Baal, and their Chapters rarely communicated with the Chapter. There were even renegade Chapters like the Blood Knights, and Chapters like the Crimson Angels who had once broken ties with the Chapter.
But they all came. When the homeworld of Sanguinius was threatened, when the Blood Angels faced peril, they were willing to step forward.
Dante couldn't help but think:
Every one of them is a descendant of Sanguinius; their ties are now closer than those between any other Chapters.
Yet Dante dared not relax his vigilance. He knew that the brothers of these successor Chapters had developed vastly different Chapter cultures over the past ten thousand years.
If these blood-brothers, separated for so long, were to be reunited, they would need a larger command structure.
So Dante ordered the expansion of the Red Council's original meeting room, completely demolishing the ancient hall and connecting, rebuilding, and carving it with other nearby halls.
Ultimately, the new Red Great Hall expanded to more than twenty times its original size, and the Red Council itself was enlarged to a full five hundred seats.
Each seat was arranged around a circular table made of marble.
Dante's chair was originally slightly larger than the others, but he insisted that all chairs be replaced with ones of the same size.
Everyone invited to this Red Council was equal in this room.
Dante knew that he could not truly gain the recognition of his blood relatives through authoritarianism and pretense.
He stood before one wall of the Red Council's new hall. On either side of the wall were carved the names of the Chapter Masters of each successor Chapter throughout history. These names of heroes from ten millennia represented the honor of the Blood Angels.
And on the wall were magnificent statues of Sanguinius, each symbolizing a period of Imperial history, inlaid with countless sparkling gems and precious metals.
Even those races who considered themselves more elegant than crude humans had to admit the beauty of the Blood Angels' creations.
Dante hoped this wall would inspire a shared glory among the Blood Angels' descendants, binding them together, and hoping that, like the Archangel ten thousand years ago, they could suppress the Bloodthirst and the Black Rage with art, creation, and beauty.
Dante's gaze fell upon one of the carvings.
In that statue, Sanguinius knelt on one knee—this was how Sanguinius appeared when he first met his Legion, swearing eternal loyalty to his Legion and its descendants, the Ninth Legion, which was then shunned and feared by the Imperium.
I will do the same, gaining their recognition through loyalty to the Chapter and my successor Chapter brothers.
This thought suddenly crossed his mind, and Dante felt ashamed; how could he compare himself to the Primarch?
Suddenly, the light and shadows in the room began to writhe, countless shadows seemingly crawling across the room. Dante instantly felt as if every Chapter Master's name on the wall was whispering.
"I have arrived." Mephiston's voice rang out.
He walked across the floor, his footsteps echoing softly.
Everything, everything hidden behind the veil of reality, seemed to swirl around the Chief Librarian.
Mephiston nodded to Dante, his head slightly tilted, like a sculpture forged from the dead.
It was a simple gesture, but when Mephiston performed it, it was unsettling.
Dante looked at Mephiston: "You have come, Lord of Death."
Lord of Death was Mephiston's title within the Chapter, encompassing the caution, respect, and fear his Chapter brothers held for him.
Dante harbored these same emotions towards Mephiston.
However, when Mephiston heard the words Lord of Death, his expression suddenly twisted, as if he found it embarrassing.
Dante, bewildered, simply asked Mephiston: "What do you wish to see me about?"
Mephiston requested a private meeting with Dante, with no one else present.
This request was troubling, and Dante had to take time out of his extremely busy schedule.
Mephiston looked at Dante's weary face. He knew the news he brought would be shocking enough, so he decided to consider the Chapter Master's state of mind and deliver it gently.
"Let's start with the less important things. Kabanha is coming."
"Hmm?" Dante's expression suddenly tightened, his eyes confused, as if asking, 'Is that not important?'
"A Lictor will infiltrate Baal."
"Cadia may fall, and the Warp rift will devour the galaxy."
"A Primarch is about to return."
"One of the candidates for various Warp positions is on Baal III."
Before Dante could react, Mephiston rattled off like spilling beans:
"Jaghatai Khan told me all of this."
"Huh???" Dante had never been so utterly bewildered in a thousand years.
Kabanha, Lictor, Cadia, Primarch, Warp entity, Jaghatai Khan.
Disordered, chaotic, and seemingly surreal words intertwined in Dante's mind, temporarily scrambling his millennia of experience.
Dante had to say to the Chief Librarian before him, "I thought our only opponent was the Tyranid."
"I wish that were true, my Lord." Mephiston's face revealed a bitter smile, bringing a touch of life to his otherwise deathlike appearance.
"Are you certain of everything you've said? This isn't the first time you've brought me a prophecy, but it has never been so clear and powerful."
Dante questioned Mephiston, as the words Mephiston had just spoken were too bizarre, making Dante wonder if he was merely recounting symbolic and metaphorical visions from the Warp.
Mephiston remained silent, neither confirming nor denying.
But Dante could feel that his old friend believed what he had said.
Dante had to suppress the jumbled information and thoughts in his mind, organizing them into more practical questions.
"Let's start with Kabanha. The Bane of Angels is about to descend? As far as I know, he was only recently banished…" Dante asked Mephiston.
The Bane of Angels was Kabanha's title, and this Khorne Greater Daemon's history was intimately linked with the Blood Angels.
"The servants of Chaos rarely follow rules," Mephiston said, shaking his head. "With so many Sons of Sanguinius gathered, almost all the Blood Angels assembled, and the tides of the Warp so violent, Kabanha has the potential to re-enter the material world."
Dante understood the implication in Mephiston's words.
The Blood Angels' Librarians even believed that Kabanha had established some connection with the Sons of Sanguinius. This Greater Daemon longed to lead the Blood Angels to damnation and also yearned to battle them.
The gathering of so many Sons of Sanguinius was practically a summons for Kabanha.
Dante couldn't help but laugh. "We are at our strongest moment, and also our weakest. No wonder Kabanha will come."
"The Blood God covets us; our wrath will attract the servants of the Brass and Skull Throne," Mephiston said, nodding slightly. "If Kabanha descends onto the battlefield unimpeded, it will be catastrophic. He will try to awaken the rage and madness in our blood."
"These soulless beings don't understand that even anger has its distinctions," Dante said, his face beneath Sanguinius' golden mask filled with weariness. "They understand even less that to conquer one's own anger is true nobility."
"The soulless possess eternity. We can resist with nobility a thousand times, but they only need to succeed once," Mephiston spoke words that could enrage any Blood Angel.
Dante felt uneasy about this but had to admit that Mephiston's caution was correct.
"How will we deal with Kabanha?" Dante asked. He knew Mephiston was a master at combating Warp entities. "This is your specialty."
Mephiston always offered reliable and sound advice regarding matters of the Warp.
"I will perform a ritual," Mephiston said calmly.
"Hmm, a ritual…" Dante nodded slightly.
"This ritual will actively summon Kabanha into the real universe," Mephiston waited for Dante to understand.
"Hmm, actively… hmm?" Dante suddenly froze. "Actively summon Kabanha to reality?"
"Then I and my Librarians will beat him up and seal him in a cave somewhere on Baal, once and for all."
Mephiston proposed a method that Dante found extremely unreliable.
Actively summoning a Khorne Greater Daemon to reality… if such a method were known to others, Mephiston would likely be suspected of disloyalty.
But Dante knew the loyalty of the Chief Librarian before him.
"Is this the only way?" he asked.
"It's better than him appearing directly on the battlefield." Mephiston wasn't entirely confident he could seal Kabanha 100%.
In fact, if the Blood God paid enough attention to Baal, Kabanha might return even more powerful than before.
Dante closed his eyes slightly, considering the remaining matters.
"Are the Lictor Tyranid trying to infiltrate Baal ahead of time? I will inform all the Blood Angels and take precautions."
Dante said:
"But I don't think this will be enough, Mephiston. I need you to determine how the Lictor will infiltrate Baal, where they will hide, and lead the Librarians in a purge."
Mephiston nodded slightly. Dante was hinting that Mephiston could use certain extraordinary means.
Baal was too vast; finding a single bug was too difficult.
"Captain Kaelen of Cadia has already led a company of Terminator warriors there. We don't have any more forces to spare for additional support. We can only pray that Cadia truly stands strong."
Dante sighed, then turned his attention to the most astonishing parts of the news Mephiston had brought.
Primarch.
Jaghatai Khan, the Primarch of the White Scars, had brought news to the Blood Angels: a Primarch was about to return.
Who was it? Could it be the Archangel?
This made Dante slightly puzzled. The Blood God and his servants were currently focused on Baal.
How could Mephiston be so bold as to reveal this news directly? Didn't he worry about attracting the Blood God's attention?
Dante looked at Mephiston, realizing that Mephiston had no intention of explaining… or perhaps couldn't explain?
Mephiston's burning eyes were silent, watching Dante.
A Primarch was about to return… these were Mephiston's exact words.
Dante's mind immediately raced.
This news wouldn't attract the Blood God's attention, only because the Blood God already knew about it.
The Primarch the Blood God knew was returning shouldn't be Sanguinius; otherwise, even if it were only a possibility, the Blood God should have acted, not just sent Kabanha.
The Bane of Angels was dangerous, but the Blood Angels still had hope of defeating him if they were willing to make sacrifices.
A Primarch other than Sanguinius was about to return?
No, what Mephiston wanted to imply to Dante was clearly more complex.
More than one Primarch might return!
The Primarch the Blood God knew was returning was not Sanguinius.
But what the Blood God didn't know was that besides that Primarch, Sanguinius also had a chance of returning.
Dante suddenly realized that this was what Mephiston wanted him to know.
Dante's heart was immediately filled with doubt and confusion, and his gaze towards Mephiston became sharp and dangerous.
"Is it reliable?" Dante asked softly.
Mephiston instantly broke out in a cold sweat. Dante's words clearly carried suspicion and caution.
Even ten thousand years after the Horus Heresy, it still sent shivers down the spine of every Astartes.
And Mephiston was deeply intertwined with the Warp, so even Dante had to be wary.
"…I don't know." Mephiston gave an excellent answer.
This, in turn, made Dante feel a little more at ease.
"Don't let anyone else know about this."
Dante warned Mephiston:
"Find out exactly why everything is happening and what the outcome will be."
Mephiston nodded slowly. He glanced at the five hundred empty seats beside him.
Every warrior sitting in the Crimson Council would be equal; theoretically, they all had the right to know.
But surely not everything should be shared with them?
Noticing Mephiston's gaze, Dante's eye twitched slightly.
Equality was not the goal; equality was merely a means.
The purpose of the Crimson Council's existence was to make everyone feel united, but what Dante and Mephiston were discussing would only cause division.
Just the impending resurrection of the Archangel alone was enough to spark conflict among many Blood Angels… and Mephiston might even get chopped to death by a power axe.
"Finally, what do you mean by 'Warp location'?" Dante asked with a hint of confusion.
The phrase "candidate for one of the many locations in the Warp" was unfamiliar to Dante.
"…This relates to some very rarely known Warp lore."
Mephiston chose his words carefully:
"As my soul journeyed through the Warp, amidst countless interwoven chaotic knowledge, Eldar dramas, and maniacal laughter, I learned that there are many locations within the Warp…"
"Each location has its symbolic domain. Some are already occupied, while others remain empty."
"Among them, eight domains are the most indicative and powerful. Of these eight, four are already occupied."
"…Four?" Dante seemed to vaguely understand something.
"These four are the ones most familiar to us."
Mephiston nodded slightly, acknowledging Dante's guess, then continued:
"The first is 'Hellstorm,' symbolized by prismatic bonfires, amorphous illusory lightning arcs, and large chunks of twisted crystal shards—an unpredictable, primordial storm."
"The second is 'Ecstatic Perception,' symbolized by intoxicating sensory feasts, dazzling flashes, and jumps and deaths filled with bliss—a maddening shriek containing pleasure and wild impulses."
"The third is 'Corruptive Erosion,' symbolized by disease within living beings, foul miasma, and wicked gifts—slow decay, the rotting of body and soul, eternal torment."
"The fourth is 'Mindless Slaughter,' symbolized by flowing blood, plundered skulls and death, conquerors and Executioners—dark fury and a touch of crimson joy."
Mephiston spoke word by word, trying to hide the more dangerous knowledge behind simple words:
"These are the four we know well. There are another four that have not truly manifested, and their locations are still empty. I have only seen fragments of them in the shattered prophecies of the Eldar."
"Among these four empty locations, the Eldar refer to two of them as 'Dark King' and 'eternal dragon.' These are not their true names, merely terms born of Eldar fear and reverence."
"Another location has never been known, and its position has yet to see a true candidate."
"The last one, however, has manifested to some extent in the Warp and currently has the most candidates. I was able to learn its name."
Mephiston paused, then looked at Dante and said:
"That location symbolizes twisted creativity, unparalleled craftsmanship, the most superior design, terrifying mechanical entities… In the Warp, that location is called—"
" 'Malicious Art.' "
"Achoo!!!"
Outside Second Ferdia city, in a vehicle driving through the desert,
Alexander couldn't help but shiver, his nose twitching.
Despite the scorching environment, Alexander inexplicably sneezed, which was strange.
Danton, beside him, was startled by Alexander's sneeze. He seemed to have been deep in thought about something.
After a moment of contemplation, Danton seemed to make up his mind and spoke to Alexander:
"Brother Han, since we're idle now, are you interested in learning about our salvation and hope, the great Saint Doraemon?"
As Baal's sun climbed high, the red mist thinned considerably, and even the Scarlet Scar in the sky grew somewhat dim under the star's brilliance.
The bumpy car drove through the desert, and the distant town shimmered and distorted in the heat, like a strange impressionistic painting.
Alexander constantly felt as if the car would reach Angel's Landing any moment now.
But the endless desert always led to misjudgments of distance; the driver told Alexander it would be at least another twenty to thirty minutes.
Danton, meanwhile, seemed to have made up his mind, casting a glance at Alexander and speaking:
"Brother Han, since we're idle now, are you interested in learning about our salvation and hope, the great Saint Doraemon?"
Saying this, Danton took out a small pendant from his in arms.
He opened his hand, and the pendant lay in his palm, presented before Alexander's eyes.
It was a tiny, finger-sized, very delicately carved figure: a plump, blue, earless cat raising an arm as if to pull something from its four-dimensional pocket.
The cat's red nose was inlaid with a somewhat cloudy bloodstone, and its bell sparkled, seemingly made of brass.
"I made it myself."
A shy smile appeared on Danton's face, looking a bit odd on his rather intimidating features:
"I hope a holy image made with my own hands can make Saint Doraemon feel my piety."
Alexander looked at the "holy image" in Danton's hand, his expression twitching involuntarily, and he awkwardly shifted his butt in the car.
Danton noticed Alexander's awkwardness.
But he simply took it as a sign of someone accepting a new faith.
"Though not yet recognized by the Adeptus Ministorum, Saint Doraemon is undoubtedly a holy saint with divinity. Once the Tyranid invasion ends, I believe the Adeptus Ministorum will formally acknowledge Saint Doraemon's position."
Danton explained:
"Would you like to hear about it? I can recite some of the bishop's sermons, and I assure you there is no blasphemy within them."
Alexander also wanted to understand this sect that believed in him.
"Okay," he nodded slightly and said.
"Alright, Brother Han, let me explain to you the threefold divinity of Saint Doraemon."
Danton adopted a serious posture, as if reciting, and said:
"Saint Doraemon has threefold divinity: he is the wielder of death, the wielder of machines, and the wielder of dragons."
"We know he wields death because the Dying-worshippers on Ashford enlightened us. The Emperor bestowed the authority of death upon Saint Doraemon, and thus Saint Doraemon incarnated as Lord Leman Russ, walking upon the battlefield, bringing death to the enemies of humanity."
"We know he wields machines because Tech-Priest Shakolik of the Cadian Shock Troopers enlightened us. The great God of Machines is a trinity: one is the Omnissiah, two is the Omnissiah, and three is original power. When Saint Doraemon appears, the spirits of all machines become active and joyful, and all machines operate efficiently. This is the authority of original power."
"We know he wields dragons because the herdsmen on Lexio enlightened us. In the ancient legends of Lexio, dragons devour all things. The Tyranid devours planets, and Saint Doraemon devours the Tyranid, therefore Saint Doraemon is the great devouring dragon."
Alexander listened, wide-eyed and nodding along.
Now he knew who was responsible for all this.
Clearly, Danton and his followers believed Alexander possessed three authorities.
Death was obviously concocted by the Dying-worshippers, led by Dixus, and the name Doraemon most likely originated from her.
Machines were the work of Tech-Priest Shakolik, who was with General Drost; he had somehow deduced that Alexander could wield original power, one of the trinity of the Omnissiah.
The Adeptus Mechanicus believes the Omnissiah is a trinity, consisting of the Omnissiah, the Omnissiah's earthly incarnation, and original power, the source of all power.
And that last, inexplicable 'dragon' likely evolved from the beliefs of the herdsmen on Lexio, whose prophecies held that the Tyranid were all-consuming dragons.
But after witnessing Alexander stuffing Tyranid into his four-dimensional pocket, the herdsmen of Lexio concluded that if Alexander even ate the Tyranid, then Alexander was clearly more 'dragon' than the Tyranid.
Thus, these three factions began to connect and merge on the starship.
Once the refugee settlements formed on Baal III, with the residents of the Netherworld Star System banding together, a sect worshipping Saint Doraemon was born.
"I am ashamed to say, our sect experienced a split within three months."
Danton said with some embarrassment:
"The Dying-worshippers were the first to lead us in believing in Saint Doraemon, but eventually most Ashfordians and almost all Lexioans separated from them, establishing a new sect under the leadership of two bishops."
"We now primarily believe in Saint Doraemon's divinity concerning machines, revere his devouring power as a dragon, and hope that he can bless our machines with eternal efficiency and devour the Tyranid that will soon descend upon Baal."
Alexander generally understood.
The Dying-worshippers already had the framework of a sect, and as a sect tacitly approved by the Imperium, they naturally took on the task of leading the faith.
However, the content of the Dying-worshippers' faith was simply too explosive; the vast majority of people could not accept it, and a split quickly occurred.
The Lexioans and most Ashfordians separated, establishing a new sect.
"..The Dying-worshippers didn't kill all of you?" Alexander couldn't help but exclaim in surprise.
Based on Alexander's impression of the Dying-worshippers, Dixus didn't just chop off all their heads and offer them to the Emperor?
Had they become so benevolent already?
Danton's expression stiffened slightly, and he quickly waved his hand, saying: "We do have disagreements, but we still acknowledge each other's faith; it's just a matter of different emphases. At least for now, it hasn't reached that point."
"Hmm, for now... Besides, fighting the Tyranid requires everyone's strength, and death will always wait for us. They probably aren't in a hurry for this moment either."
Alexander nodded in agreement.
The Tyranid were coming. As residents of the Netherworld Star System who had escaped from the maw of the Tyranid, they knew all too well that they would inevitably go to war again, just as they had in the Netherworld Star System.
The few people Alexander could see seemed to have accepted this fate, and Alexander could even feel Danton's hatred for the Tyranid.
Whether it was the effect of faith or blood feud, the people of the Netherworld Star System were now united.
Presumably, this was also why Dante allowed them to develop their faith; by using faith to unite them, they could be better commanded and mobilized.
The rickety, cobbled-together car slowly drove into the town.
This town was even narrower than Angel's Landing; the roads barely allowed a single car to pass, but the stalls on both sides of the road sprawled haphazardly onto the street, forcing everyone to get out at the town's edge.
The buildings in this small town were almost all makeshift shacks, strangely shaped, built from materials scavenged from who knows where.
Most of the streets and the space above the buildings were covered by domes that obscured the sky, as if the residents here harbored a fear of the heavens.
After Alexander entered the street, he heard the sizzling of oil. At a street stall, roasted desert rats were crackling with grease.
Alexander took a deep breath of the greasy air, looking at the narrow streets and the covered sky, feeling a strange sense of peace.
"Ah, the taste of a hive city," Alexander couldn't help but sigh.
Having lived in hive city for so long, he could understand the sense of security brought by these narrow streets and the covered sky.
"When I first came to Baal, I was almost too scared to walk."
Danton lamented at his side:
"The sky is so vast, everything is so wide, stretching as far as the eye can see. I felt so small in this world, like a speck of sand or a wisp of yellow wind could kill me. It took me several days to learn to walk again."
"The environment of a hive city is still more reassuring, don't you agree?"
Alexander nodded in agreement. Danton bought a few roasted rats from a nearby stall and handed them to Alexander.
"Try them, are they like the ones from our Ashford?" Danton grinned.
Alexander took a look; these roasted creatures were likely some kind of desert rodent. Skinned, sauced, and roasted.
He took a bite and found the taste surprisingly good. It made sense; these desert rats weren't like the sewer rats of Ashford.
Both the meat quality and hygiene were far superior.
"Completely different, much tastier than the ones in Ashford," Alexander exclaimed.
In Ashford, he hardly ever ate these common roadside roasted rats; the smell was simply too fishy and foul.
"I think so too." Danton nodded in agreement, then gestured for Alexander to look down the street.
"At the end of this street is the small chapel we built for Saint Doraemon."
"Brother Han, if you want to convert or simply want to learn about us, you can go there and see."
"A bishop will be giving a sermon in this small chapel, which is a rare occurrence."
bishop. Alexander paused for a moment, a smile playing on his lips.
This should be the opportunity to find the map, as predicted by the Truth and Falsehood Divination Machine.
The refugees from Ashford crossed Baal III, so they must have methods of communication and transportation among themselves.
A map that could guide Alexander to Baal must exist.
That bishop could very well be an old acquaintance of Alexander. Even if not, he could take Alexander to see One-Eye or Reyna.
He wondered how they were doing; with their abilities, safely leaving Ashford should not have been a problem.
Thinking this, Alexander smiled and followed Danton towards the small chapel.
Angels also have secrets, Mephiston thought.
He walked through the secret dungeon, holding a blazing torch high, stepping deeper into the hidden depths.
Water droplets fell from the arched ceiling, causing a pale steam to rise from the flickering torch.
Mephiston watched this silently; Baal was as dry as bone ash, so this liquid must have come from another dimension.
Even the Blood Angels themselves did not know who built the secret dungeon.
This ancient underground structure was the oldest part of Angel Keep; some even believed these secret tunnels existed long before Angel Keep was built.
These tunnels possessed many peculiar characteristics. Once, a curious Librarian dug a pit in the desert where these tunnels were supposed to be, but ultimately only found a pile of sand, with no tunnels at all.
Mephiston was certain that this dungeon was filled with powerful psychic energy. It resonated with Warp products, enhancing the Librarians' power.
But the true purpose of this dungeon was to house the most dangerous Chapter relics.
Ancient technology remaining from the Old Night era, the remnants of a Necron Overlord imprisoned within a Static Field, the bones of blasphemous xenos, numerous cursed weapons, banners left behind by the Fallen, and many other things, even worse, were buried deep within this dungeon.
What Mephiston sought was one of the most blasphemous and dangerous items among them.
He passed through capillary-like passages and arrived before a heavy door. Before he could act, the rough, thick iron door opened by itself.
The hum of machinery sounded, and a square figure appeared behind the door.
It was a Librarian Dreadnought, a dead ancient warrior.
"Greetings, Mephiston." A mechanical, synthesized voice spoke. The Dreadnought seemed to be looking at Mephiston: "You haven't been here in a long time."
"Brother Maureste," Mephiston gently nodded to the Librarian Dreadnought. This ancient warrior was once a Chief Librarian, even older than Dante.
Now, he was the guardian of the Chapter's secrets and this deep, dark dungeon, preserving the most terrifying things of the entire Chapter.
"I had hoped I would never encounter a situation that required me to come here," Mephiston shook his head.
"Are you here to see the scrolls? Hoping to gain new knowledge from the prophecies of our Lord?" the Dreadnought asked.
The Sanguinius Scrolls, those scrolls recorded the prophecies Sanguinius saw during his lifetime.
But Mephiston knew that the book of prophecy did not contain what he sought.
"No," Mephiston said, putting down his extinguished torch, "I need to go deeper."
Lights were lit here, as the energy of Astramael (Celestial Adalia) was remotely transmitted to this place to restrain those terrifying things.
"You seek knowledge. Are you visiting the Eight-Face Weirdo?" The Dreadnought's body hummed.
Mephiston nodded slightly, and the Dreadnought made way for him.
"Your rank is your key; you have the right to enter any cell," the ancient Librarian Dreadnought said, "but be careful not to bring the darkness out of here."
Mephiston extended his hand in salute to the Dreadnought, then stepped into a deeper cell.
The creature confined in the cell was not human.
It was an alien being with six limbs, loose skin, and clearly visible, strange ribs.
The xenos slowly raised its eight heads, which were eight small, strange faces, each with six eyes. Its mouth was a slender tube, with poisonous tentacles curled within.
The Eight-Face Weirdo, this blasphemous xenos, had not eaten in three millennia. It should have died long ago, but it had not.
The Librarians from three millennia ago had tried to kill it, but all, without exception, had failed.
The power of Chaos twisted it, Mephiston thought.
This xenos came from some psychic race, had come into contact with the great power in the Empyrean, and was thus permanently twisted.
It had once corrupted the inhabitants of three Imperial worlds, and after paying a heavy price, the Blood Angels had imprisoned it here.
Mephiston made a gesture, tearing a tiny opening in the psychic veil that sealed its mind.
Complex and blasphemous thoughts immediately flooded Mephiston. It seemed to instantly know Mephiston's identity.
Its many eyes flickered as it looked at Mephiston, and the two communicated on a psychic level.
"I preached the truth of the real universe to your people, showing them the great power of the Warp, yet you merely slaughter and enslave them."
The Eight-Face Weirdo lowered its head, speaking to Mephiston in a highly seductive voice:
"You call me the Eight-Face Weirdo, yet you are the true monster. You crave the blood of your own kind, I can see it."
"I also know where this gift comes from, and how to undo or strengthen it, Dark Angel. Do you wish to know?"
Mephiston ignored the Eight-Face Weirdo's words. He silently gathered his strength.
"A deep darkness is approaching Baal, the void of the Sea of Souls, the eternal dragon, the endless hunger has come."
The Eight-Face Weirdo's eyes continued to flicker with light, tempting Mephiston:
"The Tyranid. You chose a cruder name for it. I prefer to call it the Great Devourer."
Mephiston remained unmoved; psychic flames gradually burned in his eyes.
"Kabanha, the Bloodthirster, is about to descend," the Eight-Face Weirdo continued, "He wants to sever your skulls, merge your souls into the Blood God's domain, and make you destroy the Imperium you pretend to love with your own hands."
"I can help you, release me," the Eight-Face Weirdo's voice became increasingly seductive, "I will assist you with the power of various Dark Kings."
"Dark Angel, you—" Before the Eight-Face Weirdo's voice could finish, it felt a terrifying power surge into its mind, attempting to tame its spirit.
Mephiston raised his arm, and scorching psychic flames burned in his eyes.
He was not in the mood to listen to this blasphemous xenos' riddles and temptations. He would use his own consciousness to harness its power.
When it was powerful, it was an incredibly accurate prophet, with an extremely firm connection to the Empyrean, and its mind contained many forbidden knowledge. Mephiston intended to tame it like a wild horse.
The Eight-Face Weirdo let out a piercing shriek. In each of its eyes flickered the blasphemous radiance of the Chaos realm and the possibilities within it.
Mephiston's eyes also reflected billions of complex and chaotic scenes.
He quickly found the Lictors he needed among them. A Lictor was standing on the desert, with genestealer kneeling before him. He found one.
Mephiston thought calmly, then began to search the Eight-Face Weirdo's mind for more forbidden knowledge.
Some names began to appear before Mephiston. These names were complex and chaotic, and Mephiston used immense effort to organize them into readable text. This was knowledge about the eight domains of the Warp.
Mephiston did not dare to look at the occupied positions, but instead looked at the four empty positions.
Greed, Dissolution, eternal dragon, Big G, Dora
Malicious Art, Omnissiah, Vashr, Void, Doraemon.
Doraemon? Mephiston paused slightly. Indeed, it was the "saint" worshipped by the residents of the Netherworld Star System.
He was one of the candidates for that Warp position, but what Mephiston did not expect was that he was occupying two Warp domains.
Suddenly, from countless pieces of knowledge, Mephiston saw what he had not intended to see.
Erosion, Destruction, Dark King, Emperor
The Eight-Face Weirdo deliberately presented this information to Mephiston.
"What?!" Mephiston let out an incredulous gasp.
The Eight-Face Weirdo immediately let out a mocking, wild laugh. It seemed to be ridiculing Mephiston's ignorance, then seized the moment Mephiston was stunned, roaring as it pressed its psychic power back onto Mephiston.
Mephiston was momentarily unable to parry.
"Yes! He is too! the cursed one!"
The Eight-Face Weirdo shrieked:
"He is also one of them, who will destroy all of you. He will make you suffer for eternity. This is the inevitable outcome, this is the truth!"
"He is the only candidate for that position. He is almost in that position. As long as he wants to, as long as he stands up, he can—" "Hmm?"
The Eight-Face Weirdo suddenly froze as well.
After Erosion, Destruction, and the Dark King's position, another name appeared.
Erosion, Destruction, Dark King, Emperor, Doraemon.
"Who is Doraemon?" the Eight-Face Weirdo almost blurted out.
Mephiston could feel the Eight-Face Weirdo searching for information about "Doraemon" in the Warp.
On Baal II, Alexander stood outside the small chapel.
That small chapel was one of the few buildings in the entire town that could be called tidy. Large blocks of masonry formed its outer walls, and the front wall was carved with many intricate stone carvings.
Some carvings depicted the round figure of Doraemon, while others showed Alexander, with the faces of Lion El'Jonson, Guilliman, or Sanguinius, and his deeds in Ashford.
Alexander's face twitched slightly, especially when he saw the stone carving with Lion El'Jonson's face.
If the Dark Angels saw these things, it would certainly be interesting.
"What's wrong, Brother Han?" Danton asked, seeing Alexander standing stunned outside the church door.
Alexander shook his head, indicating he was fine.
He and Danton then stepped into the church, passing through a simple archway into the prayer hall. The prayer hall had no windows, so the crimson sunlight of Baal could not shine in. Only flickering promethium lamps emitted alternating blue and red light, illuminating the entire prayer hall.
Beneath the promethium lamps were rows of metal benches, facing the arched altar at the front. On the altar was a statue of Doraemon, more than two people tall.
One hand of the statue held up gears and machinery, while the other seemed to be dragging something into its pocket.
The church was now bustling with people, but Alexander and Danton still found empty seats and sat down, waiting for the bishop to arrive.
"Who is Doraemon?"
As Alexander waited, a strange and faint sound suddenly echoed in his ear, like a buzzing mosquito.
"Your dad." Alexander instinctively replied, then waved his hand in the direction the sound came from.
Bang!!!
Mephiston watched in utter bewilderment as all eight heads of the Eight-Face Weirdo exploded simultaneously, splattering blasphemous xenos blood everywhere.
And he only saw a blurry blue figure flash across the Warp.
Alexander instinctively swung his arm in mid-air, feeling as if he had hit something.
But when he looked up, he didn't seem to have hit anything at all.
Danton, who was beside him, couldn't help but look up, confused, as Alexander suddenly raised his arm.
His elbow almost hit Danton's face.
Alexander's face showed a faint, awkward smile.
"I swatted a mosquito," Alexander said.
Danton blinked and couldn't help but ask, "Are there mosquitoes on Baal?"
Alexander was stunned for a moment, suddenly realizing that there really didn't seem to be any mosquitoes on Baal.
Perhaps the intensity of the wars among the Baalians back then was too strong, and the intense radiation directly killed most of the insects.
Or perhaps there were already too many blood-sucking creatures on Baal, so mosquitoes had no ecological niche?
"..We need an Archmagos of biology to fill the void of no mosquitoes on Baal," Alexander chuckled, joking.
Alexander glanced at Sanguinius; at this point, he should have popped out to chirp a few times.
But he didn't this time, and Alexander vaguely noticed that the blue mixed in with the white light around him had become more pronounced.
It seemed the presence of this church had amplified those blue lights.
"That's truly mean-spirited," Danton also laughed at the remark.
But he quickly composed himself and focused his gaze on the altar.
"His Grace, the bishop, is coming!"
Danton's expression became devout, and he clasped his hands into a circle over his chest, which seemed to be their prayer gesture.
Footsteps echoed from behind the altar, and the surrounding Ashford and Lexio refugees immediately fell silent.
They all clasped their hands into fists over their chests, praying softly and praising Saint Doraemon.
Alexander watched this scene with a calm expression; he was already somewhat used to it and no longer felt awkward.
"Saint Doraemon, please bless my wife with three babies at once..." A man dressed as a Lexio herdsman, sitting in front of Alexander, murmured with his head bowed.
".." Alexander's eye twitched slightly. Don't entrust everything to Doraemon, you bastard!
He took a deep breath, calmed his mind, and looked towards the altar.
He wondered who that bishop would be... Reyna? One-Eye? Or someone else?
The bishop, clad in a flax-colored robe, slowly emerged from behind the altar. A face so aged that it was rarely seen on either Baal or Ashford was revealed to Alexander.
Alexander's eyelids couldn't help but twitch, and he gripped the arms of his chair tightly.
The old man with an ugly face stood beneath the statue of Doraemon, slowly spread his arms, and a devout expression appeared on his gray face.
"Rejoice! Everyone, for Saint Doraemon is with us!"
Lager, wearing the flax-colored robe, gave a dry smile and shouted loudly:
"Praise Saint Doraemon, you are the source of all machines, you are the dragon that devours bugs, you are hope and salvation!"
Alexander's eye twitched, and he sat in his chair with a completely numb expression, watching Lager preach his faith in Saint Doraemon from above.
In the corner of his eye, Sanguinius, mixed with blue, was loudly mocking Alexander.
Why is it this guy, Lager??
Alexander had considered it might be One-Eye, or Reyna, but he never expected it to be this Lager fellow...
Lager began to listen to the wishes of the faithful one by one.
Some prayed for health, some for good luck, and some for their machines to operate efficiently, but there were also some...
The Lexio herdsman sitting in front of Alexander stood up and, with a simple expression, asked in a Lexio-accented low gothic:
"Will Saint Doraemon bless my wife to give birth to four babies at once?"
Dude, how did you add another one in such a short time? You can't be that greedy.
Alexander watched this scene with a numb expression.
Lager's ugly face broke into a brilliant smile, and he nodded to the Lexio herdsman:
"As long as you are devout, Saint Doraemon will bless you, whether it's three, four, or six, seven, eight... as long as you are devout, your wife can give birth to them all."
"Praise Saint Doraemon — — — — — —"
"I told you to praise Doraemon!"
Alexander finally couldn't take it anymore. He suddenly stood up from his chair, startling Danton beside him.
Then, under the shocked gazes of everyone in the church, Alexander almost instantly vanished from his spot and then suddenly appeared in front of Lager.
"I told you to praise Doraemon!"
Lager's face was full of confusion and bewilderment; before he could react, Alexander's fist smashed into his face:
"I'll give you eight babies at once! I'll give you Saint Doraemon! Take my Peerless Raccoon Flying Head Punch!"
"Ah ah ah ah!!!" Lager's screams echoed through the entire church.
Behind the small chapel in Second Furdia city, Lager's face was taut, enduring the pain to maintain the bishop's dignity, as he looked at the man who had just punched his face several times.
After hitting him, this man was not only unhurried but also didn't run away. Instead, he dragged Lager to the back of the small chapel, saying he wanted to talk to Lager.
"Friend, you may not believe, but whether you believe or not, Saint Doraemon will grant it."
"Those who believe, those who are devout, Doraemon will bestow more good fortune upon you, and you shall be blessed."
Lager adopted a preachy, devout posture, which surprisingly gave his ugly face some credibility.
"..Do I look like a human or Doraemon?" Alexander took a deep breath and asked.
"..Obviously a human, right?" Lager said with some confusion.
Alexander nodded, then reached up and swept his hand across his face, tearing off the Body Clay covering it, and at the same time, removing the Phantom Thief DX Suit beneath the Body Clay.
"Now?" Alexander revealed his face and looked at Lager, asking.
Lager was suddenly stunned, then a look of pleasant surprise appeared on his face: "Alexander! You're alive!"
"Saint Doraemon above! Saint Doraemon bless! You're alive! I've been looking for you for so long, I thought you..."
Listening to Lager's words, Alexander's brows furrowed slightly.
"Didn't you guess?" Alexander couldn't help but ask.
Although Lager's intelligence was among the lowest in Ashford, he shouldn't be so clueless as to not guess that Alexander was Leman Russ.
When he was in Ashford, he was one of Alexander's few acquaintances.
Knowing that Alexander was Leman Russ, and further guessing that Alexander was Doraemon, was a completely logical progression.
"Guess what?" Lager's face was full of confusion.
"..Huh?" Alexander looked at the confusion on Lager's face and vaguely remembered something...
Oh, it was Reyna. Reyna had used psychic powers to implant a psychological suggestion in Lager, preventing him from realizing that Alexander was Leman Russ.
At the time, it was to prevent Lager from blabbing and revealing Alexander's true identity to the genestealer.
Later, when the Tyranid invasion plunged all of Ashford into war, both Alexander and Reyna forgot about it, and no one remembered to remove this psychological suggestion from Lager.
So Lager still hadn't realized that Alexander was Leman Russ.
Alexander stroked his chin and tentatively said, "Actually, I am Leman Russ."
The moment Alexander said these words, Lager's eyes became clear and vacant, losing their light.
It wasn't until Alexander's words faded that the light returned to Lager's eyes.
"Huh? Alexander, what did you just say?" Lager asked, looking a bit dazed.
As expected, Reyna's psychological suggestion was still in effect.
Alexander stroked his chin, but then couldn't help but feel odd.
Why hadn't Reyna removed it from Lager?
"Where is Reyna? Where is she now? I need to find her for something," Alexander said to Lager.
Lager seemed excited to see Alexander safe and sound, even forgetting the pain in his face for a moment.
But upon hearing that Alexander wanted to find Reyna, Lager couldn't help but be stunned.
"Alexander, don't you know?"
"Our Reverend Reyna, she didn't come to Baal at all."
"Now, all the Ark Gang members who came to Baal, the followers of Saint Doraemon, and some other refugees, are managed by me, Brother One-Eye, and Sister Dixus."
"I'm on Baal II, and Dixus and Brother One-Eye are on Baal."
"Reyna didn't come to Baal?" Alexander couldn't help but raise an eyebrow: "Where did she go?"
This information was somewhat unexpected for Alexander.
Reyna didn't come to Baal, and Lager had become one of the leaders of the Netherworld Star System refugees.
According to what Lager just said, not only Reyna but most of the former Ark Gang members didn't come to Baal.
Dante would actually let go of so much vital force... Could it be...
"Our Reverend Reyna, she took most of the Ark Gang members and joined the Astra Militarum, heading to Cadia with General Drost."
Lager scratched his head:
"But Brother One-Eye, myself, and some other brothers from the Ark Gang didn't follow."
"Brother One-Eye said he couldn't abandon the refugees of Ashford."
So she really did go to Cadia with General Drost. Alexander was no longer surprised.
This was normal; both Reyna and Dante knew the importance of Cadia. If Reyna joined the Astra Militarum and went to Cadia, Dante would absolutely not stop her.
According to Alexander's memory, Dante even sent elite First Company Terminator warriors to Cadia... even though Baal was also facing difficulties.
Then, Alexander focused his gaze on Lager.
Reyna's situation was easy for him to understand, but Lager's change was a bit... something Alexander couldn't quite fathom.
Alexander could even sense that this guy was genuinely devout in his belief in Saint Doraemon, without any ulterior motives.
Lager wasn't too bad in Ashford's Lower Nest, but he was definitely not associated with devoutness.
Lager seemed to notice the strangeness in Alexander's gaze. He scratched his head somewhat shyly, an awkward smile on his ugly face.
"..Alexander, to talk about what happened to me, we first have to talk about Saint Doraemon."
"Why don't you, old man, believe in him too? Saint Doraemon is so effective!"
"Why don't you old-timer believe in him too? Saint Doraemon is very effective!" Lager said to Alexander with a sincere expression.
Alexander's mouth twitched uncontrollably.
Didn't he know if it was effective? How could he have the ability to make someone give birth to eight children in one go?
Noticing Alexander's expression, Lager quickly said:
"Really, Alexander, as long as you pray to Saint Doraemon, the operating efficiency of many machines will double, and even broken machines will temporarily resume operation. A six-bullet pistol can fire seven shots. Saint Doraemon truly possesses divinity!"
"Shut up. I'll decide for myself whether he's divine or not!"
Alexander waved his hand, interrupting Lager's sermon. Hearing Lager's words, goosebumps rose all over his body.
For a moment, he felt a sense of empathy for the Emperor. No wonder the Emperor was so stubborn back then, refusing to admit he was a god.
But the Emperor truly was a god, and Alexander felt that he was not.
How could a human from the 21st century be a god in the 40th millennium?
Look at the gods of 40K: paranoid schizophrenics, supernatural garbage and toilets, hyper-masculine hyperthyroid anti-social lunatics, drug and sex addicts, paraplegic failed fathers, bulimic Tyranid-version Guilliman, two hyperactive mushrooms, those destroyed by medieval knights, galaxy-level autistics, Eldar-version hyper-masculine hyperthyroid anti-social lunatics, the toilet of the supernatural toilet, shut-in clowns, and multi-species stitched-together weaklings.
Truly, immortals lined up like hemp.
To be ranked alongside them, Alexander would rather climb to the top of the Terra Imperial Palace and jump to end his sorrows.
Alexander took a deep breath and looked at Lager, saying, "Tell me about yourself."
"Alexander, do you still remember that pot of Axema wine?"
Lager was silent for a moment, a bitter smile appearing on his wrinkled face:
"That wine was damn awful. It was the worst wine I've ever tasted in my life."
"About thirty or forty years ago, I was a fresh recruit who had just joined the gang. My older brother, who was responsible for me, had always dreamed of tasting Axema wine."
"He would tell me every day how delicious Axema was, how smooth and silky it was on the palate, how sweet and fragrant it was. Actually, he hadn't even tasted it; he'd only heard about it from others."
"But he spoke so well that I was infected and also wanted a taste of Axema."
"Later, he fought desperately to secure a new territory for the gang, and with the rewards and money he saved, he had someone buy a pot of Axema from Upper hive... But before he could drink it, he was retaliated against and shot dead. That pot of Axema was also shattered."
Lager scratched his old face, as if embarrassed to recount his past:
"Watching his body riddled with bullets, and that empty wine pot, I felt afraid. I was afraid that I would die without ever tasting a pot of Axema in my entire life."
"So I fought with all my might and used all my wits, just wanting to survive, to live long enough to taste a sip of Axema."
"And then you let me drink it, and I realized that what I had spent my entire life, doing so many rotten things to get, was such a terrible-tasting thing."
Lager couldn't help but thump his chest, taking a couple of deep breaths:
"I was miserable. I've never been so miserable in my life. I felt like my whole body was falling apart, and I soon fell ill. I was almost dead while on the ship."
Alexander looked at Lager's face; indeed, it bore the marks of illness.
"When I told Boss Reyna about it, she said that was the absurdity of life, that all worldly pursuits could become meaningless, and only faith in the Emperor could endure eternally."
"But I'm so old now. Even if I believed in the Emperor, I doubt he would let my soul return to the Golden Throne."
"And people like Boss Reyna, like Alexander, you all have abilities and skills; you can do so much for the Emperor. Besides surviving, I can't do anything."
"But it was at that moment that Big Sister Dixus appeared with her faith in Saint Doraemon. I was practically at death's door then, and I didn't care about Dying-worshippers or anything else. I converted to Saint Doraemon like clutching at a drowning man's straw, and then… then I actually got better."
Lager's face showed piety, and he clasped his hands into a circle over his chest:
"That's when I finally understood, Saint Doraemon has true divinity. I recalled what happened in Ashford and realized that behind these events there was an invisible pair of round hands. That must have been Saint Doraemon protecting us!"
Hearing this, Alexander's face suddenly contorted. He suddenly understood what was going on.
Because of the psychological suggestion Reyna had placed on him, Lager couldn't connect Leman Russ, Doraemon, and other aliases Alexander had used with Alexander himself.
This led to some things not making sense in Lager's head, and Lager naturally attributed them to the invisible round hands of Saint Doraemon.
Coupled with his mysterious recovery from illness, this made his faith extremely firm, because he genuinely felt that Saint Doraemon was divine.
"And then?" Alexander raised an eyebrow and asked, "How did you get to this point?"
"I didn't expect it either," Lager said with a bitter expression. "This really wasn't intentional."
"After arriving on Baal three months ago, I started to notice something was off. Big Sister Dixus and their doctrines… they were too damn terrifying, constantly talking about wanting to die."
"Honestly, I'm not afraid of death now. In fact, everyone here barely escaped the Ashford Tyranid swarm, so every extra day alive is a bonus. No one is afraid of death, but they are afraid of dying meaningless, without even a chance for their soul to return to the Golden Throne."
"Many people started to wonder, following Big Sister Dixus' ways, could they really return to the Golden Throne? Everyone hoped to regroup and fight the Tyranid again, to at least avenge their blood."
Alexander nodded slightly at this; Dixus' doctrines were indeed a bit abstract and outrageous, and most people certainly couldn't stand them.
Lager continued:
"So, One-Eye stepped forward. He gathered the old Ark Gang members, including myself, and formed a new sect, separating from Big Sister Dixus and her followers."
"I can't even believe it myself, but among my old Ark Gang brothers, I actually had some prestige."
"Alexander, do you remember when Boss Reyna asked me to teach the brothers how to survive? Many of the Ark Gang brothers thought I taught well, saying that their survival from the Tyranid was partly due to my efforts."
"Plus, when everyone first arrived on Baal, the most important thing was to survive, and I was good at surviving. One-Eye also trusted me, and little by little, I got to this point."
Lager looked at Alexander, and after a moment of silence, said:
"Old Lager, I'm getting old and don't have much time left. In this last bit of time, I want to do something for the Emperor, for Saint Doraemon."
"But Alexander, I know I don't have much ability… what the folks in Ashford need more now is you."
"On Baal, we discovered those GSC bastards. We fought them, and many people died, but by the time the Angels arrived, the GSC had hidden deep in the desert, disappearing without a trace."
"We need you to…"
"I have more important things to do, Lager," Alexander said softly.
He had to go to Angel Keep, find Sanguinius' remains, and revive him with that ridiculously expensive item.
Lager was stunned for a moment, then nodded heavily.
"I understand. I still remember what Alexander said back in Ashford, that everyone in this galaxy has their own responsibilities."
"Just like Boss Reyna has to go to Cadia, you must also have your own things to do."
"Is there anything Old Lager can help with? Brother, I'm doing well now; I can really help you," Lager said with a grin.
"I need a map, precisely marking the location of Baal and Angel Keep on Baal," Alexander said with a slight nod. He hadn't forgotten his purpose.
Lager's ugly face twitched. He swayed as he stood up, walking somewhat slowly towards the cabinet behind him.
Alexander observed Lager's gait and noticed that Lager walked with a little difficulty.
It seemed that old age had finally caught up with this old man from Ashford.
Lager took a roll of parchment from the cabinet and handed it to Alexander.
"There's no Angel Keep, only Baal. We haven't been here long enough, and Angel Keep is the most important place on all of Baal. How could we get a map of it?"
Lager shook his head and said.
Alexander unrolled the parchment map, which precisely marked the relative positions of Baal III, as well as the locations of One-Eye's and Dixus' strongholds on Baal.
This map was detailed enough for the anywhere door to be used.
"One-Eye drew it. After all, he used to be one of the best PDF," Lager said to Alexander.
Alexander nodded slightly, then reached into his four-dimensional pocket and pulled out the anywhere door.
Lager's gaze became dull and lifeless.
Seeing the anywhere door would make him guess Alexander was Doraemon, knowing Alexander was Doraemon would make him realize Alexander was Leman Russ.
Reyna's psychological suggestion once again took effect, causing Lager's mind to enter a daze.
Alexander's eye twitched as he watched this scene. But Reyna was now far away on Cadia, probably already in the trenches, so there was no hope of her undoing it for Lager.
And Alexander himself wasn't very knowledgeable about psychic powers, and Sanguinius could no longer offer him advice.
"You'll just have to live with it for now," Alexander said with a helpless shrug to the dazed Lager.
Then he pushed open the anywhere door, stepped inside, and disappeared.
Lager's eyes regained their light after Alexander left. He looked at the empty room, bewildered, and couldn't help but scratch his head.
"Where did he go? Why did Alexander suddenly disappear?"
One-Eye rubbed his only remaining eye, put down his pen, and stretched his limbs.
Ever since he arrived at Baal, mental exhaustion had been gnawing at him. This was far more tiring than his time in the Lower Nest of Ashford.
As a cult leader, the problems he faced were too numerous and too complex.
One-Eye even felt some regret. If he had known, he would have followed Reyna to Cadia.
Serving the Imperium of Man's greatest fortress world, being a soldier on the battlefield, was purer than being a cult leader.
Perhaps after a few hours on the battlefield, he could die for the Emperor and his soul would return to the Golden Throne.
One-Eye stood up and walked wearily to the window, looking out at the Ashford and Lexio refugee settlement.
Outside the window, scattered lights twinkled on the loose buildings, like shattered stars in the desert.
This town was originally built by the Lexio people. They called it Magda Town, named after the Battle Sister who once protected Lexio.
But the High Sister did not come to Baal; instead, she hastily left with the remaining Battle Sisters and a small number of refugees, heading to an unknown destination.
However, the Lexio people did not forget the High Sister's dedication. In fact, not far away, there was also a Seth Town, built to express gratitude to the Flesh Tearers Chapter Master.
This town was truly vast. The Lexio people lived under the wide sky, leading a nomadic life, and their architectural style seemed to be influenced by this, becoming loose and spread out.
Ashford people like One-Eye were actually very unaccustomed to it.
Even now, he still found the wide sky somewhat frightening.
Lager, that fellow, might be more comfortable living on Baal II, where the main strongholds were established by the Ashford people.
If he was still alive after the war, perhaps he should build a town for the Ashford people on Baal.
Saint Doraemon Town? That sounds too much like the name of a holy city; it shouldn't be built as narrow as a hive city.
Flax Town? To commemorate the governor's family One-Eye once served? Let's not. Augustus' final rule was not worth commemorating.
Drost Town? This one is more suitable, commemorating the Astra Militarum general who defended Ashford.
Or, Alexander Town? One-Eye thought of his old friend.
"Alexander, Leman Russ, Neoth, Saint Doraemon... My old friend, if you truly possess divinity, please come and help us."
One-Eye couldn't help but murmur, pulling out a pack of lho cigarettes from his pocket.
Baal had little industry, so the local people naturally wouldn't smoke this slightly addictive industrial byproduct.
They smoked a kind of tobacco rolled from desert plants, which One-Eye wasn't used to.
Whenever he felt tired, he would take out an lho cigarette he had brought from Ashford and take a puff.
One-Eye took one out and put it in his mouth. Only three cigarettes were left in the pack. One-Eye wanted to save one to smoke on the battlefield.
He also needed to save one. If he could meet that old fellow Lager, he could share one with him.
One-Eye couldn't help but smile.
And Alexander... he wondered if he would ever see him again. Never mind, he didn't seem to smoke.
One-Eye pondered for a moment, then took another one from the pack and walked over to his desk.
On the desk sat a statue of Saint Doraemon.
One-Eye actually didn't have a deep faith in Saint Doraemon, not because he was unaware of Saint Doraemon's great power. In fact, One-Eye, who knew Alexander was Saint Doraemon, was one of the clearest people.
He just couldn't imagine that his old friend, with whom he used to drink, had become a revered saint in the blink of an eye.
It was almost like he had become a god.
One-Eye lit the cigarette in his mouth and also lit the one in his hand.
Then he stood the one in his hand in front of the statue of Saint Doraemon.
"lho cigarettes are good stuff, why don't you smoke them?"
"Now that you're a saint, I'm buying you one."
One-Eye, with the cigarette in his mouth, murmured to the statue on the desk:
"If you're really a saint… or even a god, then send a message back to your old friend."
The lho cigarette burned, and irritating and mildly hallucinogenic white smoke slowly rose from the upright cigarette.
One-Eye took a deep drag from his own cigarette, enjoying the slight disorientation brought by the hallucinogenic component.
His eyes were narrowed, as if half-asleep and half-awake. The smoke drifting from the cigarette in front of him spread, dyeing the entire room pale white, shrouded in a hazy mist.
Suddenly, One-Eye felt a breeze blow from directly in front of him, hitting his face, and the vast white smoke immediately rushed in the direction the breeze came from.
One-Eye was startled and quickly opened his eyes, only to see a pinkish-red wooden door appear before him.
"Holy shit." The lho cigarette in One-Eye's mouth dropped with his exclamation.
The wooden door slowly opened, and Alexander stepped out, his gaze meeting One-Eye's.
"Is this smoke that strong?" One-Eye couldn't help but say, "Or did I really pray you into existence?"
Alexander's gaze fell on the Saint Doraemon statue on the desk.
In front of the statue, an upright cigarette was emitting pale smoke. Alexander's face twitched suddenly.
In the gloomy Dying-worshippers chapel, the pinkish-red wooden door opened, and Alexander led One-Eye out.
Almost the moment he stepped out of the wooden door, One-Eye smelled a faint scent of blood in the air.
He glanced at the surroundings shrouded in darkness, vaguely seeing many bodies hanging in the shadows.
There were human bodies, and also GSC bodies.
Dixus, dressed in simple black leather, stood before a rough stone table, silently waiting for Alexander.
Clearly, Alexander had already met Dixus before coming to find One-Eye.
This immediately tensed One-Eye's nerves.
Dixus and the cult she founded both worshipped Saint Doraemon, but their focus of worship differed.
Dixus was more inclined to believe that Saint Doraemon was the chosen one of the God of Death, who would bring equal death.
One-Eye, on the other hand, was more inclined to believe that Saint Doraemon could wield primordial power, was a dragon that devoured the Tyranid, and would bring hope and salvation.
The two were almost diametrically opposed, refuting each other as heretics. If not for the common enemy of the Tyranid and GSC, Dixus' rapier might have already been at One-Eye's throat.
To be honest, it was not uncommon for cults to denounce each other as heretics; even within the Adeptus Ministorum, it happened.
But the Emperor did not walk among the Adeptus Ministorum faithful, did not summon the leaders of two cults to meet, nor did he personally convey his will to them.
One-Eye worried about whether his act of splitting the cult was correct.
But Dixus and their beliefs were too abstract; One-Eye and most Ashford people could not tolerate them, and the herdsmen on Lexio were even more alienated.
"My Lord." Dixus knelt on one knee before Alexander, her head not raised, but her killing intent subtly directed towards One-Eye.
"Upon arriving at Baal, he and Lager eagerly emerged, splitting our faith and committing heresy in Your name."
One-Eye almost felt his throat being choked. He wanted to open his mouth to explain, but Alexander waved his hand, signaling him not to say more.
"There are no heretics, only loyal subjects." Alexander glanced at Dixus, then at One-Eye, and sighed, saying.
He sat down by the stone table, motioning for both of them to sit as well.
Dixus bowed her head, sitting opposite Alexander without any rebuttal.
One-Eye also sat down.
Alexander looked at their silent and respectful demeanor, and the corner of his eye twitched slightly.
Laxatives, a person on Baal, first time as a saint, asking for a tutorial online, urgent.
Alexander took a deep breath, rubbed his temples, and said in a gentle yet authoritative tone:
"Clouds in the blue sky, water in the bottle. Some of you are clouds, some are water; you just do different things."
"There are no heretics; all are loyal subjects and good generals. I see it."
One-Eye slightly relaxed.
Dixus, on the other hand, bowed respectfully, and the killing intent directed at One-Eye dissipated.
"You have no questions, do you, Dixus?" Alexander looked at Dixus and said.
He really didn't want to see the Ashford people fighting among themselves, alienated from each other.
The Tyranid were approaching; everyone should be united.
"How can doubt exist in pure faith? Any doubt towards my Lord would be the most blasphemous act."