"Erebus."
Erebus answered the lock's question, stating his name.
Then...
"Incorrect answer."
A bolt of lightning struck from the sky, piercing Erebus' body from his crown, running through him entirely. The intense pain made Erebus let out a sharp wail.
Incorrect answer?
How could this be?!
Erebus was stunned for a moment, then suddenly remembered.
"Erebus" was not his true name.
He remembered.
In his old home, on Cthonia, a place filled with heat and thick dust, in the small village where he was born, there was once a devout, kind, and promising child.
That child inscribed scriptures on his face and smooth scalp, working diligently and praying to the gods. He was a role model and example in that small town where flies and dust coexisted.
Even that lazy, bloated, and ridiculous woman, the one he once called his mother, would complain: "Why can't you be like Erebus?" "Why can't you become like Erebus?"
He took his mother's teaching to heart. "Why can't he become Erebus?" This was the only valuable thing his mother's foul mouth had ever said.
So, he strangled that devout, diligent child, watching his eyeballs burst, his face turn ashen, watching his sweet, beautiful soul die by his own hands.
Then he dragged the body into an alley, put on the dead boy's robes, copied the scriptures from the dead boy's face onto his own face and shaven head, left his birthplace, and strode away, stealing that child's name.
That devout, diligent child was the true Erebus. His name and identity had been stolen from the very beginning.
And his true name...
Confusion and bewilderment appeared in Erebus' eyes.
He couldn't remember his true name, the true name given to him by his fat, lazy mother, the true name that represented his true identity.
How could this be?
When did he forget? Why did he forget?
Then who else knew his true name?
Erebus stared at the question on the lock, trembling all over, his face grim.
He realized something.
Only the Chaos Gods knew his true name.
A true name has unique significance; the name itself possesses power.
Simply by chanting a daemon's true name, one can greatly weaken the daemon. Knowing the Emperor's true name might even provide an opportunity to murder the Emperor.
Similarly, a true name held immense significance for Erebus.
Especially since Erebus had been living under a false name and identity for tens of thousands of years, with everything he had acquired relying on this false identity.
Cold sweat broke out on Erebus' head. The Four Gods knowing his true name was equivalent to them holding a noose around Erebus' neck.
If the Four Gods wished, they could expose Erebus' false identity, speak Erebus' true name, and directly strangle Erebus.
Erebus had been a complete and utter slave to the Four Gods from the very beginning, even more enslaved than a daemon Primarch, even more enslaved than Be'lakor.
At this moment, he felt immense fear, suddenly realizing that he had been manipulated by the Four Gods all along.
"No, there's still a chance," Erebus whispered softly. "As long as I can make Saint Doraemon ascend, open the path to ascension blocked by the Emperor, I can become one of the Four Gods myself and break free from their control."
Erebus' passion surged again in an instant; the fear he had just felt was smoothly cast aside.
He faintly heard some mocking voices and some bird calls, but Erebus instinctively ignored those sounds.
In the Warp's Crystal Labyrinth, Tzeentch, while exercising to digest the domains forcibly shoved upon him by Slaanesh and Khorne, slightly hooked a finger. Bound to his fingertip was a chain woven from Erebus' true name, which he used to manipulate Erebus' fate and thoughts.
With continuous exercise, Tzeentch had already digested more than eighty percent of the new domains and reclaimed some of the previously lost ones. His condition had recovered significantly, and he could now exert some minor interference on the material universe.
He manipulated the fates of Erebus and Be'lakor.
Perhaps other gods would call Erebus a slave, but how presumptuous that word 'slave' was. Tzeentch preferred to call him a Chosen.
A slave might still realize he is being enslaved and might resist, be uncooperative, or lazy.
A Chosen, however, was much better. They would mistakenly believe they possessed free will, mistakenly believe that all their actions were free and originated from their own will, never even thinking of resisting. They would only fully cooperate with Tzeentch's actions and enthusiastically serve Tzeentch's plans.
Ahriman was like this, Be'lakor was like this, and Erebus was like this too.
Be'lakor brandished the Shadow Blade in his hand, suppressing Titus.
He had some wounds cut by a chainsword, but they were not serious.
Conversely, Titus' power armor now showed horrifying cracks.
If it had been his former self, he might have fallen by now.
But the power Konrad Curze had bestowed upon him was constantly accumulating within his body; that chilling Warp energy made his physique tougher than before.
"I truly don't understand how the Blood God could have chosen you!"
Be'lakor, consumed by jealousy, mocked Titus, who was constantly defending passively with his precognitive abilities:
"Coward, a wretch who only dares to dodge."
Titus completely ignored Be'lakor's taunts. He looked at Be'lakor with cold eyes, the future scenes constantly reflected in his lidless, pitch-black eyes.
Be'lakor was enraged by Titus' attitude, swinging the Shadow Blade at Titus with even greater ferocity.
But perhaps because his movements were too large, Be'lakor's abdomen twitched and convulsed, emitting an unbearable pain.
Be'lakor's movements abruptly froze in mid-air, his entire face showing a strange and awkward expression.
Titus seized this brief moment. His pitch-black eyes looked towards Be'lakor's head, and the Psyker energy that had been continuously gathering since the start of the battle was unleashed. His will solidified into a cold, spherical lightning bolt in the blink of an eye, emitting a chilling electric glow that exploded on Be'lakor's head.
The writhing electric light directly pierced Be'lakor's eyeball, tearing open his flesh. The intense pain made Be'lakor retreat repeatedly, falling onto the ground with a sharp wail.
"You bastard!!!!"
Be'lakor let out a sharp growl. Most of his head was blown open, bleeding profusely, ugly and disfigured.
Titus also looked exhausted; having expended a large amount of Psyker energy, his body became stiff and difficult to move.
Be'lakor angrily raised the Shadow Blade, about to kill Titus—
Bang!!!!
The moment Be'lakor's mind was consumed by rage and his attention was drawn to Titus, the ominous caw of a raven suddenly rang out.
"Be'lakor, I need you to open the door!" Just then, Erebus' voice also echoed from behind the Shadow Veil.