The ominous caw of a crow sounded at just the right moment.
Titus' dark eyelids slowly faded, reflecting the last few glimpses of the future.
Among them was the sight of Be'lakor's head exploding under a Raven Guard's bullet.
Titus knew from the start that he alone could not defeat Be'lakor through brute force.
Be'lakor was, after all, the first daemon Prince, so powerful that even the current Khârn would struggle against him.
Even with the damage from the Greater Daemon not fully healed, Titus would find it difficult to defeat him.
But Titus was not fighting alone; the mysterious Raven Guard was always hidden in the shadows, seeking an opportunity for a killing blow.
Titus, relying on the precognitive abilities granted to him by Konrad Curze, found a way to create that opportunity.
He concealed his acquired Psyker powers, silently accumulating Psyker energy, and a single Psyker lightning bolt caused no small amount of damage to Be'lakor.
Be'lakor's attention was completely drawn to Titus at this moment, and the Raven Guard seized the chance to pull the trigger.
In the future Titus had originally seen, Be'lakor's brains would have exploded by now, his physical body destroyed, and sent back to the Warp.
But at the last moment, the future in Titus' eyes underwent a bizarre and twisted change, as if a pair of hands had silently manipulated cause and effect and destiny.
"Be'lakor, I need you to open the door!"
Erebus' voice, perfectly timed, rang out at this very moment.
"Useless!" Be'lakor turned his head and cursed, "You can't even open a door—"
A large-caliber steel needle spun and pierced Be'lakor's shoulder, splattering flesh condensed from Warp power. Untouchable ashes, Astropathic Choir ashes, and Water of Thirst instantly exploded.
The Untouchable ashes suppressed the Warp reaction, the Astropathic Choir ashes caused the Warp energy forming his body to run wild, and the Water of Thirst gnawed at the moisture in his flesh on a material level.
Be'lakor let out a sharp wail, but precisely because of Erebus' voice, this large-caliber steel needle did not hit him in the head, failing to directly take his life.
The first daemon Prince did not hesitate, raising the Shadow Blade in his other hand and fiercely cutting down his own arm.
The arm, with the large-caliber steel needle embedded, fell to the ground, instantly exploding into a burst of shadows and spectral fire that dissipated.
Be'lakor's face twitched, and he instantly looked in the direction from which the steel needle had come. The Shadow Blade swung, and a dark flame shot out, stabbing towards that direction.
But Sarojin was an excellent sniper; he fired only one shot, and after that shot, regardless of whether it hit or not, he would quickly change position to avoid being hit.
Sarojin also understood that by exposing himself, he had lost the chance to snipe Be'lakor again. Without hesitation, he directly submerged into the shadows, heading to a position where he was more needed.
Alexander's expression, watching this scene through the tracking image mirror, also shifted slightly.
It was too coincidental, unbelievably so.
The only possibility was that someone had manipulated destiny, allowing Be'lakor to narrowly avoid this sniper shot.
The person capable of such a feat was clearly Tzeentch.
It seemed Tzeentch had, to some extent, digested the domains that had been forcefully given to him and were not perfectly compatible with the Hellstorm domain, and had also reclaimed some lost domains, restoring some ability to interfere with the material universe.
However, he clearly hadn't fully recovered yet and couldn't interfere more directly, merely hiding silently within the veil of reality, manipulating destiny.
The only strange thing was, why were the traces of this change in destiny so obvious? So crude and unrefined?
This was not quite Tzeentch's style.
Alexander narrowed his eyes slightly.
Damn Tzeentch, why was he doing the same thing as him?!
Alexander had also used an item to manipulate destiny, making Erebus unlucky.
However, Alexander's manipulation of destiny was a wise move, while Tzeentch's manipulation of destiny was a shameless scoundrel who couldn't play fair and stood on the chessboard himself!
So now it was time to see whether Tzeentch's skill in manipulating destiny was stronger, or the curse generated by Khârn and Raum's hatred, amplified by an item, was more potent.
In the Warp, within the Crystal Labyrinth,
Tzeentch, with his strong and capable arms, bent the destinies of Erebus and Be'lakor, forcefully making the flow of destiny conform to his will.
The old Tzeentch preferred to meticulously adjust the threads of destiny like manipulating puppets, but as his domain underwent some changes, Tzeentch discovered a better, more efficient way to control destiny.
That was to beat destiny, to bend destiny with strong, powerful arm muscles. If destiny did not submit, then to beat destiny even harder.
Exercising muscles, and then using muscles to change destiny. Indeed, the way of muscles was the way of change.
Satisfied, Tzeentch twisted the trajectory of destiny with even more brutal force.
But gradually, he noticed something was wrong; a strong, intense misfortune enveloped Erebus' destiny.
This misfortune, even Tzeentch's well-trained muscles could not shatter; it was as solid as a curse accumulated for ten thousand years... It must be because he wasn't trying hard enough!
He must continue to beat Erebus' destiny even harder!!!
Don't be afraid, Erebus! Your great Lord Tzeentch will now help you remove the misfortune from your destiny!!
Caw! Caw! Caw! Ten Thousand Changes Life-Repairing Fist!!
The thick shadows summoned by Be'lakor continuously writhed. His disciples, the Word Bearers who followed Erebus, were all swallowed into the shadows.
Be'lakor still found it insufficient; the renegade knights who had not come aboard the Light Lord were also dragged into the shadows by Be'lakor.
Be'lakor absorbed their life force, rapidly restoring his body, recovering about seventy to eighty percent in the blink of an eye.
He had no choice; if it weren't necessary, he truly wouldn't want to waste all the disciples he had accumulated over ten thousand years.
Having completed his healing, Be'lakor did not entangle himself with the remaining Astartes, leaving them to be dealt with by the Khorne behemoth created by Erebus, and quickly moved to Erebus' side.
Erebus' state at this moment was also a bit peculiar.
His face was pale, his body swayed, and his eyes seemed somewhat unfocused.
Be'lakor quickly noticed that Erebus' soul was trembling. No, it wasn't his soul trembling, but something deeper was trembling, causing a reaction in his soul.
It was... destiny?
Be'lakor sensed that Erebus' destiny was violently fluctuating.
"Don't mind me, I just suddenly have a headache," Erebus said, shaking his head violently, as if he was completely unaware of his own problem.
Be'lakor didn't bother with Erebus, turning his attention instead to the lock on the door.
"What is your name?"
Faced with this question, Be'lakor grinned and chuckled.
"Do you still need me to answer such a simple question?"
"My answer is, Be'lakor—"