The Changeling was cursing and swearing as he was banished back into the currents of the Warp. He should have returned directly to Tzeentch's domain,
but for some unknown reason, the Crystal Labyrinth had sealed itself off, isolated from reality. This isolation came from the Lord of Change's own power,
which caused the Changeling to collide head-on, re-materializing in the Warp not far from Lion's mindscape, dizzy and disoriented.
"I was planning to rest for a while, but why did Lion awaken so early?!"
The Changeling said with a hint of weariness and pain:
"And why did Konrad Curze, that crazy madman, suddenly appear?"
Although the mission to prevent Lion's revival had failed, the Changeling wasn't overly concerned about Tzeentch's wrath.
Firstly, Tzeentch himself was clearly focused on more important matters, otherwise he wouldn't have sealed his domain and secluded himself within the Crystal Labyrinth.
Secondly, the failure of this mission was expected. From the beginning, the Changeling's task was to delay Lion's full recovery; no one truly believed the Changeling could stop Lion.
He was the Changeling, an embodiment of Tzeentch's deceit and trickery, not Tzeentch himself.
Moreover, Konrad Curze had suddenly appeared this time. Facing two Primarchs at once, the Changeling's failure was entirely acceptable.
The Changeling looked at the sealed Crystal Labyrinth, wondering what he could do in the meantime.
Replace Ferrus' skull with the head of an Ork Warboss?
Disguise himself as a diplomat from a newborn civilization to trick the Tau into diplomatic relations with the Tyranids?
Or secretly sprinkle some blight pathogens into Fabius Bile's bio-vats?
Oh, it's so difficult to choose! Why are there so many fun things to do in this galaxy?
The Changeling felt a bit melancholic and conflicted, and couldn't help but smack his lips—
Huh?
The Changeling's body stiffened. He vaguely shifted his gaze and saw a golden fishhook hanging from the corner of his mouth at some point. A thread, as hot as concentrated sunlight, connected to the fishhook, extending all the way to the highest reaches of the Warp.
The Changeling's body trembled slightly as he looked up in the direction from which the fishing line descended.
A dilapidated wooden boat floated on the surface, with a hunched, severely wounded old man wearing a tattered golden crown fishing. His crimson blood stained the Warp sky, and the "fish" he was catching was the Changeling himself.
Terror appeared on the Changeling's face. He suddenly remembered that this old man had always been in Lion's mindscape, always silently watching the Changeling, but the Changeling had actually ignored him.
The old man's overflowing blood gradually oxidized and turned black, circling in the sky, transforming into a dark sun that began to burn fiercely.
The Changeling saw that the cursed one was sitting on the Golden Throne, gazing at the Changeling.
"My Lord!!! Save me!!!" the Changeling shrieked towards the Crystal Labyrinth.
But no sound emerged from the Crystal Labyrinth, no reaction whatsoever.
Tzeentch had completely sealed the Crystal Labyrinth and was focused on dealing with Nurgle and Slaanesh's opportunism. At the same time, the cursed one's scorching Psyker energy was isolating this part of the Warp. At this moment, Tzeentch had no idea what the Changeling was encountering, and even if he did, he could do nothing.
The fishing line suddenly tightened, and the Changeling was uncontrollably dragged towards the dark sun in the sky.
The Changeling's nimble mind raced, trying to find a way to escape, but he racked his brains and couldn't think of anything. Finally...
"Your Majesty!! Spare me!!!"
The Changeling shouted towards the dark sun in the sky:
"Please, I have sweated for humanity, I have bled for the Imperium, I have worked overtime for the Adeptus Administratum!"
"I have shouldered a million worlds across five Imperial sectors. I... I am your loyal subject! You cannot kill me!!!"
"I can also be loyal!! I can also dedicate myself to the Imperium, to humanity!"
"I want nothing, I just purely wish to contribute to humanity!"
"I want no reward; loyalty itself is the reward!"
The Changeling squeezed every last drop of intelligence from his mind, but the fishing line grew tighter and tighter, dragging the Changeling directly into the dark sun.
Blood flowed from Marthus' back. This daemon Prince looked at Zabriel behind him with horror and disbelief.
He didn't understand, didn't understand why this Fallen Angel, who was once an Uncrowned Prince, had suddenly betrayed him.
Not just Zabriel, some of the Fallen Angels had, at some unknown point, retreated behind the other Fallen Angels and suddenly attacked their comrades, forming a pincer movement with the Ultramarines and Flesh Tearers.
Those treacherous Fallen Angels were all veterans, seasoned and weathered, originally the backbone of the Fallen Angels.
"Why?" Marthus shrieked, demanding an answer.
"Why?"
Zabriel tilted his head, seemingly not understanding why Marthus would ask such a foolish question:
"We don't know whether Lion or Luther is the traitor."
"We don't know why the Fall of Caliban happened back then."
"Nor do we know what Luther is secretly trying to do now."
"But we know one thing: before we became Dark Angels, we were the Emperor's Uncrowned Princes, the Emperor's first Death Angels."
"Traitor, I ask you: does loyalty need a reason?"
"When, when did you all gather? Why did I not notice anything?" Marthus wailed, demanding an answer.
"Are you truly a member of the Dark Angels? Isn't forming such secret small groups our specialty?"
Zabriel said as if it were obvious:
"Luther might have noticed, but I think he doesn't care about these things."
Marthus snarled a curse, struggling to resist,
but Zabriel displayed martial arts many times stronger than before, easily severing Marthus' head with the sword in his hand.
The daemon Prince was then banished back into the Warp, vanishing into thin air.
"Why are you using the secret hand gestures of the Blood Angels?" Gabriel Seth, enveloped in a chilling aura of blood, stared at Zabriel and demanded.
"Your gestures?" Zabriel couldn't help but laugh: "Those were the gestures designed during the period when we were still called the Uncrowned Princes."
"We were the original for all Legions. Many of the tactics, secret codes, and organizational methods you use were designed and refined by us then, and then passed on to the various Legions."
"It's just that later, people forgot these things, forgot who first paved the smooth path you now tread."
Zabriel stared at Seth and said:
"I lived on a frontier planet of the Crimson Moons Chapter; I know you still use this set of gestures."
Seth snorted, offering no comment on Zabriel's words.
Zabriel, however, showed a hint of confusion: "But I am very puzzled, puzzled that you so smoothly accepted cooperating with me. I thought you were a stubborn and inflexible person."
At these words, Seth's expression became a little strange. Just as he was about to speak, the light-door of the previous compartment suddenly trembled, and a figure that was almost entirely a daemon emerged from it.
That daemon was bathed in blood, his limbs extremely mutated, his power armor transformed into a carapace clinging to his body, and his bare arm held a hideous chainaxe.
The daemon paid no attention to the battle in this compartment, and with a speed difficult to catch with the naked eye, he plunged into the light-door leading to the next compartment.
Zabriel was dumbfounded.
"We've even cooperated with this thing," Seth's voice held a hint of despair: "What else is there that we can't cooperate with?"