Guilliman recognized the face in mere seconds.
Even though the face had aged, and even though a thick beard covered most of that cold, sinister face, Guilliman still identified him.
The Lion, the Lion of Caliban, the Primarch of the Dark Angels, Lion El'Jonson.
He was also the Lord Protector of the Imperium—Guilliman did not want to mention which Imperium.
If Guilliman had woken up and not seen Alexander, not seen Sanguinius, and only found despair and ruin everywhere, then he might have been happy that Lion El'Jonson was with him.
When everything reached an unparalleled level of despair, Lion El'Jonson might have been the only Primarch who could break through it.
If the dark galaxy was a deep, gloomy forest, then Lion El'Jonson was the Lion within that forest; no matter how harsh the environment, it could not defeat him.
But if the situation wasn't so desperate, then Lion El'Jonson was a source of despair for Guilliman.
The Lion might be a guardian in the forest, but on Macragge, he was a complete danger.
Guilliman still remembered the experience of forming the Second Imperium with Lion El'Jonson.
Every time he recalled that experience, it felt like a punch to Guilliman's face—this was not a metaphor; in Guilliman's memory, Lion El'Jonson had indeed tried to punch him in the face several times.
Thinking of the tedious and difficult political affairs during the Second Imperium, thinking of Emperor Sanguinius being tormented until his face was haggard, thinking of Lion El'Jonson's attempt to orbital bombard Macragge, and thinking of Konrad Curze lurking in the shadows, always ready to cause trouble, Guilliman felt a pang of stomach ache.
He knew that Lion El'Jonson was slumbering and randomly teleporting across the galaxy, but as Alexander, Sanguinius, and Guilliman had initially discussed, Lion El'Jonson was not suitable to return yet, as it might cause unrest in the Imperium. He could only return after the Imperium had stabilized.
But now, Alexander had brought Lion El'Jonson before him. Although Lion El'Jonson was still asleep, Guilliman knew that Alexander had countless ways to awaken him.
Guilliman's mouth slightly opened. He looked at Lion El'Jonson, then raised his head to look at Alexander, but ultimately, his politician's instinct made him let out a bitter sigh, saying with a hint of jest, "At least he didn't bring Konrad Curze with him this time when he came before me."
When Lion El'Jonson had first visited Macragge, Konrad Curze was still lurking on his ship, and Lion El'Jonson hadn't even told Guilliman about it initially.
This was one of the biggest reasons for Guilliman's resentment towards Lion El'Jonson; Konrad Curze had nearly killed Guilliman's adoptive mother, Lady Euten.
"..If you want to meet Konrad Curze, I can bring him too," Alexander said to Guilliman after a moment of hesitation.
He knew that Lion El'Jonson's concealment of Konrad Curze's existence was a thorn in Guilliman's side, so he thought for a moment and decided to reveal Konrad Curze's situation.
But as soon as Alexander uttered Konrad Curze's name, Guilliman's expression stiffened slightly.
Then Alexander reached into his four-dimensional pocket, and an Astartes in blue armor was pulled out of the pocket by Alexander.
The Astartes' armor was identical to that of the Ultramarines, but for some reason, he seemed to be shrouded in shadow. The blue on his power armor appeared somewhat dim and deep, unlike an Ultramarine; instead, he resembled a... Night Lord?
Titus was suddenly pulled out of the four-dimensional pocket by Alexander. He was momentarily stunned, then noticed his Primarch was right before him.
He knelt on one knee, bowing his head in homage: "Father."
Guilliman's mouth slightly opened. Even someone as composed as he was momentarily stunned upon seeing Titus.
Because Titus, his son, this excellent son of his, gave him a feeling that was exactly like... Konrad Curze himself.
Titus gave Guilliman the feeling of being even more of a Night Lord than the Night Lords themselves.
He looked less like Guilliman's son and more like Konrad Curze had secretly mixed his gene-seed into the Ultramarines' stock and sired him.
"This is Konrad Curze's Chosen Titus, your son," Alexander said, pointing at Titus.
Then Alexander briefly explained Konrad Curze's situation before having Titus return to the four-dimensional pocket.
Guilliman gently rubbed his brow, finally exhaling a cool breath and saying, "Konrad Curze is a madman; I don't believe he can be controlled."
"When you use him, you had best be cautious, and do not let him appear in the open. He is more suited to be a shadow in the dark."
Alexander nodded slightly, then said to Guilliman, "Do you want me to awaken the Lion so you two brothers can meet?"
"No need!" Guilliman quickly shook his head in refusal.
"Actually, the Lion's personality has changed significantly from ten thousand years ago; he's much easier to get along with now," Alexander said with a hint of hesitation.
The Lion's spirit, tempered by the passage of time and the Fall of Caliban, was no longer as excessively extreme as it once was.
"Lion El'Jonson is a beast, my friend."
"If the Lion appears to have become gentler, it's not because he's no longer dangerous, but because he's aged, his body has declined, but his spirit and skill are even stronger."
"So he has learned to hide his fangs, retract his claws, conceal himself in the darkness, and pretend not to be so dangerous."
"But if you relax even slightly, the Lion's fangs and claws will emerge, tearing your throat whenever he wishes."
Guilliman looked at Lion El'Jonson on the ground with a serious expression and said,
"If Lion El'Jonson has truly changed as you say, it's only because he has instinctively adopted a different hunting technique based on practical necessity. At this point, he is even more lethal and dangerous than before."
Alexander did not ask for Guilliman's opinion, merely nodding slightly in agreement.
If there was any Primarch who understood Lion El'Jonson best besides Leman Russ, it was probably Guilliman.
However, even Guilliman had to admit that Lion El'Jonson's loyalty to the Emperor was unparalleled.
Alexander still had a pile of blank imperial edicts signed by the Emperor. If all else failed, he could even let the Emperor Nobita possess him to directly convey the Emperor's will to Lion El'Jonson.
Alexander thought of a lucrative idea. To realize this idea, he needed Lion El'Jonson's power.
To achieve this idea, Alexander had to enter the Eye of Terror, into those star systems that had been drawn into the Warp.
"I need to see Sanguinius again. I also plan to visit Cawl. I have an idea... Hmm, I should go to Cawl after visiting the Eye of Terror."
Alexander briefly explained his idea to Guilliman, which made Guilliman's eyebrows raise slightly.
Above the scarlet plains of Baal, the massive, ancient starship had completed its repairs and hung in orbit above Angel Keep, like a magnificent monument carved from crimson gold.
At the prow of this colossal starship, a pair of golden wings unfurled along the ram, and the ram itself was not made of thick metal, but a huge, crystalline, tear-shaped crimson bloodstone.
The Red Tears, the Gloriana-class Battleship that once belonged to Sanguinius, was a nearly perfect vessel, a culmination of human artistic beauty.
This ship had been lost for ten thousand long years.
But now it had been restored and stood in orbit alongside Dante's flagship, the Wrath of Absolution, and the Blood Angels' battle barge, the Blade of Vengeance.
Reyna was walking through the ship with astonishment, admiring the stunning artworks and carvings within, many of which were even personally completed by Sanguinius.
"Many creations by me and my sons were destroyed during the Great Crusade, and most of what remained was lost during the Great Heresy and the past ten thousand years."
"Fortunately, the truly valuable collections were placed in independently powered Static Fields and preserved relatively intact."
Sanguinius smiled as he introduced the precious collections on board to Reyna:
"For example, this painting; I love it very much. I believe it is a bright ray of the past, captured in ink."
Sanguinius stopped in front of a painting.
The painting seemed to have no specific form, but was entirely composed of flowing colors.
Flower-strewn, vibrant grasslands swayed like waves between the inks, and the light and shadows of the sky swirled and turned, like water flowing.
And the unseen wind, together with the clouds, outlined a woman in a pure white dress, holding a parasol, suddenly turning back to gaze into the distance. Her face, her body, her very existence seemed not quite real, as if about to dissolve into wind and light, turning into smoke and drifting away.
Reyna didn't understand art very well, but in this painting, she vaguely sensed something that didn't exist in this era, yet she couldn't articulate what it was.
"This painting was created very close to Alexander's era, by a master skilled in depicting light, shadow, and color."
Alexander, of course, recognized this painting. He was slightly surprised that it had survived into humanity's 40th millennium, considering that the wars humanity had created and endured over these tens of thousands of years had practically turned the entire galaxy upside down.
"The more tragic and dusty the world becomes, the more people cherish the bright past depicted in this painting, and so it naturally gets passed down."
A faint smile crossed Sanguinius' lips; he seemed to have noticed Alexander's surprise and answered him with a sentimental remark:
"In your era, accustomed to such brightness, you naturally wouldn't understand the reverence people in a darker age hold for this painting."
"In our era, this painting was also priceless," Alexander shrugged and continued walking down the Red Tears' corridor with Sanguinius, temporarily leaving Reyna behind. "Compared to this painting, I'm more curious when you dug out the Red Tears?"
"With my prophetic abilities, finding the Red Tears wasn't difficult." Although he said this, Alexander clearly sensed a hint of melancholy in Sanguinius' words.
Evidently, something sorrowful had occurred during the process of recovering the Red Tears, which saddened Sanguinius.
Especially after Alexander arrived on Baal, he noticed that the atmosphere on Baal felt a bit off.
There weren't many ships gathered here, but they were all elites of the Blood Angels. Even the true Regent of the Dark Imperium, Dante himself, had temporarily left Angel Keep and boarded his flagship, the Wrath of Absolution.
Sanguinius was clearly preparing for an Expedition—a small but important Expedition.
"Not long ago, while you were hunting Erebus, a successor chapter of my sons attacked me while piloting the Red Tears." Sanguinius' voice showed little emotion,
but his downcast eyes were filled with sorrow and melancholy.
This made Alexander frown deeply. The Blood Angels attacked Sanguinius? How could that be?!
"It was the corruption of the Blood God. You know the Red Angel, right?" Sanguinius asked in a lowered voice.
The Red Angel?
Alexander's first thought was Angron,
but he quickly realized that Sanguinius was referring to the Khorne Greater Daemon that had been distilled from the rage of the Blood Angels ten thousand years ago.
That demon, named the Red Angel, had once hidden within a Khorne artifact called the "fury of khorne," attempting to corrupt Sanguinius.
However, Apothecary Meros of the Blood Angels Legion had sacrificed himself in Sanguinius' stead, throwing himself into the "fury of khorne" and merging with the Red Angel, transforming into a terrifying Red Angel demon, a vortex of condensed rage.
That demon seemed to have some connection to the Blood Angels, capable of inducing the Red Thirst, and still rampages across the galaxy today.
"I once swore that one day I would liberate the soul of Meros, who was possessed by the Red Angel. Now is the time to fulfill that vow."
"The Red Angel is spreading corruption among those successor chapters scattered across the stars who did not answer Dante's call during the Battle of Baal, but I will eradicate him."
"Do you need my help?" Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.
"This won't be a short-term task; you have more important matters."
Sanguinius' eyes shone brightly as he softly said:
"I cannot see your fate after you choose to briefly slumber; it is too blurry."
"It would be great if you could see it. Then I wouldn't need to sleep; I could just copy the answer you've foreseen," Alexander said jokingly.
Of course, that was just talk; prophecy, after all, isn't entirely reliable.
Sanguinius smiled faintly, standing beside Alexander and gazing with him at the scarlet plains of Baal:
"I can only offer you a small piece of advice based on my experience."
"Many times, fate gives us many different choices, but these choices often lead to the same outcome in the end."
"The answer only tells us what choice to make, but what truly determines the future is the choice itself."
"No matter what answer you get, whether you accept it or not, my friend, you can make your decision with greater peace of mind."
"Did you see anything?" Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow slightly, looking at Sanguinius.
"I don't know. I only saw you with hesitation and uncertainty on your face after you woke up." Sanguinius shook his head slightly.
Alexander nodded slightly, saying nothing more.
He still didn't know what answer he would ultimately receive, so dwelling on what Sanguinius saw was meaningless.
Moreover, he remembered that he had come to Sanguinius to ask another question.
"Speaking of which, what do you think of the Silent King?" Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.
Silent King Szarekh, the theoretical supreme ruler of the Necron, the last master of the Three Saints Council, an enemy of the C'tan and the Old Ones, and a Class A war criminal of the galaxy.
He reigned towards the end of the Necron's arduous war with the Old Ones, ignoring the warnings of the Astromancer Orikan, and chose to worship the C'tan to fight the Old Ones.
The first C'tan the Silent King worshipped was the Deceiver. As one of the four greatest The Deceivers in the galaxy, the Deceiver did not disappoint the Silent King; he thoroughly tricked him, ultimately leading to biotransference.
The Necron of old were consumed in the furnace, their souls becoming desserts for the C'tan, their flesh and blood bodies destroyed in an instant, and their memories uploaded into living metal bodies, turning them into soulless mechanical slaves. Thus, the Necron were born.
And so, the true War in Heaven began. The C'tan and the Necron rampaged through the material dimension, almost igniting the entire galaxy in their war against the Old Ones and their subordinate races like the Aeldari. This war was reflected in the Warp, stirring the originally calm Warp into a chaotic mess, and even the Old Ones were eventually consumed by the Warp, suffering great losses.
To some extent, all the tragedies in the galaxy today can be traced back to the day Silent King Szarekh chose to trust the C'tan.
Later, Szarekh led the Necron in an uprising, destroying the weakened C'tan after the War in Heaven, tearing those gods of the material universe into fragments.
But the Necron were exhausted by this, unable to resist the rising Aeldari Imperium. So Szarekh ordered the Necron to enter a Great Sleep lasting six thousand years, attempting to outlast the Aeldari.
The Silent King himself also destroyed his master control protocols over all Necron and exiled himself to the boundless deep space outside the galaxy, repenting his sins.
It wasn't until recently that the Silent King encountered the Tyranids outside the galaxy. Realizing the threat of the Great Devourer, the Silent King returned to the galaxy, attempting to re-integrate the Necron to fight the Tyranids.
Alexander brought him up because Alexander intended to leave several paths open.
Now, besides hoping for the three years neet pillow, the other plan Alexander could choose was the Emperor's plan to help Alexander ascend to godhood.
Alexander himself wanted to leave an additional path, and allying with the Necron was one of them. The Necron have no connection to the Warp whatsoever, are powerful enough, and possess many technologies to isolate the Warp. Among the various monsters in the galaxy, the Necron are one of the few races with cooperative value.
Among the Necron, at least the Silent King desires to reverse biotransference, and Alexander just happens to have a way to help the Necron regain their souls or even their flesh and blood bodies.
Alexander's inquiry about the Silent King's situation was to verify whether cooperation with the Necron was feasible.
Not many people in the galaxy have met and understood the Silent King anymore.
Cegorach was one of them. The Aeldari and the Necron are sworn enemies, and Cegorach's evaluation of the Silent King was very 'high'.
"The Emperor and the Silent King are like two sides of the same coin."
"If you try to scam the Emperor, he'll turn around and scam your kidneys off you."
"But if you try to scam the Silent King, you'll receive an entire race's worth of kidneys."
This was Cegorach's assessment of the Silent King.
Besides Cegorach, the only other person Alexander could think of who understood the Silent King was Sanguinius.
At least the Silent King once claimed to Dante that he and Sanguinius had a very good relationship. When he spoke of Sanguinius, the Silent King sounded almost as if he was talking about a deceased wife.
"..Szarekh?" Sanguinius showed a somewhat strange expression when Alexander asked about the Silent King.
"He's a bit like... like the Emperor," Sanguinius said after a moment of hesitation.
Alexander, hearing Sanguinius' evaluation, which was somewhat similar to Cegorach's, showed a strange expression.
One must know that Szarekh's evaluation of Sanguinius was much more direct.
In Szarekh's view, if Sanguinius became the Emperor of the Imperium, he would lead humanity and even the galaxy towards a bright future. He believed Sanguinius would be a more reasonable Emperor, the only human worth mourning, he respected Sanguinius and remembered their meeting for ten thousand years, he even regretted that if Sanguinius hadn't died, everything would have been very different.
As for the Emperor, Szarekh's only comment was: "a mummified corpse playing with witchcraft."
But Sanguinius, however, evaluated Szarekh as somewhat similar to the Emperor... a mummified corpse playing with witchcraft and a skeleton playing with technology, they were indeed somewhat similar.
"Is that a compliment, or an insult?" Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.
"An insult, an insult to the Emperor," Sanguinius sighed and said, "Szarekh's few strengths over the Emperor are that he is more sincere than the Emperor."
"But that's not much of a virtue, after all, my friend, even you and Cegorach are more sincere than the Emperor."
"But if I were to trust someone, I would rather trust the Emperor than Szarekh."
"Trusting the Emperor at most means being tricked by the Emperor; trusting Szarekh means being tricked by who knows how many people alongside him."
"At least the Emperor protected his race in front of the gods, while Szarekh sold his race to the gods."
It was now clear that the Silent King's feelings for Sanguinius were unrequited.
Noticing Alexander's gaze, Sanguinius shook his head slightly:
"An alliance with the Necron is indeed a viable option. If there's an opportunity, I also hope to visit Szarekh again."
"But Szarekh is not a trustworthy entity. It's not that he's particularly cunning, but simply because he's not very reliable."
"If the gods try to thwart your plan, they could very likely mislead or deceive Szarekh, causing him to make wrong decisions."
Alexander listened to Sanguinius' words and nodded slightly.
The alliance with the Necron was just one of his backup plans; for now, he didn't intend to invest too much energy.
Besides the Necron, Alexander actually had two other ideas, but verifying their feasibility was more troublesome.
What was more important now was to head to the Eye of Terror to replenish his funds.
Thinking of this, Alexander calmly looked into the four-dimensional pocket.
The Lion, whom he had healed, should have already met his progeny.
In the stronghold behind the Ramirez-class Starfort, deep within the mountains,
Zabriel, a Knight of the Third Company's Fifteenth Squad, Second Destroyer Team of the Dark Angels Legion, once an Uncrowned Princes of the Bone Army, and later one of the founding members of the First Legion's Dreadwing, a Fallen Angels from Terra, was meditating with his eyes closed.
But in the midst of the silence, he vaguely smelled the scent of earth from the forest and heard a steady footsteps approaching from afar.
The air instantly filled with a sense of danger, and Zabriel slowly opened his eyes.
Zabriel was one of the five thousand Astartes originally created by the Emperor, born from the Lion's gene-seed, inheriting names from the legends of Ancient Terra, and serving as the first among the Legions.
They were called the Uncrowned Princes; they were primal, pure, powerful, and unblemished. The tactics that other Legions prided themselves on were initially practiced by them.
When they launched decapitation strikes against the King of Mutants in the dark caverns of Pluto, the Luna Wolves had not yet welcomed the Emperor's first son.
When they moved like lightning under the dim starlight of the Oort Cloud, the warriors of the White Scars were just beginning to learn to ride motorcycles.
When they slaughtered distant relatives, far removed from humanity, in Proxima Centauri, the World Eaters did not yet know the true shape of rage.
The Legions may have surpassed the Uncrowned Princes in these tactics, but the Uncrowned Princes were always the first to lay the groundwork for them.
But as Primarch after Primarch returned, and as Legion after Legion welcomed their fathers, the glory of the Uncrowned Princes gradually faded compared to the other Legions.
Who does not speak of Horus and the Luna Wolves with respect? Who does not speak of Leman Russ and the Space Wolves with fear? Who does not marvel at the ambition of Guilliman and the Ultramarines?
Thus, the Uncrowned Princes were left behind the other Legions, once losing their glory, once not knowing where honor lay.
Until, after countless days and nights of anticipation, the Lion returned to his Legion.
He would give them true honor.
Zabriel witnessed the Lion's return. He and the Uncrowned Princes knelt on one knee, swearing fealty to the Lion who emerged from the forest.
No one doubted the Lion's rule, for the Lion was like the embodiment of their Legion. Every warrior believed the First Legion was eternally pure, and the Lion was the embodiment of the Legion, and the longest, first, and purest among the Legions.
He was the Legion, the Uncrowned Prince... No, the father the Dark Angels deserved.
The Lion reshaped the Legion, forging it into a fierce blade. No one knew the internal structure of the First Legion, but no one could doubt the Legion's danger and lethality. The Dark Angels regained the awe of both allies and enemies.
Until the betrayal of the Sarosh occurred. Every Dark Angel knew the Sarosh attempted to assassinate the Primarch with nuclear weapons, but they ultimately failed.
But after this, suddenly, inexplicably, and without apparent connection, the Primarch split the Legion, ordering Luther to lead a portion of the Astartes, including Zabriel, back to Caliban to train new recruits.
Zabriel felt unfamiliar with Caliban. He also did not appreciate Caliban's wild scenery. He felt it was not as magnificent as Terra, not as shocking as Macragge, not as beautiful as Prospero, nor did the ice and fire of Fenris awe the mind and body, nor did the grasslands and clear skies of Chogoris cleanse the soul.
He didn't have much affection for Luther either. In his eyes, Luther was not a respectable commander, and Zabriel keenly sensed that this strange reassignment was likely due to conflict between Luther and the Lion. Zabriel was simply an innocent victim due to his position.
Especially when the Lion didn't even leave a single ship for Caliban, effectively imprisoning Zabriel and the other Dark Angels on Caliban.
This was undoubtedly an exile. While others in the stars gained honor, Zabriel was idle on Caliban, only able to train new recruits.
Then, then came the Great Heresy. Chaotic news flew everywhere: who had betrayed the Imperium, and who remained loyal to the Emperor, no one knew.
Some said Guilliman had seceded and betrayed Terra, some said Sanguinius was crowned Emperor, some said the Lion was providing weapons to the traitor Perturabo, others said the Lion had become Guilliman's house cat, and still others said the Lion was bombing Macragge. In short, all sorts of rumors mixed together, making it truly impossible to distinguish.
Until the Lion's fleet suddenly returned to Caliban, hovering in orbit.
Then the tragedy occurred.
To this day, Zabriel is unclear whether Luther fired first or the Lion fired the first shot.
The entire world began to burn, just like the planets once destroyed by the First Legion.
Zabriel watched with his own eyes as the new recruits he had trained donned power armor for the first time, but it was to fight against their gene-father.
He watched with his own eyes as the Lion descended upon Caliban in a rage, slaughtering his sons, letting blood stain the earth.
After countless days and nights of longing, the Lion finally returned to his Legion.
This time, he brought not honor, but only death.
The Lion made them die.
Everything after that became confused in Zabriel's mind. He only knew the planet exploded, spacetime was chaotic, and when he awoke, ten thousand years had passed.
The Imperium had become corrupt, the Emperor was worshipped as a god, the Lion was nowhere to be found, and the current Dark Angels Chapters indiscriminately hunted him. Luther inexplicably reappeared, demanding he obey his orders.
But Zabriel keenly detected Luther's strangeness, realizing Luther was collaborating with Erebus. So Zabriel secretly conspired, rallying some of the Fallen Angels, with the former Uncrowned Princes at their core.
Aboard the Blessed Lady, Zabriel led a portion of the Fallen Angels in a mutiny, backstabbing Luther.
Although he still didn't understand the conflict between Luther and the Lion, or what happened that year, he knew clearly that he remained loyal to the Emperor.
Before becoming a Dark Angel, he was first an Uncrowned Prince. An Uncrowned Prince's sole loyalty was to humanity and the Emperor.
Later, he and the other Fallen Angels inexplicably arrived in this deep void, were sent into this starfort, and were stripped of their weapons and contained.
Zabriel understood their choice — the composition of personnel among the Fallen Angels was too chaotic, with loyalists, neutrals, and rebels intertwined, making it impossible to determine who was an enemy and who was a friend.
But Zabriel still demanded a chance to prove his loyalty, to prove he was still the Emperor's warrior, and requested to re-equip his weapons, even if that Chainsword was taken from the Dark Angels who besieged him and was now worn and old.
It seemed that today, Zabriel's request was answered.
He heard footsteps approaching the area where he and the other Fallen Angels were imprisoned.
Several Ultramarines opened the hatch and asked Zabriel to come out alone.
They led Zabriel to a training ground, then left, abandoning Zabriel there alone.
Soon after, Zabriel heard heavy footsteps approaching, and the hatch slowly opened, bringing with it the scent of forest earth.
A figure cloaked in robes and a hood emerged from behind the hatch. He held two swords in his hands.
One was a regular training sword, the other was Zabriel's Chainsword.
"Pick it up." The hooded figure threw the Chainsword at Zabriel's feet, speaking in an unquestionable tone.
Zabriel recognized the owner of that voice.
Even though the voice was much older, much deeper, Zabriel would never forget it.
"Father."
Zabriel whispered, then:
"No, it's you, traitor!"
Zabriel picked up the Chainsword from the ground, gritting his teeth as he shouted.
"Lies," the hooded man said coldly, "No one has ever dared to accuse me of being a traitor."
"I dare," Zabriel growled, gripping the Chainsword tightly, "You betrayed us, you betrayed Caliban, you even abandoned the Imperium."
"Utterly preposterous."
The hooded man slowly raised the practice sword in his hand:
"You even killed my loyal Sons, stealing his weapon; that Chainsword in your hand does not belong to you."
The hooded man's sword was an unsharpened piece of metal, heavy and difficult to inflict real harm on an enemy,
but Zabriel had no doubt that the sword could kill him, for the one wielding it was sharper than any weapon.
"Ridiculous, your 'loyal' son wanted to kill me."
Zabriel scoffed, his voice cold:
"They have only sought to cover up the truth for these ten thousand years. When I first awoke, several loyal Sons of Sanguinius accompanied me, and my loyal younger brothers killed them without hesitation, just to conceal my existence."
"But I, in turn, killed those traitors, avenging those who were truly loyal. This Chainsword was taken from those traitors hidden within the Imperium."
"My dear Lord, if you consider these your loyal Sons, then you truly have a knack for raising children."
"Absolutely absurd!!!"
The hooded man roared. Zabriel seized the fleeting opportunity, swinging the Chainsword at the man before him.
He knew the chance was but an instant: either kill the Lion, or be killed by the Lion.
He could only hope that such a sudden attack would catch the Lion off guard, revealing a weakness.
It was close!!!!
The Chainsword pressed against the hooded man's neck, almost severing his head.
But suddenly, Zabriel felt a sharp pain in his chest, as if hit by a general's cannon. He flew backward, and the Chainsword slipped from his grasp, rolling several times on the ground.
The hooded man had merely swung a light sword, striking Zabriel's chest and destroying Zabriel's carefully planned attack.
Zabriel, spitting blood, stared at the hooded man with hateful eyes.
The man stood beside Zabriel, seemingly observing and scrutinizing him.
The man slowly removed his hood, revealing his face.
Aging, old age had re-sculpted that majestic face.
The Lion was completely different from Zabriel's memory. The former Lion was so proud and terrifying; now, the Lion's face was full of wrinkles and a grizzled beard. But when Zabriel concentrated, he could still see the endless glory and power behind that face.
"I know nothing of what you speak. I slept for ten thousand years, and when I opened my eyes, the galaxy was vastly different."
"My Father was deified, and another who claimed not to be a god awakened and healed me."
"The last time I awoke, I executed Luther according to the Emperor's will. Now, I awaken a second time, and it is to see you."
"Those Dark Angels you speak of, who hunted you, I have not yet seen, nor do I understand them."
Zabriel's mouth slightly agape, he was surprised to realize that the Lion was explaining himself to him.
This... If not for the tremor in his blood telling Zabriel that the person before him was the Lion, Zabriel would have suspected this was some Warp entity transformed into Lion El'Jonson's likeness.
Although it was an explanation, Lion El'Jonson's tone remained unquestionable, and Zabriel instinctively believed that what the Lion said was true.
"As for ten thousand years ago, when I returned to Caliban from Terra, you opened fire on us without any warning."
"And Luther... Luther was corrupted by the Chaos evils in the Warp, ugly and deranged."
"Heh, when I returned to my homeland, all I saw was betrayal."
"When I awoke from ten thousand years of slumber, I also only saw betrayal."
"You still tried to kill me, Fallen Angels, is that what they call you?"
A hint of sorrow was in the Lion's voice.
"..I don't understand," Zabriel was surprised by the pain in his own voice, "We didn't betray either. I never received any order to fire on you, and I had almost no contact with Luther. We knew nothing at the time."
"All we knew was that you abandoned us. All we knew was that when you returned to Caliban, you, with intense anger and hatred, slaughtered your own Sons. All we saw was you destroying Caliban--------"
"I did not destroy Caliban, never," Lion El'Jonson roared in rebuttal.
"..Was it all Luther's doing?" Zabriel said with a bitter tone.
He seemed to realize that all of this, this ten thousand years of hatred, seemed to be just a meaningless misunderstanding.
"Much of it was, but at least the one who destroyed Caliban was not Luther; his power was insufficient to destroy a planet. And the orbital bombardment I unleashed would at most have weakened Caliban's continental shelf. To this day, I still don't know who destroyed Caliban."
Lion El'Jonson's voice was laced with hatred:
"Perhaps the true mastermind is still hidden behind the curtain, perhaps the Dark Gods are toying with our fate, but the Dark Angels will never forget. I will have my revenge, sooner or later."
The same hatred also bloomed in Zabriel's heart. He widened his eyes, almost muttering to himself:
"I heard many rumors. Some said you became Guilliman's dog, some said you supplied weapons to Perturabo to slaughter the loyalists on Istvaan V, some said you forced Sanguinius to be crowned Emperor, and some even said you fell out with Guilliman and attacked Macragge with Konrad Curze."
Hearing these words, the Lion's body stiffened, hesitating for a moment too brief for Zabriel to perceive.
"Lies!" the Lion said firmly, "Pure lies!"
Then both fell silent, a cold stillness enveloping them, until the Lion spoke:
"Zabriel, I want you to swear, by all you cherish, by your honor, in the name of the Emperor, and even in the name of the Uncrowned Princes, swear to me."
"Swear that you are still loyal to the Emperor and Mankind, that you still love the Emperor and the Human race, and that you only attacked me and your still-loyal brothers because you mistakenly believed I had betrayed the Emperor."
Zabriel panted, feeling dizzy, but he still placed his hand on his chest and solemnly said, "I swear, in the name of the Emperor, in the name of the Uncrowned Princes, in the name of the Dark Angels."
"My loyalty to the Emperor and Mankind is no different than when I was first created. If you are also still loyal, then my loyalty to you remains fervent."
Lion El'Jonson stepped back, then extended his hand to Zabriel.
This was a great courtesy and respect, but Zabriel did not move.
"You swear," Zabriel growled.
"What?" Lion El'Jonson paused, seemingly not understanding what Zabriel was saying.
"I want you to swear, Lion. I want you to swear by all you cherish, by your honor, in the name of your Father, and even in the name of the ancient Knights of the Order."
"Swear that you are still loyal to the Emperor and Mankind, that you still love the Emperor and the Human race, and that you only attacked me and your other still-loyal Sons because you mistakenly believed we had betrayed the Emperor."
The tone was almost accusatory, and clear anger flashed in Lion El'Jonson's eyes. Zabriel was already prepared for his head to fly off.
But something unexpected happened to Zabriel: the anger in Lion El'Jonson's eyes was suppressed. He pulled Zabriel up with an unquestionable force.
"I swear," the Lion said.
The word was like a key unlocking shackles. Tears flowed uncontrollably from Zabriel's eyes: "We have been slaughtering each other for ten thousand years, a meaningless slaughter."
"Someone will pay for this," Lion El'Jonson's voice was low, like a wildfire about to ignite: "But before that, Zabriel, tell me, how many loyal Sons do I still have that I can trust?"
"I need you to complete a mission from the Emperor and Saint Doraemon."
Putrid flesh grew wildly on the planet's surface, giant fungi and trees with foul-smelling maw stretched their bodies amidst the flesh, and countless living beings were infected by tiny bacteria. Their bodies, constantly tormented by disease but never dying, covered the land.
Pus and tissue fluid continuously flowed from their bodies, converging to form rivers that emptied into the sea, transforming into a stench-filled ocean. Beneath this warm, purulent sea lay an even greater, countless number of mortal corpses.
Though reduced to corpses, they were not truly dead. Instead, they continuously nourished the maggots dwelling within their flesh. These maggots hatched from the sea, rising with the putrid seawater, and transformed into dark, dense clouds in the sky, showering putrid rain onto the ground, forming a complete ecosystem.
This feudal world was dragged to the boundary between the Warp and reality when the Great Rift opened. Its star quickly succumbed to the Warp's erosion and plunged into the Warp's tide. This world, in endless fear, famine, and cold, despaired.
In their despair, the mortals discovered an ancient faith beneath the ground, a faith that had been destroyed by the Imperium ten thousand years ago but remained buried and never dissipated.
Since the Emperor had abandoned them, why couldn't they pick up this ancient faith again?
Why couldn't they pray to 'Nigel, the Great God of Mercy, Abundance, and Warmth'?
Nigel was the sun; he warmed the earth with his flesh, he nourished all things with his bodily fluids. All things grew because of him, all things were blessed by him.
So, the people prayed to Nigel. But perhaps due to the unique accent prevalent on this planet, the pronunciation of the word Nigel gradually twisted in their chants, becoming Nurgle.
Then, the heavy rain fell for seven days and seven nights. All beings felt warmth in their fever; it was the warmth of the plague Father shining upon them. Then, disease enveloped the world, and Nurgle's messengers descended amidst the Warp's torrent, wielding scythes to harvest them like seeds, letting them forever sink into the sea of decay, enjoying eternal warmth and mercy.
Aboard The 'Terminus Est', Typhus gazed with satisfaction at this planet, corrupted into a Nurgle daemons world.
For ten thousand years, it was the Death Guard who conquered this planet, and it was he, Typhus, who secretly buried the faith of 'Nigel, the Great God of Mercy, Abundance, and Warmth' beneath the surface.
Nurgle's blessings were like this.
It was like planting a seed, watering it a little, and then waiting patiently for the seed to sprout one day, and then, in the blink of an eye, grow into a towering tree, irreversibly falling into Nurgle's embrace.
And he, Typhus, was a master of this, one of Nurgle's most excellent cultivators.
Compared to Mortarion, that cultist who only spouted numbers and unorthodox heresies, he, Typhus, was the true implementer of Nurgle's path.
At this thought, Typhus' gaze dimmed for a moment.
He had hoped Luther and Erebus could pull something off, at least banish Saint Doraemon to the past, but he hadn't expected them to achieve nothing, even losing Typhus' plagueheart.
Now the plagueheart was nowhere to be found, such a massive living asteroid, yet not a single clue—
Suddenly, The 'Terminus Est''s auspex let out a hum.
The Warp's torrent caused no ripples, but a massive reaction appeared on The 'Terminus Est''s flank.
A ship, like a trident, even larger than The 'Terminus Est' or a Gloriana-class Battleship, suddenly appeared in the Warp, ferociously asserting its existence.
It was an Abyss-class Battleship, clearly the Blessed Lady, which had belonged to Erebus not long ago, but the identification code displayed on the auspex announced the starship's new name: The 'Cupboard'.
This inexplicable name even made Typhus pause for a moment.
But it was only for an instant, because the Abyss-class Battleship The 'Cupboard' began to unleash firepower upon The 'Terminus Est'.
Fortunately, The 'Terminus Est' was already tough enough and had been strengthened by Nurgle's blessings, so it wouldn't be instantly crushed by The 'Cupboard'.
And Typhus did not fear this Abyss-class Battleship.
If he had encountered it in the vastness of space, Typhus would probably have been preparing to flee.
But now, in this star system, at Typhus' fingertips, there was a Nurgle daemons world that had just been corrupted.
This entire world was alive, an unparalleled living planetary-scale weapon; even the grandest warship could not rival it.
As for the enemy boarding The 'Terminus Est'?
The environment on The 'Terminus Est' was almost as twisted as Nurgle's Garden; even an Astartes entering it would be unable to resist the environmental damage it caused.
Almost at the instant Typhus had this thought, the alarm within The 'Terminus Est' entered his mind through the command throne.
A team had actually boarded The 'Terminus Est'?
Typhus let out a putrid growl, looking at the intruders through the command throne.
Within The 'Terminus Est''s cabins, filled with rotting flesh, trees suddenly grew as if from a forest, and a chilling mist enveloped a section of the corridor.
A group of Astartes, wearing dark power armor, hooded, and bearing various markings of the former First Legion, suddenly emerged from the mist.
But what truly caught Typhus' attention was the figure walking at the very front, noticeably taller than the other Astartes.
That figure wasn't even wearing a helmet, exposing his weathered face to the toxic gas, yet he remained completely unaffected.
He seemed to notice Typhus' gaze, and slightly raised his head, as if looking at Typhus.
Typhus screamed in terror; the moment he met the Lion's eyes, he almost felt as if his head had fallen off.
The Lion, Lion El'Jonson?!
The thought of abandoning ship and fleeing instantly arose in Typhus' mind, but he forcefully suppressed it with his reason.
The 'Terminus Est' held his ten thousand years of accumulation; how could he abandon it just like that?!
He pondered for a moment, deciding to control The 'Terminus Est' and directly plunge it into that Nurgle daemons world, trapping the Lion on that world.
Typhus did not expect that Nurgle daemons world to kill the Lion; he knew the Primarch's capabilities better than most in the galaxy.
He merely wanted to use this to escape.
But just as Typhus was preparing to turn the ship's prow and head towards the Nurgle daemons world, he suddenly saw a blue halo appear in the void, fiercely encircling the entire Nurgle daemons world, as if a ring had been placed around the planet.
But Typhus inexplicably felt that it was less a ring and more the maw of some colossal, invisible god in the void.
As if to confirm Typhus' thought, that Nurgle daemons world, which Typhus had waited and cultivated for ten thousand years, vanished with a whoosh into the Warp's torrent, disappearing without a trace.
Typhus watched the scene unfold before him, his eyes nearly splitting, and instantly roared.
This was the demon world he had patiently cultivated for ten thousand years!
He had just cultivated it and offered it to Nurgle!
How could it just vanish with a 'whoosh'?
Just, 'whoosh', and it was gone.
Ten thousand years, a hundred centuries, all the investment, an entire planet, gone.
Then, fear surged from Typhus' body.
Since that entity could swallow an entire planet in one bite, was it possible it could also swallow The 'Terminus Est' in the blink of an eye?
Typhus hesitated for barely a moment, immediately rising from the command throne and moving to a Cleft Tree (fissure tree) on the bridge that constantly spewed viscous, putrid goo.
Typhus prayed softly to Nurgle, and the Destroyer hive, residing in his flesh and bones, swarmed out, burrowing into the Cleft Tree's grotesque maw, nourishing this tree plucked from Nurgle's Garden.
Then the Cleft Tree convulsed and twisted, and a Warp rift appeared in its maw, reflecting the scenery of Nurgle's Garden.
Typhus gritted his teeth, took one last look at The 'Terminus Est' before diving into the Warp rift, abandoning The 'Terminus Est' and returning to Nurgle's Garden.
But Typhus had no intention of letting it go just like that.
He was Nurgle's Herald; how could he simply abandon the demon world and ship he had painstakingly cultivated?
The scene before Typhus rippled like water, then re-coalesced into a lush green forest after a few seconds.
Typhus stepped into it, feeling the warm air carrying putrid spores on his face, watching his feet sink into the viscous ground.
The old Typhus would probably have felt refreshed, appreciating Nurgle's perfect creations in Nurgle's Garden.
But now, Typhus' first reaction upon entering the Garden was to look up at the sky in fear.
Dreading that pair of scaly moth wings would descend from the sky, snatch him back, and impale him on a flagpole to burn.
Mortarion, that damned cult leader, was in Nurgle's Garden, and he had beguiled Nurgle, earning Nurgle's respect and affection.
Fortunately, the wings that Typhus feared did not descend.
Perhaps Mortarion was busy with something else, or perhaps he had decided not to capture Typhus this time.
This was certainly not out of Mortarion's kindness.
Mortarion was simply toying with Typhus.
He would appear before Typhus randomly and unpredictably; sometimes when Typhus returned to Nurgle's Garden, he would appear; sometimes even when Typhus was far outside Nurgle's Garden, Mortarion would suddenly appear, grab Typhus, and impale him on a flagpole to burn.
Then he would deliberately let Typhus escape, and the cycle would repeat, playing this cat-and-mouse game with Typhus. He wanted Typhus to be in constant fear.
Typhus hurried through the dense forest, arriving before the black mansion by the lake.
Nurgle was humming a tune and stirring thick soup in front of his dwelling, with the Eldar goddess of life, Isha, sitting opposite him, her face pale.
Typhus observed for a moment, confirming Mortarion was not present, before rushing out of the woods and approaching Nurgle.
He immediately knelt, burying his swollen body deep into the viscous mud, and spoke tragically to Nurgle:
"Great and benevolent Father of plagues, most good and loving Lord, I beg you to pity your poor devotee."
"Your poor devotee's planet, cultivated for ten thousand years, and his The 'Terminus Est' have been devoured by a greedy god."
Typhus, of course, could guess who had gulped down the plague planet he had cultivated.
Clearly, the only possibility was Saint Doraemon.
"I know," Nurgle smiled gently.
"…You know?" Typhus looked up in terror.
Nurgle stirred the thick soup a few times and offered the spoon to Typhus.
The thick soup in the spoon reflected a scene.
Within the Eye of Terror, many demon worlds vanished into thin air.
Under the escort of Lion El'Jonson, Saint Doraemon was frantically devouring those worlds.
A blue circle would pass, and Saint Doraemon would stuff them into the dark maw on his belly.
Whether they were the demon worlds of Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle, or Slaanesh, none could escape his predation.
Typhus was speechless.
"This friend of mine occupies a portion of the domain of greedy dissolution, so he is a gourmet who loves to eat."
Nurgle poured a bowl of thick soup for himself, then poured a bowl for Isha, saying:
"He is clearly hungry and wants something to eat. As his friend, how can I not entertain him?"
"It must be the stingy Emperor who was unwilling to fill my friend's belly, starving him to this state, he's even gotten thin."
"Little Slaanesh once said that generosity is a virtue. This is true in his domain, and it is true in ours too."
"…But that was mine…" Typhus said, trembling all over.
"But didn't you offer that planet to me?" Nurgle asked, a little confused, "Can't I use it to entertain a friend?"
Typhus' mouth hung open; for a moment, he didn't know what to say.
He… he had indeed offered that plague planet to Nurgle in exchange for more of Nurgle's blessings, but… but usually Nurgle wouldn't actually take control of those demon worlds, only nominally owning them; the owners of the produce on those planets, the managers of those planets, would still be Typhus.
"Then my ship…" Typhus said, stunned.
"Ten thousand years ago… you offered that to me too!" Nurgle scratched his head in distress, "Did I remember wrong?"
Typhus was sweating profusely but dared not say any more.
Because ten thousand years ago, he had even offered himself to Nurgle.
If he kept talking like this, he himself might become a dish for Nurgle to entertain friends…
Alexander had been thinking, thinking about how to make a lot of money, especially after discovering that the price of an entire planet or an entire star system was not high.
The 22nd century seemed uninterested in ordinary planets and star systems.
Future Department Store preferred things unique to the Warhammer universe.
So, what planets are unique to the Warhammer universe? What does the 22nd century not have?
Evidently, they are demon worlds, demon worlds highly corrupted by the Warp and fallen into the Warp.
So Alexander, Slaanesh, and Nurgle exchanged greetings, and then he began to feast in the Eye of Terror.
Slaanesh generously indicated that Alexander could eat as he pleased, and Nurgle, holding his belly, also said that Alexander could just eat directly when he was hungry, without needing to ask specifically.
After Alexander sold this demon world, he glanced at The 'Terminus Est', which was deeply corrupted.
The reputation of this ancient battleship was also very strong; although it was not a Gloriana-class Battleship, it had a record of destroying a Raven Guard Gloriana-class Battleship.
The only pity was… this ship was too deeply corrupted by Nurgle, making it difficult to cleanse, so it could only be temporarily kept as a collection.
Then Alexander looked at the long string of numbers representing his savings and nodded with satisfaction.
Before falling into slumber, he just needed to visit Cawl one more time.
On the Void Wanderer, the flagship of the Necron Anrakyr the Traveller,
The former Necron Overlord's vessel was now in utter disarray.
However, the greatest losses were not suffered by Anrakyr himself, as the attacked section of the ship was allocated to another Necron Overlord, Trazyn the Infinite.
Trazyn the Infinite, Overlord of the Nihilakh Dynasty, self-proclaimed preserver of galactic history, artifacts, and events, a notorious thief and plunderer, was traveling with Anrakyr.
This was due to some strange changes occurring within Anrakyr himself.
As a Necron, he had no soul, merely a reflection of fragmented past memories, a cold metal machine. Everything before Anrakyr was cold, pale, and brought no sensory input. Only the obsessions preserved in his past memories could bring a semblance of false satisfaction.
But after leaving the Netherworld Star System, Anrakyr, on one occasion, inadvertently looked up at the starry sky before him.
He suddenly felt how beautiful and magnificent these stars were.
A fragile but clear spark, named 'existence,' suddenly burst forth from his cold body.
For the first time, he felt himself roaming the galaxy, constantly trying to restore the Necron's former glory, not because of past obsessions, but because he, in the present, liked to do so.
That spark was fragile and fleeting, but Anrakyr treasured it and hungrily desired more.
However, he couldn't grasp the origin of this spark himself, nor could he study it.
One reason was that he was accompanied by the Silent King's Triarch Praetorians. Those fellows were the Silent King's spokesmen, and to put it politely, they were responsible for protecting Anrakyr, an important former Necron Overlord. To put it bluntly, they were monitoring Anrakyr. Anrakyr didn't trust the Silent King much and needed to find a way to deal with them first.
Another reason was that Anrakyr was not considered a knowledgeable person among the Necrons. He excelled at manipulating machines, commanding troops, and diplomatic activities, but not at research and organizing knowledge. So Anrakyr sought out Trazyn.
One reason was that Trazyn was less likely to be suspected by the Triarch Praetorians. Another reason was that although Trazyn was a thief, he indeed possessed extensive knowledge.
Trazyn used some instrument to create a time loop, temporarily trapping the Triarch Praetorians within it and making them mistakenly believe that Anrakyr was also trapped in Trazyn's temporal labyrinth with them.
Then Trazyn and Anrakyr began their investigation in the void.
At the same time, Trazyn also simply set up a museum on the Void Wanderer, displaying some of the collections he carried with him, as well as items he collected along the way, and opened the exhibition to Necrons on board and encountered along the route.
Of course, no Necrons, either on board or along the way, were interested in this. Instead, that scoundrel Trazyn, whenever he saw something precious that could enrich his museum, couldn't help but get his hands dirty and secretly take it.
This caused them to offend many people, suffer many pursuits, and their operational efficiency actually decreased.
Fortunately, now, Trazyn got his comeuppance.
His museum was ransacked.
Anrakyr chuckled as he watched Trazyn's figure standing in the museum. In the empty museum, Trazyn's figure appeared particularly lonely.
"Unbelievable!!! They actually stole from me!! Unbelievable!!!" Trazyn said, exasperated.
He heard Anrakyr's laughter, abruptly turned his head, and demanded, "Is this the security you promised?!"
Anrakyr couldn't help but laugh even louder.
But out of ancient etiquette, Anrakyr still explained to Trazyn:
"Those Astartes appeared suddenly, acted very quickly, and were very skilled. Clearly, this wasn't their first time doing such a thing."
"And most of my forces were used to deal with the Maynarkh Dynasty forces you provoked."
"Why did you have to be so reckless and steal Zalathusa's Starflame in the Netherworld?"
"That's a precious collection!!" Trazyn stamped his foot in anger. "You yourself told me about the Battle of the Netherworld. What a memorable war that was! The Starflame is a memento of that war, and I must protect it from being defiled by that idiot Zalathusa!"
"Tell me! Which damned Astartes dared to steal my things? I will have my revenge!!!"
Anrakyr sneered.
Initially, he was also a little angry.
It wasn't because he was attacked by the Astartes, as there was no alliance between humans and Necrons, and they were often enemies. Battles between enemies were perfectly normal.
If they had stolen Necron property, Anrakyr would have been furious, but they stole Trazyn's. Many of Trazyn's possessions were not Necron property at all; this thief had stolen them from other places.
The real reason for his anger was that he noticed the Astartes' power armor was dark red, and their Chapter's marking looked very much like the Blood Angels.
He, Anrakyr, had once cooperated with Dante, the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels. He even believed they shared a comradeship.
If it truly was the Blood Angels who attacked his vessel, then in his eyes, it was nothing short of betrayal.
But Anrakyr soon discovered that those Astartes did not resemble the Blood Angels. Although their emblem was somewhat similar to the Blood Angels, upon closer inspection, it was not the same.
The Blood Angels had a pair of pure white wings beside a drop of blood, while the thieves had a pitch-black raven.
However, Anrakyr had no intention of telling Trazyn this, letting him spend his time on revenge.
"Do you still plan to waste time?" Anrakyr looked at Trazyn and demanded, "What progress have we made so far? Besides suspecting that the changes in me are related to Saint Doraemon, there has been no progress."
"Where do we find a god of the void? The Immaterium?" Trazyn snorted and retorted.
"Perhaps I shouldn't rely on you. Perhaps I should try seeking out the Silent King," Anrakyr said coldly.
But after saying this, Anrakyr himself couldn't help but lose his composure, shaking his head repeatedly.
Trazyn also laughed. Anrakyr's threat was like a brilliant, dry joke.
"That sentence can be added to the Necron joke collection," Trazyn solemnly commented. "You want me to trust the Silent King? I'd rather loudly praise the Emperor right now. Even if you told me to trust Cegorach, it would be better than trusting the Silent King."
This was one of the few points where Anrakyr and Trazyn could agree: the Silent King was a pile of excrement, and they did not trust the Silent King.
The last time they trusted the Silent King, they lost both flesh and soul, leaving only fragmented memories and these cold skeletons.
If they were to trust the Silent King again, they might not even be able to keep the little bit of living metal on their bodies.
"Perhaps we can cooperate with the humans. I still have some connections within the Imperium of Man." Trazyn pondered for a moment and then realized that praising the Emperor might actually be useful. They could establish some cooperation with the humans.
"They have a new god. Would they let us meet him so easily?" Anrakyr retorted.
"Perhaps we can make some deals with them, pay some price in exchange for their help," Trazyn muttered thoughtfully.
"What price is worthy of an audience with a divine being? What do you plan to offer?" Anrakyr seemed to find it a bit amusing.
"I plan to offer–"
Trazyn slowly said to Anrakyr:
"..a Primarch."