Emperor's Bane

Chapter 1031 Prophecy of Destruction
"Aren't you going to continue, Ahriman?"

"No, I have a brand new psionic research project that I need to deal with right now: it's very urgent."

"Oh, right: you're from a think tank."

Orpheus touched his chin with a hint of regret, as if he had just remembered this matter.

Meanwhile, Ahriman was used to this situation. He smiled as he said goodbye and then walked out of the arena.

Along the way, he saw many people, just like Ahriman and Orfeo, fighting in pairs, wielding unsharpened swords.

This temporary sand field is an arena for every Legion warrior. Here you can see not only Ultramarines and Dawnbreakers, but also Dark Angels, Midnight Lords, or Iron Warriors: they have all come in the name of the two Primarchs and have chosen to spend their free time outside of work on this sand field.

But when Ahriman passed by, whether they were brothers resolving personal conflicts, acquaintances reconnecting, or passersby encouraging each other to improve their swordsmanship, these enthusiastic sword enthusiasts would stop their duels and make way for the legend of the arena when their eyes fell upon the passing Crimson Grand Duke.

This is a kind of respect: a respect that Ahriman has earned through countless gladiatorial combats and victories, from the hundreds of swordsmen he has defeated in the arena, each of whom was a champion in his own legion, and whose respect was earned by Ahriman's victories.

Senko was already very familiar with all of this. He nodded to his fellow swordsmen on both sides and left the arena without looking back. Behind him, the warriors from various legions began their competition again.

Orpheus, the Champion of the Ultramarines, was also witnessing his friend's departure when another son of Guilliman arrived beside Orpheus, also looking in the direction of Ahriman.

"He's improved again?"

"No."

Orpheus shook his head.

"At this point, progress is very difficult: I'm not even sure if there's any road ahead."

"There must be some."

The combat comrade nodded.

"how do you know?"

Orpheus looked at him.

"Because you've never been to Terra."

The man answered him.

"You haven't been to the Imperial Fist either."

"So, you haven't had the chance to see Sigismund in recent years and feel his... aura."

"temperament?"

Orpheus asked in confusion.

"Yes, believe me: although he doesn't have psionic powers, I believe Sigismund is more powerful than Ahriman."

The man nodded.

"Because Ahriman is, after all, one of our kind."

"And Sigismund... I don't think he is."

------

Finding a useless room in the Ultramarines' fortress is no easy feat.

Even with Ahriman's abilities, it took him some effort to find the place he wanted.

Secluded, safe, and cool.

And most importantly: there were no signs of life within a radius of at least 100 meters.

Only in such a place could Ahriman have the courage to continue his work.

He turned off all the lights in the room until all he could see was pure darkness. Then, he carefully put down the box that he had deliberately returned to the ship to retrieve after leaving the arena: this seemingly ordinary iron artifact was actually a rare divine artifact, its patterns containing the power of the Emperor and the Primarch.

Ahriman held it in both hands; it was as heavy as a thousand pounds: this was no mere adjective.

After the box was opened, a pale blue light immediately appeared from it, like the phosphorescence floating on a withered grave at midnight. It was a color that could make anyone feel physically nauseous. Ahriman slowly took off his helmet, squinted, and used his gaze to fight against the light.

After a short while, the intense light disappeared without warning. Only then did Ahriman begin to chant incantations softly, using powerful magic to firmly protect his hands. He then reached into the box and carefully took out the treasure inside.

That's a book.

A book that was too large and heavy even for Astartes.

Its dark red cover is old and cracked, as if the owner of the book has not taken care of it for a long time, but the power and potential contained within it are issuing an alluring call to everyone who is fortunate enough to see it.

The Book of Magnus

The most extensive collection of spells, cryptic texts, and invisible powers in the entire galaxy.

It contains the wisdom and accumulation of the Primarch who was exterminated throughout his life. The labyrinthine text is filled with countless wisdoms gathered from the entire galaxy. Powerful spells that could change the world are nothing more than an ordinary line of characters on a page. As long as one can penetrate any page, even the most mediocre psyker can become a master of the warp.

Without a doubt, this is a double-edged sword, as valuable as it is dangerous.

After Nicaea, this treasure that Magnus always carried with him fell into the hands of the Emperor with his downfall.

The Lord of Humanity initially intended to destroy it, but then discovered that the treasure trove of knowledge within was far too abundant, and that destroying it rashly would be a desecration of the entire human civilization. Moreover, the one who was already responsible for guarding the countless terrifying things in the Black Prison seemed to lack the energy to deal with such a hidden danger.

Thus, naturally, it became a gift from the Emperor to the Lord of Avalon; at the same time, it was another hot potato to be thrown to the Spider Queen.

For the next fifty years, Morgan carefully held and studied this priceless treasure. Many of Magnus's research findings were so profound that even the Spider Queen could not fully comprehend them in a short time. Before she left, Morgan carefully selected a new guardian for the book.

And so it came into Ariman's hands.

……

If possible, Ahriman would never want to take this book out of its box again in his lifetime.

He was no longer a pure Thousand Talents, and he had passed the age of prioritizing knowledge above all else. Now, Ahriman had learned reverence and restraint, and had learned to remain calm in the face of the greatest wealth: when he was still a Thousand Talents, he dreamed of having the chance to see the contents of the Book of Magnus.

But now, as he stands alone, his trembling fingers finally turning the pages of this book.

His heart was filled with fear.

He would never forget that it was the contents of this book that destroyed his father and his army.

However, even Ahriman's fear had to give way to Johnson's orders: no one understands fear better than the lion of Caliban.

Before negotiations with Guilliman resumed, perhaps Ahriman's remarks earned him some unexpected trust from Johnson, and the Caliban suddenly decided to tell his psionic advisor the real reason why the Archangel Baal had secretly visited the Far Eastern frontier.

Although Saint Gilles was vague in his application and never revealed his true purpose, the archangel's little tricks were far too rudimentary in the face of Johnson, who always loved to pry into secrets.

Zhuang Sen truly had no idea what had happened to Baal.

However, based on the information he gathered from various legions during the Great Expedition, there was only one reason why Saint Gilles' behavior was so abnormal.

Thirst: He told Chiko about this.

At the same time, he also bluntly set a target for the somewhat dumbfounded Ahriman.

When they returned to Avalon for their second private meeting with the angels, Ahriman had to come up with at least one plausible idea: he didn't need to actually devise a solution to the thirst for blood, but at least he couldn't let Saint Gilles return completely empty-handed, as that wouldn't benefit the implementation of Avalon's subsequent policies.

Ahriman accepted the task.

After calming himself down with a sword fight, he is now ready to tackle the problem.

He needs to find a relatively safe spell from the Book of Magnus to reply to Saint Gilles.

This is not difficult: although King Prospero is known for his exploration of dangerous areas, most of his masterpieces, which he has devoted his life to learning, consist of relatively safe spells and articles and passages specifically designed to answer questions about obscure areas that most people have never heard of in their lives, and these are all controllable.

And those truly uncontrollable places...

Ahriman took a deep breath, and the Book of Magnus slowly unfolded before him, filled with countless forbidden secrets and truths from ancient times. Within those labyrinthine kingdoms of words lay the key to salvation, or perhaps the curse to destroy all living beings.

Ahriman carefully selected a page marked as safe on the side. He slowly opened it and quickly glanced at it. It was full of Magnus's handwriting and Morgan's annotations.

Incidentally, this secure page details how to use psionic energy to manipulate intelligent life in over a dozen star sectors.

Ahriman glanced at the page numbers, then cautiously began to flip through the pages: there were many chapters that Ahriman couldn't open with his power; they were locked inside a silvery-white psionic light, marked by Morgan as a danger.

This is an extra layer of insurance, after all, Ahriman was already very familiar with these dangerous pages.

When the Spider Queen realized that Thousand was the best person to keep the book safe for her, Morgan had been intentionally grooming Ahriman: Thousand had already read the book many times under the Spider Queen's personal supervision, and he knew where it was safe and where it was dangerous, but this was the first time he had actually operated it on his own.

Fortunately, luck was on his side, and Ahriman found what he wanted without any major incident.

He then noticed that his forehead and palms were covered in sweat from nervousness: perhaps this was the right attitude to have towards the warp.

Without thinking about anything else, he focused his attention on the labyrinthine incantations, spells, and rituals.

Within these ancient, ornate scripts, the beginnings of an unimaginably powerful spell were already emerging—something entirely new and unseen in the real universe.

Ahriman didn't know if it could quench his thirst.

But he knew.

If Saint Gilles only wanted to maintain his control over the legions amidst the siege of those out-of-control individuals.

Therefore, this spell called "Red Letter" is exactly what the Archangel Baal needs most.

After all, the dead and ashes pose no threat.

Isn't it?
……

of course.

He had to consider that the Archangel Baal might not be satisfied with this answer.

He also needs some... backup plans.

There will always be a future that suits them.

Hopefully, that archangel will be satisfied with this.

------

"Whoosh!" Saint Gilles suddenly opened his eyes.

In his eyes, as bright as the sun, an unbelievable fear was so real, which then transformed into a lingering bewilderment and a belated sense of desolation.

"It's like this again..."

The archangel groaned and sighed, breathing heavily on the soft bed, like a drowning person struggling to reach the shore: even in the darkness, the beads of sweat on his snow-white skin were so obvious, so numerous that they were almost abnormal.

It is obvious: the fearless Primarch saw what he feared in his sleep.

When did I fall asleep?

In the darkness, the archangel murmured to himself, but clearly no one would answer him.

He lingered in the afterglow of panic for a while, then sat up somewhat helplessly, his wings on his back instinctively unfurling due to the intense heat: Baal, the archangel, sat upright by his bedside, one hand covering his forehead, his face contemplating the scene he had just witnessed with a pained expression.

It's so realistic, it feels like I'm actually there.

That wasn't seeing a prophecy at all; it was throwing him into the events that were about to happen, making him personally touch the blood that was about to flow, the tragedy that was about to unfold: no one could remain unmoved in the face of such a test.

Those scenes in his dreams, those details so real that they could never be replicated by the brain, even the tactile sensations he could feel when he reached out, and the sight of blood and the stench of decay: it was hard to imagine that they were fake.

That makes it hard not to believe.

Saint Gilles was forced to believe that all the disasters and destruction he had witnessed might be things that were about to happen.

Just as before, he had seen the storms sweeping across the red sands of Baal, the plagues that were impossible to prevent, and the fleets that came to their aid, only to perish and be destroyed in the unexpected warp anomalies.

He had thought they were just illusions until they actually happened in reality.

He thought he had the ability to stop it: until each attempt ended in a comical failure.

Now, Saint Gilles finds himself helpless except to sit here and face one nightmare after another.

He could only watch as those worst futures unfolded before him like children's pencil drawings, one by one, face by face, and he could clearly name each one of them.

And each name will die vividly before his eyes one night.

This torment nearly drove him to a mental breakdown.

Baal, the archangel, was not even sure what would happen if this continued: under the combined effects of the threat of thirst, the torment of prophecy, and the whispers of the warp.

Will he be able to hold on? Or will he succumb to madness and give in?

No... he didn't know.

All he could see were these terrible prophecies: they killed his son one by one before his very eyes.

Who is it today?
Saint Gilles asked himself.

Then, he remembered.

It's Amit.

His "Flesh Tearer" was the company commander of the Fifth Company.

------

Saint Gilles saw Amit.

Not only Amit, but he also saw the creatures surrounding Amit.

No, perhaps it's too arbitrary to use the word "creature" to describe those with withered faces, emaciated limbs, sharp claws, drooling mouths, and who eat raw meat and drink blood: the truly accurate description of them should be a creature called a ghoul, which Saint Gilles saw in those old film recordings that Conrad brought over.

What a name that evokes terrible associations.

And his Amit was among these ghouls.

The Holy Blood Angel did not turn into a ghoul, but his condition was far from good. He wore an extremely tattered suit of armor, covered in scars and bloodstains, but his face was even more worn than his armor. Not only was his face deathly pale, but he was also missing an eye, and his entire face was almost torn in two.

The terrifying warrior sat enthroned on a throne made of steel and skeleton, and his throne room looked strangely familiar to Saint Gilles, as if it were a room from a legionary monastery on Baal, but all the magnificent decorations had been stripped away, leaving only bones, blood and countless rotting corpses.

Disturbingly, most of these corpses were wearing the armor of the Holy Blood Angels.

Not only them, but even the ghouls that made Saint Gilles frown at just a glance seemed to possess a touch of intelligence amidst their irrational savagery.

Some ghouls were gripping guns, while others carried power swords that only Space Marines were entitled to use. Closest to Amit, several ghouls trembled at his feet like servants, and Sanguires even saw the armor of the Blood Angels on them.

But, may the Emperor protect you.

At least, he didn't see any familiar features on the faces of these ghouls: they were at least not the Blood Angels known to Saint Gilles.

Here, he could still deceive himself into thinking that they were just a bunch of imposters.

And Amit: Maybe he's just crazy?

The archangels watched with concern.

Amit wore an iron crown and ruled his kingdom.

His only subjects were the ghouls who were feasting on the bones of mortals.

These beings lack any sense of intelligence, and their obedience to Amit does not seem to stem from reason. The secret lies hidden in the crown on Amit's head: Saint Gilles can sense the power of psychic energy emanating from it, a powerful and complex spell he has never heard of before.

Just as he was pondering its deeper meaning, Amit on the throne stirred.

"it's time……"

His voice murmured amidst the gnawing sounds, and the angel almost didn't recognize him.

He had heard Amit speak: this warrior of Terra was not a refined son of Saint Gilles, but his voice was always rough and wild, carrying an ancient, untamed energy from the time of the unification wars.

But now, the Amit in front of me is emitting the opposite extreme from his throat.

Utterly cold, utterly silent.

That's the voice of someone who has lost all hope in life and the galaxy, someone whose inner fire has been completely extinguished, someone who no longer considers their own life as life.

That was a business for someone seeking death.

Saint Gilles had only heard of it once, but that one time was enough to make him remember it for the rest of his life.

That came from a son he had personally killed, who was on the verge of losing control due to bloodlust but had been somewhat brought back to his senses: the son had begged his father to kill him.

But now, the sound coming from Amit's mouth made Saint Gilles feel as if he had fallen into an ice cave.

He knew Amit well; he knew he was a man of steel, and no hardship could break him. Even in the face of the most humiliating defeat, Amit would only unquench his burning rage for revenge, and his frenzied fury to grind his enemies to dust, not the despair and coldness he felt now, as if he had lost everything.

Something far more serious must have happened, something far more serious than the defeat that destroyed the entire legion.

Saint Gilles didn't want to think about it further.

At the same time, Amit had already risen wearily from his throne.

His crown glowed faintly, the ruby ​​set in the very center gleaming with a bewitching light like a drop of blood.

All the ghouls, no matter what they were doing, raised their heads like devout believers. Their pupils were drawn to the crown and the ruby, and they subconsciously followed Amit's movements. As the company commander walked toward the door of the throne room, more and more ghouls followed him silently.

In a daze, Saint Gilles saw a legion of soldiers.

A legion that has always been devoid of order and hierarchy, yet possesses its own internal logic and mysteries.

But that's not the most important thing.

Most importantly, when Saint Gilles' gaze followed Amit to the doorway, he realized that not all the ghouls in the throne room were there.

In the darkness outside the throne room, countless pairs of crimson eyes flashed one by one like stars in the night sky.

Each pair symbolizes a thirsty throat.

They stared intently at Amit, and from the darkness came bloodthirsty roars and worshipful shouts.

Bathed in this frenzy, Amit's dead eyes finally revealed a hint of emotion.

That was the ecstatic joy of mutual destruction.

"Let's go."

The commander of the Holy Blood Angels roared at the darkness, issuing orders to the entire kingdom that obeyed him.

"Let's go find Horus... for revenge."

"Let him know what it feels like to lose everything."

Amit's figure disappeared into the darkness, along with an endless army of ghouls.

Saint Gilles was unwilling to count the number of people: but he knew it was a devastating wave of destruction numbering no less than five figures.

What he truly cared about were the things left on the throne after Amit left it.

It radiated light, almost the only light in this crazy and twisted dark world.

Saint Gilles stepped forward and saw it clearly.

Then, a look of surprise crossed his face.

……

That was his mask.

His golden mask, which he never lets go of.

It was abandoned here.

It was roughly smashed in two.

It was also stained with the blood of a Primarch.

(End of this chapter)