Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

As he walked, Dakotas suddenly let out a long, tired yawn.

This day was exceptionally long for him. Since being awakened by the piercing warning sound yesterday morning, he had not closed his eyes for a moment. Waiting, fighting, observing, cleaning up, and inspecting were all closely linked, squeezing out every last drop of time.

This level of intensity is perhaps too much for an elf who is already over a hundred years old...

Before the afterglow of his yawn had completely dissipated, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, as if pulled by an invisible thread.

"Ok?"

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze falling on the cold, heavy stone walls of the passage. Unfortunately, he possessed neither a second eye to perceive the flow of energy nor the ability to see through matter; all he could see was a silent wall.

But in that very instant, an extremely faint, almost hallucinatory, strange sensation swept across the edge of his perception like an underwater current. It wasn't a sound, nor a breath, but more like... the weight of existence, or rather, the space itself being slightly compressed by something of a different texture.

"What's wrong?" Serene, who had been walking alongside him, stopped almost simultaneously, her sharp gaze falling on the seemingly ordinary wall, her voice lowered slightly.

"Perception?" Darkus gestured with his chin toward the wall, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable air of inquiry.

Without a word, Durias and Aislin, following behind Darkus and Serene, exchanged a fleeting glance. The two battle-hardened generals simultaneously and silently placed their hands on the hilts of their swords at their waists, not drawing them, but assuming a ready stance to unleash a thunderous strike at any moment.

They turned slightly to the side, shielding Darkus and Serene at a safer angle, their eyes scanning the wall like hawks, searching for any possible physical entrances.

The naval guards following behind reacted just as swiftly. Almost simultaneously with their commander's movement, the previously loose marching formation was instantly molded by an invisible hand, transforming with a soft whoosh into a circular defensive formation facing outwards. All the soldiers held their breath, the air in the passage seemed to freeze, leaving only the clearly audible heartbeats of each individual.

Serene didn't say much. She slowly closed her eyes, shutting out all external visual distractions. As someone extremely sensitive to magic and energy flow, she extended her senses like a delicate spiderweb, gently touching the wall and the deeper, more unknowable space beyond it.

Her brows furrowed almost imperceptibly, capturing faint echoes from another dimension in the silence, echoes that are inaudible to ordinary people.

Inside the passageway, time is stretched out.

An invisible, tense sense of mystery and suspense has permeated every inch of the air.

Behind that wall, is it a solid rock layer that no one cares about, or a hidden chamber, a sleeping ancient being, or... something even more incomprehensible that even Darkus's intuition could only detect a ripple of?

All eyes were focused on Serene's increasingly serious face and the cold stone wall that isolated the truth.

Serene closed her eyes, immersing herself entirely in that realm beyond mortal senses. Her consciousness, like waves, pierced through the surface of the material world, gently spilling onto the stone wall and the space behind it.

At first, there was only emptiness and silence.

The stone wall itself was thick and inert, with only Lorthorn's own faint energy slowly flowing through the cracks, like the aged blood of a sleeping giant. But Serene was not impatient; her perception was like the most patient deep-sea probe, adjusting the frequency and precision of her tentacles bit by bit.

Then, she caught the first sign of something amiss.

It's not a clear outline, but rather a kind of... "folds" in the space itself. Not far behind the wall, perhaps in the next room, or perhaps in a mezzanine, the spatial structure there presents an extremely unnatural "smoothness" and "restraint".

It was as if all energy radiation, mass sensing, and even the most basic sense of existence were forcibly absorbed, suppressed, and smoothed out by an incomprehensible technique, deliberately creating the illusion of "nothing here".

This kind of "emptiness" is not true nothingness. On the contrary, because it is too perfect, it exposes the traces of human intervention. Just like in a painting, too much uniform blank space will attract attention.

She tried to extend the "tentacles" of her senses into that "fold".

Resistance has emerged.

It wasn't a conscious confrontation or a magical barrier, but rather an almost instinctive, adaptive concealment that blended into every speck of dust in the environment. What her perception touched seemed to be the flowing shadows themselves, the subtle errors in the refraction of light, the minute paths by which airflow bypassed invisible obstacles. That being had 'woven' itself into the background noise of the surrounding environment; its means of concealment were no longer skill, but almost an innate law.

Serene's brows furrowed even more, and a fine layer of sweat even seeped from her forehead as she tried to approach the issue from a different angle.

The breath of life?

It was so faint as to be almost nonexistent, as if it were in the deepest state of hibernation or suspended animation, with only a faint, cold, stone-like pulse maintaining the most basic metabolism.

Soul fluctuations?

It is even more obscure and difficult to understand, as if it has been immersed in heavy energy for a long time and then undergone some kind of cruel tempering, becoming solid, dense and wrapped in layers of psychological disguise that are difficult to penetrate, refusing any form of prying.

Magical traces?

Almost zero; the opponent clearly avoided using any spells that might cause fluctuations to conceal themselves.

The only thing she could clearly "feel" was a chilling "quality of existence" that had been refined through unimaginable trials. It was like her fingertips brushing against the finest assassination blade—unseen, yet its lethality was palpable in the trembling of her skin. That being seemed to have forged the concept of "concealment" into the very foundation of its existence.

After a long while, Serene slowly opened her eyes, a hint of weariness and deep confusion flashing in them. She looked at Darkus, slowly shook her head, her voice soft but firm.

“There is definitely something behind the wall!” She carefully chose her words, trying to describe the indescribable sensation. “It’s not inanimate, but it’s hidden… almost perfectly. I can’t grasp its form, nor can I sense any clear intention or allegiance. I can only feel a kind of… extreme concealment itself, and a very ancient, very… cold texture that has experienced extreme environments. It seems to be in a state of deep silence or observation, but I can’t be sure what it is. It could be some kind of creature skilled in stealth, or it could be… some form of existence that we haven’t yet understood.”

Her conclusion, instead of dispelling the fog, shrouded the secret behind the wall in an even deeper, colder, metallic veil of mystery.

Something whose disguise even Serene's senses couldn't penetrate lay dormant in the shadows of Lorthene's heart.

This in itself is a signal that requires the highest level of vigilance.

"A demon?" Aislin lowered his voice, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword.

“Unsure.” Serene shook her head, her brows furrowed with doubt. “That feeling… is too restrained, unlike the restless, corrosive sensation of ordinary chaotic creations.”

"Break down?" Dulias's suggestion was simple and direct, with a brutal efficiency characteristic of a warrior. His gaze swept across the wall as if he were examining the weaknesses of an enemy fortress.

“The target isn’t inside the wall,” Serene denied again, pointing deeper inside, “but in a room behind the wall, not far away.”

"Can it pass through walls?" Darkus pointed to the wall.

"Still uncertain." Serene's answer remained conservative; in the face of this level of concealment, any arbitrary judgment could be fatal.

Dakos nodded.

Just as he nodded, a flash of inspiration struck him, and a name that perfectly matched the characteristics of "skilled in concealment, ancient in texture, and from an extreme environment" almost slipped out of his mouth.

But he didn't show the slightest hint of a triumphant smile; his expression was calm to the point of indifference.

What if I guess wrong?

What if it's some kind of cunning, never-before-seen demon adept at disguise?
He's gloating now, but if he messes up later, he'll be slapped in the face. He can't afford to make such a basic mistake.

He didn't voice his guess, but simply pointed to the end of the passageway—the entrance to the hall. Then, he moved first, his steps mechanical and precise, each step as if measured with a ruler, landing silently, yet carrying a steady, oppressive force.

Behind this wall is a spacious hall that was temporarily used to house a large number of Asur civilians.

Yesterday's fierce fighting and chaos were too stimulating and terrifying for the civilians, leaving them with profound psychological trauma. As soon as the battle ended, regardless of whether their homes were intact, people preferred to squeeze into their neighbors' houses for the night rather than stay there for even a moment longer.

The hall is now empty, with only carriages and piles of packed luggage remaining.

Upon entering the hall, Dakota did not change his precise and rhythmic pace.

Dulias lunged forward, his tall, armored body forming a solid shield in front of Dacules. His nephew wore no armor, only the same unchanging robe. Dulias, on the other hand, was fully armored; his duty was simple: to withstand the first blow should anything happen.

Aisling was a beat slower. Seeing that Dulias had already taken the position, he lingered meaningfully on the latter's tense back for a moment, then shook his head and tacitly turned to the flank, quietly approaching Serene's left side to form another angle for protection and support.

"The promised post-war inspection turned into a short-lived adventure?"

Seeing the tense atmosphere, Dakotas smiled slightly and made a light joke, trying to ease the tension, even though he himself was completely focused.

Finally, the group stopped in front of a tightly closed iron gate. The gate was ordinary, but at this moment it seemed to shut out the unknown.

Aislin quickly made a series of concise and clear gestures.

The Sea Guards following behind immediately dispersed silently, forming a tight crescent-shaped defensive formation in front of the door: the shields in the front row were slightly tilted, and the spears were lowered, while the archers in the back row had already nocked their arrows, the sharp arrowheads gleaming coldly in the lamplight, all pointing towards the door. Serene stood quietly behind the Sea Guards' protective circle, her eyes slightly closed, a faint magical glow already flowing around her, ready to provide support or deal with any emergencies.

Should I knock?

With everything arranged, Aislin pressed himself against the wall by the door, lowered his body, and peeked out, giving Darkus, who was being firmly protected by Dulias, an inquiring look.

Upon hearing this, Dakota's face first showed a mischievous and expectant grin, and then he nodded firmly.

Boom, boom, boom.

Aisling raised his hand and tapped the iron door three times with his knuckles, neither too hard nor too soft, but with perfect clarity. The sound echoed in the empty, silent hall, sounding particularly abrupt and startling. All eyes were fixed on the door that was about to open or be opened.

"anyone there?"

At this tense moment, when the air was almost frozen with tension, Dakotas suddenly shouted loudly at the closed door in a tone that was almost like a casual greeting.

The sudden sound startled everyone on high alert. The guards in the front row holding shields tensed instantly, and the archers in the back row almost instinctively nocked their arrows.

Fortunately, they had only nocked the arrows without drawing the bowstrings; otherwise, several stray arrows would probably have been embedded in the door.

Behind the door, the lurking figure was startled for a rare second by the call, which was devoid of any murderous intent and even carried a hint of casualness.

In the darkness, a pair of strangely structured eyes suddenly adjusted their state. These eyes protruded outwards, not only able to rotate independently to observe different directions, but also their complex internal lens structure could stretch and fine-tune, achieving precise changes in focus, endowing their owner with extraordinary vision and dynamic perception abilities beyond common sense.

At that moment, those eyes instinctively turned toward the source of the sound, toward the thick wall, trying to penetrate the stone barrier and see who had uttered such an untimely question.

Darkus spoke standard Elsalin, an elven language. However, the being behind the door understood him.

Each syllable seemed to form a clear meaning directly in his consciousness.

But this understanding did not bring clarity; instead, it deepened the profound confusion.

His thoughts raced, fragments of memory swirling within him. He had just barely escaped from the perilous and bizarre Chaos Demon Realm, taking advantage of the fact that a temporary portal opened by a demon during a fierce conflict had not yet fully closed, and slipped inside like the most cunning shadow.

He thought he would return to a familiar environment, but instead, he was met with a completely unfamiliar one.

The air smelled wrong. It lacked the damp, decaying scent of the jungle and the aura of giant beasts. Instead, it was a mixture of gunpowder smoke, dust, sea breeze, and... the complex body odor left behind by a large number of hot-blooded creatures who had settled there.

Everything is wrong.

So, following the survival instincts honed to the bone in the chaotic demon realm, he chose the safest approach: concealment, observation, and waiting for the right moment. He infiltrated the seemingly abandoned room, compressing his vital signs and even his presence to the limit, blending into the environment and becoming part of the shadows.

But now, a being who is clearly a hot-blooded type is asking questions outside the door in a way that is almost casual, using a language that he shouldn't understand but strangely understands... This completely disrupts his cognitive logic.

Confusion, like cold vines, entwined his thoughts.

Who is outside the door? Friend or foe? Why can they speak a language he understands? Where exactly is this place? What consequences would my sudden appearance bring? Would I be surrounded? Or… is there a possibility of communication?

He remained absolutely still, even slowing the rotation of his eyes, which were capable of seeing the finest details. He tried his best to sense the situation outside the door through the faint vibrations and energy disturbances transmitted through the walls.

After that greeting, silence fell again outside the door, but this silence was more tense than before, filled with silent inquiry and a power poised to be unleashed.

The confusion of existence has no answer, only the unknown oppression outside the door, and his own rock-solid silence and high vigilance inside.

A silent battle of patience and judgment, fought behind a door, is quietly unfolding.

"Papaks!"

Seeing no response from behind the door for a long time, Dakota closed his eyes and slowly uttered a heavy name, steeped in ancient history and disaster.

I understood again what was behind the door.

This name was like a red-hot branding iron, searing it into the deepest, most untouchable part of his memory. He had witnessed firsthand the collapse and fall of Papaks, that magnificent and ancient temple city, in the chaotic turmoil, ultimately being swallowed by an indescribable evil. And he himself had been thrown into the vortex of the chaotic demonic realm from that catastrophe, beginning a long and cruel exile.

This name instantly shattered all his calm facade, awakening a deep-seated emotional turmoil mixed with sorrow, anger, and endless homesickness.

Darkus keenly caught this fleeting ripple in his mind, and a knowing smile appeared on his lips. The previously vague power of fate suddenly revealed a clear outline.

Without needing to test the waters any further, he chose the most direct approach: a straight shot.

“Ossiyotan,” his voice was steady and clear, piercing through the door, “is that you?”

Inside the door, Ossiyotan's heart felt as if it were being gripped tightly by an invisible hand.

Shock, confusion, and disbelief surged like a tide. This unfamiliar, hot-blooded being not only knew Papakkos, but also accurately called him by his name—his secret, almost forgotten name by time and chaos!

How could this be? Is it a trap?
Is this a new trick by Chaos to manipulate the mind?
Or... some kind of communication that he couldn't understand, a kind of almost miraculous communication?
Countless thoughts collided in his lightning-fast mind: the risk of exposure, the possibility of being surrounded, the possible disguise of chaos... But the strange, insightful understanding in the other party's words, and the heavy feeling that could only be simulated by those who had personally experienced it, made it impossible for him to simply categorize him as an enemy.

“I am Umak,” the voice outside the door continued, with an unquestionable calm authority. “I will not harm you. If it is indeed you, Ossiyotan, then use your blowgun to knock on the iron gate three times.”

This instruction is simple yet ingenious.

It demonstrated that the other party was familiar with his fighting style, that the blowgun was his weapon, and provided a clear and low-risk response while maintaining a safe distance.

Ossiyotan was caught in a brief but intense internal struggle.

"Umak"... this title, so closely associated with the ancient saints, echoed in his consciousness like a distant bell. If what was outside the door really was... no, this was too incredible.

But the Chaos Demons are adept at deception, and they may also usurp divine titles.

Time flowed slowly in silence, each second seeming to stretch out. Those outside held their breath, while the chameleon inside, in absolute stillness, drew upon all the insight into truth and falsehood honed in the chaotic demon realm.

Ultimately, reason and a sliver of almost faint hope prevailed over pure doubt. If this was a trap, the enemy had many more ways to launch a full-scale attack; if it was real… it would be the most incredible salvation that could be hoped for after endless years of exile.

"clatter."

A faint, almost imperceptible knock came from the inside of the iron gate.

There was a brief pause.

"clatter."

The second sound was slightly clearer, as if a certain decision had been made.

"clatter."

The third sound rang out, steady and clear, and could be heard distinctly in the silent hall.

Three taps, no more, no less, following the instructions.

This was not surrender, but a tentative response, made with extreme caution. Ossiyotan remained lurking in the shadows behind the door, blowgun to his lips, ready to respond to any unforeseen events.

But he chose to take the first step in communication, passing the buck back to the mysterious figure outside the door who called himself "Umak." Now, it was up to the other party to prove their sincerity.

The air remained tense, but an extremely subtle crack had already quietly appeared on the thick wall of suspicion.

"Don't be nervous, you won't be hurt. This is Umak's guarantee. The door is about to open." Darkus called out one last time towards the door, then waved to the sea guards behind him.

The guards obeyed orders without question, quickly and orderly adjusting their formation from a half-moon formation to two standard lines of standby. Although their weapons were not yet sheathed, the sharp hostility that was about to erupt had quietly subsided.

Then, Darkus looked at Serene. When their eyes met, he raised his left hand, spreading his index and middle fingers and pointing them clearly into his eyes—a silent command to maintain the highest level of vigilance and awareness.

Trying to fight a wolf with a stick is futile; both sides are afraid.

Ossiyotan was wary inside the door, and equally suspicious outside. His greatest fear was that what lurked behind the door was not the legendary chameleon, but the ever-changing shapeshifter.

Tzeentch gave him a surprise, a warm greeting.

If that were the case, being fatally attacked the moment the door opens would be a truly ridiculous joke.

Ossiyothan has the power of destiny, and so do the alter egos.

His power of destiny couldn't pinpoint exact locations; it was more about determining direction, letting him know where someone possessed that power. If he and Aris were hunting in the forest, he could pinpoint Aris's location. That's how he discovered Genevieve, blending into the crowd. But he needed to determine, in his own way, who truly carried the power of destiny.

"The door is open."

After a short while, allowing enough time for those inside the door to prepare, Darkus announced. He then gently patted the shoulder armor of Dulias, who was standing in front of him.

The uncle and nephew stepped forward together in perfect unison, channeling their strength into their arms, and slowly and steadily pushed open the heavy iron door.

The door hinges creaked slightly, and a gradually widening gap let in the even deeper darkness of the room.

"no problem!"

Serene's voice rang out almost simultaneously. Her senses, like the most precise probe, had firmly locked onto the presence that was gradually emerging from the edge of the shadows as the door opened. That unique life rhythm perfectly matched the previously perceived, honed, and concealed texture, without the nauseating distortion of the Chaos Deceiver.

Dakos nodded, a weight lifted from his heart. He didn't barge in, but instead went to the open door, lowered his body, and half-squatted down. He stretched out his hand, palm up, in an open and non-threatening posture.

It's like waiting for a child to come over and then hugging them.

Chameleons, a variant of the spirit lizard, are apex hunters of the jungle. Their unique physiology grants them extraordinary eyesight and exceptional stealth abilities. They prefer to live in rainforests and jungles far from temple cities, but they will also step forward to fulfill their duties when other lizardmen need help.

Chameleons have the small stature and arched backs common to spirit lizards. Their most distinctive feature is their skin and scales, which can change color to mimic their surroundings. They are skilled climbers, easily scaling trees and rock faces with their clawed feet and curlable tails. They can remain motionless for extended periods, even observing their prey for days, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

As hunters and scouts, they are invaluable to the lizardmen, especially in providing early warning of invasions by the warm-blooded species. When an attack is necessary, the chameleons can unleash a barrage of poisoned darts with such precision that they can even hit gaps in armor. They are also adept at using the jungle environment to their advantage, such as driving enemies into forest clearings teeming with blood bats or startling swarms of knife flies.

As taciturn creatures, chameleons have developed ingenious methods of silent communication. For example, they weave knots in specific patterns on vines to convey complex messages to their own kind and other reptilians.

Of all the chameleons, the most famous and legendary is Ossiyotan.

Darkus crouched to be at a closer, less intimidating eye level with the diminutive hunter who was likely huddled in a corner or shadow.

As light seeped in, a figure finally emerged completely from the shadows.

That is Ossiyotan.

He had yellow skin covered with dark brown, jungle camouflage stripes, and a large, intricately structured crown signified his ancient lineage and extraordinary status. He was indeed shorter than an ordinary spirit lizard, his posture taut, as if every muscle held the power to explode or vanish in an instant. His extraordinary, independently rotating eyes were now focused on Darkus with an extremely vigilant gaze, yet one that couldn't conceal deep confusion and inquiry.

“Don’t be afraid,” Darkus gazed into those eyes that had pierced through the endless terror of the Chaos Demon Realm, his voice softening, carrying a strange, comforting power that could penetrate the barriers of the soul, “I am here.”

Simple words contain a promise that transcends time and space and an unquestionable protection. At this moment, the atmosphere in the room, which had been extremely tense, underwent a subtle but decisive change.

The ancient hunter and his returning master had a dramatic reunion after countless years at the door of an inconspicuous room deep within the Lorthorn Sanctuary.

(Original outline: Belanar's self-destruction forces Malekith to flee into the Chaos Realm, just like in the Battle of Fennoval Plains, where Tegris was. Then the protagonist goes to rescue him, encountering Ossiyotan along the way. But upon closer inspection, it's too... all the protagonist's previous efforts are wasted, and Malekith's character is untenable. He's still a useless character, a hopeless case.) (End of this chapter)