Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

(Sunday)

"Are you the Phoenix King?" Aris asked, raising his hand to lift his tattered hood, revealing a silver crown on his forehead that shimmered with a cool, ethereal light.

"You are Aris Annal?" Imrek replied, his gaze lingering for a moment on the other's iconic crown, his expression complex.

"Marekis is still alive!"

"What did you say?!" At first, Imrek thought he had misheard because of the noise around him, or that the other person was making a bad joke. He took a step forward, his voice filled with unquestionable authority.

"Marekis, the rightful prince of Nagarius, is still alive in this world."

“You’re wrong!” Imrek shook his head resolutely, trying to deny this absurd statement. “He was burned to ashes by the sacred fire of Asuyan. I have personally spoken with the survivors who witnessed the whole thing in the temple. No one could have survived such a trial.”

“I just spoke with him not long ago,” Aris replied, a mocking smile appearing on his weathered face—an expression only those who had truly met Minglai would have. “So, Your Majesty, Phoenix King, who among us is truly in the wrong?”

"How is this possible?!" This thought spread like a crack, completely exceeding Imrek's cognitive boundaries.

“Magic!” Aris uttered the word, his voice low and hoarse. “He imprisoned himself in a hideous enchanted armor, its color as black as the abyss at midnight. Even from a distance, you could feel the residual heat from the forging still burning wildly within the armor. Just recently, he even shamelessly invited me to join his ranks.”

“He…he actually did such a thing?” Each newly revealed fact was more unbelievable than the last, like layers of a nightmare being peeled back. Imrek narrowed his eyes slightly, scrutinizing Aris carefully, trying to detect any signs of cunning, madness, or betrayal in the other’s eyes or micro-expressions.

However, he found nothing. In his understanding, the last descendant of the Annal family had no reason or courage to fabricate such a bizarre and absurd story.

“Marekis clings to life by relying on that forbidden dark magic, and now he calls himself the Witch King!” Aris coldly explained the existence of this forbidden magic. “Actually, you’ve already seen him today.”

"That black-armored warrior riding a dragon?" Imrek's mind instantly conjured up the image of that arrogant figure on the battlefield.

“Yes, that was the Witch King.” Aris nodded, his gaze distant and filled with hatred. “When he found me in the ruins of Elanadrilis, he invited me to stand beside him and share this crumbling world, but I refused.”

“At this point, I can only believe these things based on your own account.” Imrek took a deep breath, suppressing the shock in his heart. “Then, how did you survive against such a monster?”

“By running!” Aris curled his lip, revealing a smile that was a mixture of self-mockery and wildness. “We ran incredibly fast. His henchmen chased us into the mountains, but we knew every mountain ridge and every hidden pass better than those traitors, so we shook off death. I followed Malekith’s army south and thoroughly uncovered his conspiracy on this land.”

“On behalf of the Kingdom of Caledo, I thank you for your help, although… it wasn’t entirely necessary!” Imrek straightened his back, trying to regain his pride as a dragon prince.

"Not necessary?" Aris laughed, his laughter laced with sharp, sarcastic sarcasm. "When my rain of arrows falls, your army will be on the verge of utter destruction."

“I was about to give the order to my dragons to swoop down and attack the ballistae at the same time.” Imrek crossed his arms and spoke in a firm tone, “In just a moment, we could have destroyed more than half of the war machine, and the situation was far from the kind of defeat you imagine.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not fighting for your gratitude.” Aris said, taking a cold step back and disappearing back into the shadows. “As I told your brother and your cousin, I have only fought for Nagarius in this life, nothing more.”

"Prove to me that you have not secretly pledged allegiance to Malekith!" Imrek's voice was deep and solemn, carrying the unquestionable authority of a superior. "Now, swear your absolute allegiance to the Phoenix King!"

“Never!” Aris spat fiercely, his right hand moving with lightning speed to the hilt of his sword. “I will never again swear an oath to any so-called king! Nagarius is not a land you can command; it is mine! And it will always be mine!”

“My father witnessed Malekith kneeling and swearing allegiance to Bel-Shana!” Imrek was enraged by the other party’s arrogance, his tone filled with thunderous fury. “What gives you the right to hold back against me?”

"I am the Lord of Shadows!" Aris replied coldly, his fingers lightly touching the Nagarius Crown on his forehead with an almost religious reverence. "This is the crown representing the legitimacy of Nagarius, once worn by the great Aenarion. In terms of bloodline, my grandfather and your ancestor stood shoulder to shoulder on the battlefield. Do not think that because I now wear the robes of shadow and walk in the filth, I have abandoned the noble blood flowing in my veins."

“My principles have never changed, and I will never offer my protection to anyone who refuses to swear allegiance.”

“Great Phoenix King, I need no protection from you, nor does the shattered land of Nagareth need your rule.” Aris retorted, but as soon as he finished speaking, he glanced sharply behind Imrek, his burning anger receding like a tide, replaced by a coldness that could freeze the soul. His speech quickened, as if he were avoiding something more unsettling than death, “Everyone thinks I am dead, and this is not an unfounded rumor… Promise me, don’t tell her I am still alive.”

"Rather than the world thinking you're dead, it's more accurate to say you simply don't want to face her," Imrek said insightfully, keenly noticing the fleeting pain in Aris's eyes.

“I can’t…” Aris’s voice trailed off, as if he were talking to himself, or as if he were making a judgment on his fate. “From the moment I chose to become the Shadow Lord, I buried that kind of life with my own hands.”

“You are indeed an incomprehensible freak, Aris Anar.” Imrek suppressed his anger, his tone now tinged with a complex emotion. “I still despise your usurpation of the throne, but if you are truly in dire straits and need my help, send me a message.”

“An elf who takes his grandfather’s name as his own and befriends dragons every day has the audacity to say I’m behaving strangely?” Aris let out a sarcastic laugh, then his expression turned serious. He straightened his spine, like a blade sheathed. “I am not your hound, to be summoned at your beck and call. I am a lone wolf roaming the wastelands, hunting in my own way. I will hunt down dark elves without hesitation, but I will never obey you. This is my final warning: Nagarris is not your fiefdom, it is mine… stay away from it.”

Before he finished speaking, Aris suddenly turned and rushed into the deep darkness of the forest, his figure disappearing quickly into the shadows like an ink droplet merging into water.
-
Marekis did not give Aris a direct answer, or rather, he did not condescend to respond with words; he simply watched Aris in silence.

As he gazed intently, his hand slowly reached into his robes. After a faint metallic scraping sound, a steel headband exuding a chilling aura appeared between his fingers. Then, his gaze shifted slightly upwards, landing on Aris's forehead. There, too, sat a crown—the crown his father, Enarion, had once worn, the crown that should have been on his head, the crown representing the rightful rule of the Kingdom of Nagarris.

For a moment, he was somewhat dazed, perhaps...

“It suits you perfectly.” In the end, Malekith’s tone was flat and emotionless. As he spoke, he gave Aris a deep look, as if silently mocking him: I knew you would vent your anger on my head, so I put the headband away early.

There was no grand ceremony, no rousing songs, and no deafening music. Under the bewildered gaze of Aris, and under the watchful eyes of Nakari and the horde of Chaos servants, he calmly fastened the steel headband back onto his head.

There was no dramatic change in aura as expected, no invisible shockwave that shattered the earth, not even a tremor in the air. Malekith looked as if he were still the same Malekith, badly injured and bruised.

But somehow, everything changed...

The moment the steel headband snapped shut, Nakari, the evil being disguised as an elven maiden, had a strange and distorted expression. It had been trapped in the vortex for far too long, severely out of touch with the rhythm of the mortal world. But after appearing in the mortal realm, it established and maintained a faint connection with its master.

However, the sudden turn of events caught it completely off guard. The power that had revived within Malekith was simply too strong, so strong that it made the arrogant demon tremble instinctively.

So powerful that it turned away without regard for dignity, roughly shoving aside the bewildered cultists who hadn't yet grasped the situation, and plunged into the dark forest, fleeing for its life without daring to look back even once.

Marekis's face was still bruised and swollen, but this did not prevent the corners of his mouth from slowly, with a chilling rhythm, curving upwards into a clear arc.

"Ah……"

It was a very short and very soft sneer squeezed out from deep in his throat.

This is his signature laugh, appearing for the second time in a short period of time; its vocal technique originates from…

This time, Aris didn't erupt in anger. Although he was emotional, he was no fool. It was all too clear that Malekith possessed a perception far beyond that of ordinary people: he had been detected long before, when Malekith was still hidden in the shadows; and when the demon had not yet entered his field of vision, but was only sneaking closer in the depths of the forest, Malekith had already locked onto it.

Ares was acutely aware that neither the earlier nor the current sneer was directed at him; he had merely happened to be within the vortex of that contemptuous sneer. While he wouldn't lose his temper again, the unease still made him frown. Just as he turned his head, his gaze turning coldly toward Malekith...

Malekith spoke.

"Then do as you please." His voice carried a cold indifference, as if the situation had already been decided. "I'm going after that one."

The words had barely left his lips when the Yangyan Sword, burning with raging flames, appeared out of thin air and landed steadily in his hand. The next instant, his figure abruptly disintegrated on the spot, as if…

Ares's chest heaved violently. He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the urge to unleash a torrent of abuse at Malekith's arrogance. The next moment, as the dark figure vanished, his long-suppressed anger, intertwined with his sense of responsibility as a lord, regained control of his mind.

This is Elanadrilis, the fiefdom of the Anar family, which has been passed down for thousands of years! Although he failed to protect his beloved family and his people, this scorched land, stained with the blood of his ancestors, is by no means a paradise that chaos and filth can trample on at will.

With a clang, the Blood Drinking Sword was already firmly gripped in his hand, its icy blade pointing directly at those repulsive Chaos believers!
This divine weapon was born in that desperate era of invasion, forged by the great dragon tamer Caledo. From the earliest records, it accompanied Cantras Moranin in his conquests, enduring thousands of years of war and changing destinies, finally coming into the hands of Aris. After Darkus acquired it, he commissioned Lord Des to reforge it. Under Des's masterful skill, the Bloodthirsty Sword was stripped of its former glory, restoring its original, ancient form, but the terrifying characteristics accumulated over the long years were perfectly preserved. (Introduced in Chapter 629)

There was no deliberately created aura of full force, nor any invisible shockwaves sweeping across the battlefield, but when the Blood Drinker Sword sliced ​​through the polluted air, the chilling, bloodthirsty howl emanating from the blade was like a shrill, soul-tearing cry that instantly spread to every corner.

That kind of fear and trembling, emanating from within and piercing to the bone marrow, surged towards the claws and fangs of chaos like a tidal wave!

Immediately afterward, Aris moved. His figure became a blurry afterimage, and during his charge, he unleashed an exquisite archery technique, his longsword slashing repeatedly at the incoming arrows.

For a moment, the clanging sound of metal clashing was incessant.

Several Slaanesh demons roared and swarmed around, attempting to strangle Aris with their deadly and nauseating elegance. However, with each precise and frenzied swing of the Bloodthirsty Sword, these vile beings disintegrated and vanished amidst screams.

One, two, three… In the end, before his sword even fell, the remaining succubi twisted and dissipated on their own. That was because the energy that sustained their activities in the mortal world had been exhausted, or rather, as Nakari ran further and further away, these inferior demons had escaped Nakari's range of control.

As the last wisp of pink mist dissipated, Aris slowly sheathed the Bloodthirsty Sword. The surroundings were now empty, with no more enemies for him to slash.

In that one-sided slaughter, the fallen elves and beasts might have been terrified by the bloodthirsty roar of the Bloodthirsty Sword, intimidated by the destructive killing intent emanating from Aris, or perhaps simply because their leader, Nakari, had abandoned the battle and fled. Of course, some might have also recognized the true face beneath the silver crown.

In short, regardless of their motives, these chaotic minions scattered like birds and beasts, disappearing into the depths of the forest.

The Moon Bow appeared in his hand, and the season of reckoning and hunting began once again.

In another timeline where fate is frozen, Nakari, who successfully escaped the vortex, was undoubtedly a nightmare-level top-tier boss for the then-naive Tyrion and Tegris brothers.

Unfortunately, Nakari encountered Malekith in this life, a king who had lived for over 6,500 years and was tempered in intrigue and war, far beyond the reach of the fledgling Ty brothers.

Similarly, in the dust of another chapter of history, Malekith, who fled to the Chaos Realm, encountered the Nakari, resulting in the Nakari's severed horn remaining forever on the pillar of historical shame. In Imperial Year 2452, when the Nakari attempted to corrupt Nagalond, Malekith banished it with a double blow of physical and magical power. (Discussed in Chapter 120)
This marks the fifth time the Nakari have suffered a crushing defeat against the bloodline of Ainarion.

In this chaotic timeline manipulated by Darkus, Malekith's first encounter with Nakari is destined to be a devastating defeat.

Nakari maintained her delicate, elven-like appearance out of necessity.

The thin magical winds were simply insufficient to support its enormous demonic form. The strength of the Chaos Demon always fluctuated with the tides of energy: in the Chaos Demon Realm, they were almost omnipotent and absolute rulers; but once they stepped into the mortal world, they had to rely on the surrounding magical winds to maintain their size and status.

The scarcer their energy, the weaker they are; conversely...

This is why even the mighty Slaanesh could only maintain the humiliating outline of this petite elf.

perhaps……

It should have taken the lead in the initial charge, with its target being the raiding ship.
Inside the raider's hull is an arcane orb protected by a restraint box; perhaps only in this way can it gain a sliver of hope?
But now, everything has settled. It's too late to say anything; that fleeting, elusive opportunity vanished the moment it chose to turn tail and run.

Although his iconic dragon armor was gone, Malekith gripped the Sunfire Sword tightly in his hand, wore a steel headband on his forehead, and had the brass ring engraved with forbidden power on his finger.

This is enough to deal with a weakened Great Demon.

Thus, deep in the dark forest, Malekith and Nakari engaged in a desperate game of cat and mouse.

Nakari awkwardly adjusted its movement path twice in a row, but each time it turned, Malekith would appear on its inevitable path in an extremely abrupt and illogical way.

It either crashes down from the towering canopy like a black cheetah, or emerges silently from the shadow of ancient, vigorous trees like a ghost.

The third time, when Malekith, mimicking Lilith's miracle, slowly emerged from a lifeless pond, Nakari's long-suppressed rage finally erupted. As the chief archduke under Slaanesh, an evil incarnation enjoying unparalleled glory in the Chaos Realm, it possessed the inviolable dignity befitting a demon. More importantly, it keenly realized that if it continued its aimless escape, it would only be gradually stripped of its essence.

Unfortunately, Malekith had lost interest in continuing his charade.

The remaining Nakari minions scattered like frightened birds, fleeing in all directions of the forest. Ares was alone; he couldn't be in the north one second and in the south the next, and couldn't eradicate these filthy seeds completely in a short time.

Nakari stared intently at Malekith, who was rapidly approaching. The man slowly extended his left hand, his long fingers opening one by one to reveal his thumb, index finger, and middle finger.

At first, it failed to grasp the deeper meaning, but soon it understood. Malekith was reminding it in the most humiliating way that it had already tasted the bitter fruit of defeat three times at the hands of Aenarion and his offspring.

But in my memory, it only happened twice...

And now, the third time has come!
Malekith gave Nakari no time to think or retaliate; his swollen face showed no rage, no excitement, and not even a trace of emotion.

His eyes were as calm as a mirror, reflecting only the inevitability of death.

Everything happened faster than the limits of the senses. The elven girl's head suddenly spun backward, tracing a tragic arc, while her slender body continued to run forward, propelled by inertia. Finally, losing its support, her body collapsed onto the damp woodland.

Malekith stood there, silently watching the scene unfold. He watched as the head and remaining limbs, repelled by the laws of the mortal world, gradually dissolved into ethereal afterimages, eventually vanishing completely.

"Ah……"

It was a very short and very soft sneer squeezed out from deep in his throat.

That signature sneer rang out for the third time today.

"Heaven and earth were born together with me... all things are one with me! I think I understand?"

After saying that, his figure disappeared into thin air.

Time passes minute by minute.

Although Malekith and Aris never met again, this did not prevent them from tacitly playing the role of gardeners. They worked hard, busily moving between the ruins and the forest, uprooting one by one the filthy and poisonous weeds that did not belong to this garden.

Half an hour later, Malekith reappeared in Aris's sight.

At this moment, Aris was holding the Bloodthirsty Sword, carrying out the final execution. The few remaining cultists, under Aris's relentless pursuit, seemed to have completely resigned themselves to their fate. They collapsed to the ground like rotting flesh, some heartbroken and motionless, while others, even at this moment, continued to spew out vicious curses.

Malekith didn't participate in the purge; he stood a few steps away, arms crossed, scrutinizing with a deep gaze. He watched as Aris expressionlessly lifted the last cultist's head, watched the face numb from excessive depravity, watched the Bloodthirsty Sword whistle through the air, and finally watched the head fly up like a rugby ball.

“That’s so Nagarius!” Malekith uttered a lukewarm comment as the head fell to the ground, its tone neither positive nor negative.

Ares turned his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Malekith. Malekith simply spread his hands and nodded calmly and naturally. Ares understood the meaning behind the gesture and the nod: the ancient forest had been cleared, not a single cultist remained.

He nodded in response, and as he did so, he approached Malekith step by step, each step landing heavily on the withered branches and leaves.

Once the two reached a dangerous distance close enough to touch each other, Aris abruptly dropped the Bloodthirsty Sword. With a furious roar, Malekith was once again slammed to the ground by Aris's reckless force. (End of Chapter)