Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Koulan did not give Isek any chance to fight back. His fist smashed into Isek's face like a raging wave. The dull sound of bones colliding was accompanied by the gushing of blood. Each punch was powerful enough to make one's teeth ache.

Isek's head was hit so hard that it shook from side to side, and blood gushed out of his nose and mouth, leaving bright red spots on the stone slab. However, he made a strange sound, a low laugh mixed with pleasure and pain, as if he felt some kind of morbid satisfaction from this violent carnival.

Hearing this voice, Kolan's expression became more and more crazy, his mouth twitched, and his eyes revealed a deep disgust and malice. He suddenly stopped his fist, raised his left hand, and stretched out his bloody index and middle fingers. He stabbed his fingers into Isek's eye sockets without hesitation, stirring his fingertips in the warm liquid, pinching the eyeball and exerting force.

"Ahhh!"

This time, Isek let out a heart-wrenching scream, but his voice was mixed with unspeakable pain and a twisted excitement, as if he was enjoying the painful torture while struggling.

Kolan's face was splattered with blood. He tilted his head slightly, revealing a twisted, chilling sneer. He growled, gritted his teeth and pulled hard, lifting Isek's head up suddenly, and pressed his knee against the barbarian's chest to stabilize the barbarian's twitching body. He quickly pulled out a sharp thorn blade from his belt, and the blade flashed coldly in the dim light.

"Can you still laugh?"

He gritted his teeth and questioned in a low voice, but his movements did not stop. The stab blade slashed across Isek's cheek, the blade cut through the muscles, leaving a wound of blood and flesh, just like carving a bloody picture, each cut was deeply engraved. The expression on his face was completely occupied by tyranny and malice, there was no mercy in his eyes, only a desire to completely destroy Isek.

"Let me see how long you can keep laughing."

He grinned, and he brought the blade close to Isek's mouth, pinched the barbarian's jaw, and forced him to open his mouth. The thorn blade pierced into the mouth accurately, and in an instant, the blade cut into Isek's tongue. He pulled hard, and blood gushed out of Isek's mouth like a fountain, staining his chest and the ground red. He held the severed tongue in his hand, raised it in the air, and looked at it carefully, then sneered and threw the tongue to the ground, crushing it with his boots.

Isek's body twitched violently, his throat emitted an indistinct whimper, and blood continued to flow from the corners of his mouth, but everything did not stop...

As the sound of creaking wheels came from a distance, Koulan slowly stood up, wiped the blood off his face, and looked down at Isek, who was tortured to death. There was a complex expression on his face, which was a mixture of cruel satisfaction and cold contempt.

Unlike most of the Black Guards, he is not a noble, he is a commoner, an orphan, a street kid, and there is a reason why he is on the streets.

"You're just a dog." Koulan snorted coldly, then turned and left, handing Isek, who only had one leg left, to the trainers who had arrived late.
-

The figure in front of him gradually overlapped with the one in Celile's memory. The hideous armor, the twisted posture, and the blood-stained hands seemed to crawl out of his memory. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and the fingers holding the halberd trembled slightly, but this was not because of fear, but because the familiarity that could not be ignored reawakened his memory.

"I will come to find you and yours again..." Modek fell to the ground and said weakly.

"Unless I die!" Celile's roar was like thunder. Before he finished speaking, he leaped forward and pounced on the fallen Modek like a tiger. He raised the ruthless blade high, pointing it directly at the opponent's neck, with the determination and coldness of beheading.

However, Modek suddenly burst into laughter. The laughter was sharp and strange, crawling in the air and drilling into Celile's ears. The laughter was not just a sound, but more like some kind of ancient curse, shrouding the entire battlefield in oppressive silence. Even the most bloodthirsty Druki was stunned by the laughter.

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon." Celile paused for a moment, breaking free from his memories, with a complicated expression on his face. He then turned to look at Daquus, took a deep breath, and said in a low voice, "Obian, Conquarta, I once had a championship duel with him. I didn't expect him to appear again."

Dacus nodded. He knew about this. At that time, the team entered Conquata in batches just like now. In the city, he encountered the giant, and Celile encountered the Chaos Chosen. The result, needless to say.

Not only did he know this, he also remembered another conversation.

"Does his body really not need to be dealt with?" Celiere asked cautiously.

"My uncle, do you still remember Count Modek whom I met in Orbion?" Daxus did not answer directly, but shook his head and asked back.

"Of course I remember. He left a deep impression on me." Celiere nodded with a serious expression.

"So, there is no point in doing this. I can foresee that this Ulfric will appear in front of me again, just like I can foresee that Count Modek will appear in front of you again." Daxus sneered, with a hint of meaning in his tone.

"When he appears in front of me again, I will make him die again!" Selire did not refute. He stared at the corpse on the ground, waving the half-Clive broad blade in his hand, with a flash of determination in his eyes.

Dacus is not a jinx, he doesn't always keep his word, and he doesn't set any flags. He just observes the laws and nature of how things work.

"Again? I want you to survive this time!" asked Daquus now.

Celile nodded without saying anything more. He then drew out the Clive broadsword and jumped off the cold lizard's back. The combined broadswords spun flexibly between his wrists, like a war dancer's prop, but exuding a cold murderous intent.

"Child of Aenarion, I see you, I command you, I demand your presence!"

Mordek stepped forward, roaring, each word filled with long-suppressed determination and pain. His voice echoed in the air, like a call that could not be ignored, full of madness and obsession. After speaking, he clenched the sword of change in his hand and threw the weapon symbolizing the power of chaos to the ground.

When the sword of transformation fell to the ground, the blade emitted a sharp scream, as if it was wailing, and as if it was accusing Modek of betrayal. The sound was sharp and heart-shaking, and it seemed to pierce the souls of everyone present.

Modek's body shook violently, he staggered, his legs could hardly support his weight, and he almost fell to the ground.

he growled, his voice hoarse and raspy, as if he were fighting an invisible enemy.

"I see you!" His eyes burned with crazy flames, with pain and persistence. Every step he took seemed heavy and difficult, as if countless invisible chains were dragging him into the abyss.

"I demand you show up!"

Finally, his body could no longer bear the double torture of his heart and curse, and he fell heavily to the cold ground. He gasped in pain, grabbing the ground with both hands, his nails deeply embedded in the cracks of the floor tiles.

Despite this, he still did not give up, and he crawled almost madly after being tortured. His movements were clumsy and desperate, but he forced himself to support his body and stand up, even though his legs were shaking and every muscle was protesting sharply.

However, he still fell down.

"I demand you show up!"

His voice was hoarse and low, but the resolute tone was like a nail, nailing his existence to the chaotic fate. He stood in the abyss of pain, struggling and resisting, but seemed willing to drown. Every cry he made was like a elegy written in blood.

Count Mordek the Cursed is a warning to all mortals who seek the favor of the Chaos Gods. He is a living example, a plaything controlled by Chaos, a mortal who offers his loyalty to Chaos, desiring eternal life and incredible power, and he is the epitome of those wishes come true. He has it all: power, fame and immortality, but the price is a curse, an endless curse.

His body no longer belongs to him. His soul is torn apart and played with by the Chaos Gods, and his flesh becomes a tool for them to display their power. Under his gorgeous armor, he no longer has a fixed form. His flesh and blood are like a living thing, twisting and flowing, like the never-ending essence of Chaos. His existence itself is an anvil that has been repeatedly recast, and is used as a test subject to demonstrate the power of Chaos again and again.

Rumor has it that Mordek has died a thousand times, but each death is no release. Every time he reappears, it is a replay of pain. His roars and wails are a joke of the Chaos Gods. His struggles and resistance are a never-ending drama.

He is like a character in a farce that never ends. He always returns and is forced to fight at the will of the Chaos Gods. He is like a forgotten doll, abandoned and ignored, and tortured again and again when picked up again. His existence is a symbol of the Chaos Gods' wanton enjoyment.

If Chaos Chosen like Urbar or Charzach are tools, then Modke is a plaything that is infinitely pampered but also infinitely tortured.

As Hugo Lazar puts it in Cruel Tales and Cautionary Tales: "Mordek's fate serves as a warning to all who would seek fame and eternal life from the Chaos Gods, for he possessed both and for so doing was cursed to the bitterest degree."

Modek's starting point was not low. He was born in the year 1800 of the Imperial Calendar and was a real Imperial.

In 1882 of the Imperial Era, as the son of the Emperor of Reikland, he led an army to retake the Brass Fortress, but the victory did not bring glory, but instead opened the tragedy of his fate. His rule over the Brass Fortress was full of chaos and problems, and the darkness deep in the mountains imprisoned his soul. Those cursed halls, those whispering whispers, eventually led him to the worship of the power of destruction. Celile took a step forward, and the Clive broadsword in his hand was slightly raised, but after seeing Mordek's move, he stopped. At that moment, his eyes were complicated and shaken, and his mind emerged with the scene when he last met Mordek, and the words that Mordek said to him at that time echoed clearly.

Modek was not looking for him, but for his nephew Dacus. However, Modek was unlucky and happened to run into him.

He has always been proud of his pride. He is a descendant of the Hell's Disaster Family and the heir to the family's glory. In the past, he would never tolerate such a monster threatening Dacus. He would not hesitate to send the blade into Modek's heart. Even if he had to risk his life, he would never give in.

But now, Celile's thoughts have changed. After spending a long time with Dacus, he gradually understood the nature of the world, and the impermanence of the gods and the cycle of fate began to become very clear. He is not the Celile of the past. He is still proud, but more calm and thoughtful. He looked at Modek's miserable appearance and couldn't help but feel a little pity. It was a dog, a poor creature driven to a desperate situation.

He sighed softly, lowered his blade, and turned to look at his nephew.

Daxus walked over with steady steps. He did not hold the trident, nor did he activate Viszar. He walked slowly to Celile's side and quietly watched Modek struggling on the ground.

"This is the day I finally see clearly. The world becomes real to me again. The voices of the gods have guided me to this moment. Time, fate, destiny... everything has become thin. Only now remains! Only one chance left to feel alive!"

Modke was like a broken shell, wriggling in pain. His voice was hoarse, like the friction of rusty iron.

"The gods asked me to kill you, and then they would release me! But they lied! They always lie, without any purpose, just to play... to play!"

His tone began to distort, becoming twisted and almost crazy. It became hysterical, full of anger, pain and endless unwillingness. His body trembled, and the face behind the visor was twisted in pain. The twisting flesh under the armor was like a chaotic flowing animal.

"My heart... burns, and even when death comes, it will continue to burn. It is a fire... that cannot be extinguished, not even by the gods. Only the hand of the destined one can extinguish it, once and for all. No one can light this fire again, and no one can reignite it."

Modek said as he dragged his shattered body forward. He stretched out a trembling hand and approached the squatting Daquus, as if seeking help and relief, but he did not challenge. There was no hostility or provocation in his movements. He seemed to no longer be the chosen one driven by chaos, but a soul exhausted and in extreme pain.

"Are you looking for help? My help?" Daxus looked at Modek with calm and indifferent eyes, and asked in a low voice.

He could kill Mordek in this state in just a moment. As long as he activated Vizar and brought down the sword, the monster's life would end again. However, he knew that it was meaningless to do so.

Mordek's death was only a brief respite. His fate had already been determined by the Chaos Gods. Ten or twenty years later, he would return again. Every death and every rebirth was a mockery and torture to his soul.

"Yes……"

Modke's voice was hoarse and low, with a hint of pain and fatigue, and his body was shaking, like a flame that was about to go out, but still burning stubbornly.

"So, what can you give me in exchange?" Dacus' voice was as cold as ice, piercing Modek's soul. His eyes were calm, as if he was examining a broken object rather than a living being.

Modke's body froze instantly, as if held in place by an invisible force. His burning eyes flickered violently, and his inner struggle almost burst out from his armor. He thought and weighed, trying to find an answer, but in the end, he just shook his head slowly.

"Remember, this is a lesson! He is Count Modek the Cursed! Two centuries ago, he was a human, a proud Imperial noble. Now, he is a plaything of the Chaos Gods, suffering from torture, trying to seek relief in this way!" Daxus sighed and stood up. He pointed at Modek, turned around and spoke to the elves who were watching.

The elves watched this scene in silence. Daxus's voice was like a stone hammer, hitting their hearts.

"Do you remember...how many times you have returned?" Darkus paused, then turned back to look at Modek who was still struggling, and asked coldly.

Modek shook his head again, his burning eyes flickering restlessly under his visor, as if trying to find an answer, but knowing that it was futile. His eyes were full of confusion and fatigue, and the passage of time had worn away his awareness of his own existence.

"Okay, the exchange is complete. I can help you." Daqian sighed.

Yes, the exchange has been completed.

Mordek's miserable appearance is the best warning. Everything he experienced was witnessed by the elves, which deepened their understanding of Chaos, and deepened their fear and disgust of Chaos. His story will be passed down and become an eternal alarm in the elven society, reminding those arrogant people who try to contact the Chaos Gods and try to exchange their souls for power.

This is the best exchange!

"call the ambulance!"

As the horn sounded, a moment later, accompanied by the creaking sound of wheels, a Scourge Walker chariot slowly drove over.

“It may be a little disgraceful.” Daxus looked down at Modke, who was twitching on the ground, with a hint of cold mockery in his tone, “But this is what you deserve, Modke.”

After saying that, he waved his hand, signaling the trainer to take action. The trainer quickly approached, pinned Modek down, and locked Modek's feet tightly.

Modke did not resist at all, he did not struggle, did not shout, and did not even try to get rid of the shackles that symbolized humiliation. He just lay there quietly and let the trainer drag him.

Dacus watched this scene with a deep and cold gaze. He had no intention of performing surgery on Modek. After all, Modek came to him on his own initiative, not as a prey that was captured alive.

And more importantly, Modke himself has great experimental value and is very valuable data. If he is no longer recorded in the future, it means...

His experiment was really successful. The backup plan left by the Ancients took effect. Sotek could really devour the essence of the Chaos Gods and make the games in the Chaos Gods' game library disappear from another dimension. They could never be started again and could never be reproduced.

The Scourge Chariot started, and the dull sound of the wheels rolling over the ground gradually faded away. Modke, who was being dragged, turned his head and looked at Daquus with burning eyes.

Although the fire in his eyes was still blazing, Daxus could read a complex emotion from them. It was a look that was a mixture of sadness, pain, and helplessness, but more of it was gratitude.

As the Scourge Chariot went further and further away, Modek's figure became smaller and smaller. When Modek's figure completely disappeared from his sight, Daquus waved his hand again in a friendly manner, just like he had said goodbye to Urbar and Charzak, bidding farewell to Modek, as if he was bidding farewell to an old friend.

The team set out again, but this time, the atmosphere was completely different from the previous relaxed atmosphere. A deep and oppressive atmosphere enveloped everyone. The experience of Modke, the poor soul who was played to the extreme by the Chaos Gods, silently touched the deepest fears and doubts in their hearts.

Modek's experience made them understand one thing: even supreme power and eternal life could be nothing more than the incarnation of a curse. The burning eyes, the broken body, the whispers of despair... everything was a silent reminder to them.

This heavy emotion accompanied the team all the way forward, and soon they arrived at the gate of the inner city. The gate was tall and solemn, and the black steel surface exuded a cold light. Dorian leaned against the wall at the gate with a pipe in his mouth without launching an attack or trying to take a detour.

After a brief exchange, the combined team headed towards the inner city of Gorond. Along the way, the streets in the city seemed empty and dead silent, with only the sound of wind passing through the dilapidated houses, bringing up a few snowflakes.

Soon, the team arrived not far from the Tower of Prophecy. A square stretched before them, and a fierce battle was going on in the square.

This was not a battle against Chaos, but a fight between elves. The cold light of the blades crossed across the square, blood splattered on the bluestone floor, and every collision made a harsh metallic tremor.

The air was filled with tense murderous intent and unspeakable sorrow. The elves' battle was full of elegant rhythm, but every sword was struck with deadly determination, leaving no room for retreat.

The team stopped and watched the chaotic scene quietly. The depressing atmosphere rose again and intertwined with the cruel scene before them.

Daxus's eyes were cold and deep. He silently watched the battlefield, the Speechless One, and the Frost Blade. (End of this chapter)