Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

The spectators seemed to have mastered Dacreus's rhythm. At the moment Malekith's body began to fall, before Dacreus could make any gesture, exclamations broke out in the venue, surging out like a wave and quickly drowning out the previous silence.

When Malekith fell down with a loud bang and hit the stone slabs heavily, the elves in the back row no longer cared about being elegant and reserved. They all stood up, and some even jumped directly onto the chairs, standing on tiptoe, stretching their necks, and stretching their backs, for fear of missing even a moment of the scene.

This chaotic action disturbed the vision of the red dragons in the back row, forcing the red dragons that were originally standing to jump up, and while jumping, they sent warm greetings in Elsalin to the elves who blocked their view.

This triggered a series of impacts...

It was not until Daxus raised his right hand high again, and the familiar movement of putting his five fingers together shocked the whole audience like an iron law, that order was restored. The spectators seemed to have their vocal cords pulled away and fell silent again.

Loxia did not jump up because he was in the front row. When he saw what happened, he turned his head involuntarily to look at his aunt Lexikil next to him.

However, what greeted him was not a gentle look, but a cold and sharp warning look, which pierced through the air like a sharp blade, and made him stunned for a moment. He rarely saw his aunt showing such a fierce expression, which made him subconsciously think that he had done something wrong.

But he soon realized that his aunt had misunderstood him.

Yes, this is indeed the most vulnerable moment of Malekith. If this were the Black Tower of Naggarond, if this were the old era forged by blood and fire, a group of Druki might have pounced on him at this moment and hacked the Witch King who had once made them terrified and oppressed to death with their swords. Even Morathi and Koran could not stop that kind of fanaticism.

But now it's different, everything has changed.

It was not because they could not deal with the unpredictable Daxus, nor was it because of the vague positions of Asur, Asrai and Ainir around him, nor was it because of the red dragon who was watching the fun, but because this era had completely changed.

It has become different from before, and there is no point in doing this anymore.

Dacus looked towards the audience, his eyes were calm and unperturbed. After observing the reactions of the witnesses for a moment, he turned his head and saw Fergal, the young general who was swallowing his saliva and had a tense expression. The tension was written on his face and could not be hidden.

He knew Fergal's past and could roughly guess what was going on in Fergal's mind at the moment. He smiled faintly, a quiet and tolerant smile, telling the other party, I know what you are thinking, but you don't need to be confused anymore, and you'd better not turn your thoughts into actual actions.

He turned his gaze back to Malekith, who was lying like a corpse in front of the holy fire.

At this moment, Malekith was still breathing weakly, his chest rising and falling slowly. The distance between him and the Holy Flame of Asuryan was less than an arm's length. But this arm seemed to span four thousand years, as if it spanned the glory and tragedy of his long life, spanning light and shadow, faith and betrayal.

At arm’s length, yet out of reach.

As Dacius was staring at Malekith quietly, he felt his arm being pulled. He turned his head and saw Finubar. Finubar, who was supposed to be the Phoenix King but now a witness, was holding his hand, his eyes full of pity, worry and regret, the emotion almost overflowing from his eyes and becoming tangible.

He knew that as long as he nodded, Finnubar would move immediately.

But he didn't nod.

Then he looked at the two people beside Malekith - Gilead and Eltharion. The two lieutenants were standing on both sides of Malekith's legs, staring at him silently and firmly, without fear or hesitation in their eyes.

The end of glory and the peak of tragedy are just a fine line apart.

He knew that with just a glance from him, a simple gesture, they would act without hesitation, pushing Malekith into the eternally burning divine flames like a corpse, as if they were not adjutants, but workers at a crematorium, sending corpses into the fire.

Thinking of this, the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, and his eyebrows raised slightly. He tried his best to restrain himself and tried not to let out a sudden laugh at this moment. After adjusting his facial expression, he took a deep breath, and his face regained its solemnity and solemnity. Then, he shook his head firmly.

When he noticed that the two lieutenants were still a little reluctant and hesitant, as if they were still trying to fight for something, he shook his head again. This time, his eyes were more stern, and his expression made it clear before he said anything.

No, absolutely not.

Whether he climbs in little by little or stands up again miraculously, this final step must and can only be completed by Malekith himself.

Otherwise, why not use Finnubar and two lieutenants, and carry Malekith himself? But what is that? That is not a ceremony, that is not sublimation, and it is not even irony.

Could it be that two people went in and he came out alone?

Or... he got in before Malekith and entered the Holy Fire? Then he came out and stabbed Malekith, who was lying on the ground, in front of everyone? He also had to say a line before the stabbing, the ultimate humiliation - using words and the blade to pierce Malekith's body and dignity?
Or maybe he just rushed over and kicked Malekith in?
He didn't, he didn't do anything.

After the two lieutenants finally understood what he meant, they slowly and solemnly stepped back, leaving Malekith alone in the open space. He looked again at Malekith, who was lying in front of the holy fire and fell into deathly silence. If it weren't for Malekith's chest still rising and falling weakly, he would almost think that this witch king who once shocked the world had been completely sent away by the previous armor removal torture, his soul had dissipated, and only this empty shell was left.

Falling at the last step.

His eyes were calm, and he slowly raised his head and looked towards the audience. He knew that this stalemate was not a solution, and the audience's emotions could not be nailed in silence for a long time. If someone stood up and shouted a slogan or raised a question, the situation would probably get out of control in an instant.

And the moment he realized this, the corners of his mouth slowly rose, with a calm smile on his face.

He cleared his throat gently and sang loudly.

"The situation is changing..."

The Song of War, a song of war composed and sung by Tolandil, praises Malekith's father... Aenarion.

The whole song consists of three parts: prologue, climax and epilogue.

Among the Druki living in Nagarythe and Asheril, all of them, unless they are mute, cannot sing.

This song is their enlightenment, their memory, and the innate resonance in their blood.

He sang the first sentence, drawing out the tune, then stretched out his hands and called out to the spectators as if he was conducting a piece of music.

The Druki followed suit, standing up one by one with solemn expressions. They sang the heroic song loudly, as if at this moment, time had traveled back to six thousand years ago, back to the moment when Aenarion walked out of the sacred fire, and back to the time when Aenarion led the elves to fight against the demons.

The singing rolled in, sweeping through the hall like a torrent.

The red dragons, who had been influenced by what they saw and heard, raised their heads in shock and began to sing along with the familiar melody.

Seeing this scene, Asur, Asrai and Ainir, who were originally sitting, also stood up. Although they were not familiar with the lyrics, they tried to keep up with the rhythm, humming softly, and joining in this silent historical intersection.

Malekith heard it, of course he heard it.

But he still did not move. His eyes, which could never be closed after losing their metal eyelids, were wide open, staring straight at the ground, at the bricks and stones that he, his father, and even all the Phoenix Kings had walked on, at this road leading to the Holy Fire, this road woven with glory, sacrifice, and betrayal.

He knew clearly that Dacus would not lend a hand, would not give orders, and would not provide any assistance.

This step must be completed by him himself.

Even if you have to crawl, you have to crawl in. Even if you have to drag your broken body, you have to get closer little by little.

But he knew his body too well, he knew his current condition, knew that every bone was trembling, every muscle was protesting. He had no midnight armor.

That suit of armor was a curse, but also a blessing; a cage, but also a help. It had imprisoned him, but also supported him. Now, when he was completely free from that suit of armor, he returned to the darkest years - the self who had escaped from the Holy Fire and spent more than ten years lying in bed in weakness.

Now, he was back in that bed.

But this time, there was no bed, no armor, only the holy fire, and the final step.

He chose not to climb.

Not only because it was undignified, but also because he couldn't crawl in. The process of taking off the armor just now had drained all his strength. His body was empty and he didn't even have the strength to simply reach out and touch the holy fire.

He just lay there on the cold ground like a discarded piece of scrap metal, listening to the voices singing praises to his father and letting the song echo in the air.

The melody in his ears brought him back to a long, long time ago, when the sky of Nagarythe was as blue as a wash, and dragon shadows occasionally passed by, leaving flowing light and shadows. The mountains in the distance were shrouded in clouds, with layers of peaks and lush greenery, and the waves of the ocean were also shining silver in the sun.

At that time, he was still a child.

He remembered that was the time he most longed to return to, the time he most dared not look back to, and also the time that healed him the most.

His father held his hand and took him for a ride on horseback. He remembered that his father's hands were warm and his voice was steady. After the ride, his father would pick him up, put him on his knees, and patiently tell him stories about honor and courage.

These memories were indelible treasures to him. He carefully kept them, not daring to think too much about them, but never daring to forget them.

But when the martial arts song reached the end of the prologue, the warm illusion was shattered, and his thoughts were dragged back to the hellish memories.

Sulek's body suddenly came crashing down, pressing heavily on him and pinning him in the mud and blood. He could feel every ounce of the weight of that huge body, which was like a huge boulder nailing his legs and waist.

He roared and struggled, and that roar was not of fear, but of complete anger and unwillingness. He threw down the sword in his hand and used his free hands to push and lift the dead object, even if it was just to move an inch.

At this moment, a familiar magical power quietly surged.

He instinctively turned his head and looked to the left, trying to find the source of the magic.

A white flame was coming at him at a rapid speed, the flame was pure white like snow, with glimmers of silver and gold, like moonlight on a deep blue sea. He knew that flame—it was the fire of Asuryan, the warmth he had felt in the Holy Fire, the fire he thought he had been blessed with.

And now, the fire came again, responding to his painful struggle, just as Asuryan had favored his father, and now it finally descended upon him, giving him a second chance, giving him redemption, and giving him recognition.

He no longer hesitated.

He burst out with all his remaining strength, pushed forward with his arms, and lifted Sulek's body off his body. He stood up shakily, looked at the oncoming white flames, and slowly opened his arms, like a believer waiting for salvation, ready to receive Asuryan's blessing.

The white flames roared in, sweeping over his body like a stream of frost and snow. He closed his eyes, waiting for the baptism of holy fire that would free him from more than twenty years of suffering, waiting for the moment of glory that should have belonged to him long ago.

however……

Pain suddenly tore through his chest and arms.

The pain was so real, like tens of thousands of cold arrows piercing his flesh at the same time. He suddenly opened his eyes and his pupils contracted violently.

It was not Asuryan's blessing that surrounded him.

It is the halberd of the Phoenix Guards.

Each halberd was wrapped in that familiar white flame, and each blow cut deep into his armor and soul, and each blow ignited the divine fire planted by Asuryan within him.

The physical pain was bearable, but the pain of betrayal tore at his soul like a flood. He thought he was the chosen one, the one who followed Aenarion, the heir to the mission entrusted by the gods.

But now, that faith was torn to pieces by the halberd.

He finally understood.

He was never blessed.

Everything he endured was not a gift from God, but a complete punishment. His father had never experienced the suffering he endured.

That holy fire is not a blessing, but a curse.

His fantasy collapsed, and he saw the truth of this punishment. He fell to his knees, dazed, and the heavy blows of the halberd continued, again and again, hitting his charred armor hard, leaving a trail of scorched fire marks.

"He's cheating on you."

A voice came from the depths of his soul, with a chilling chill, piercing his wavering mind like a sharp blade. The voice came out from his deepest memories, echoed in his ears, and suddenly called him back to reality.

The next second, another deep and hoarse voice was heard.

"He's right."

The voices continued, rising and falling deep in his mind, breaking through the dam of reason like a flood, roaring, questioning, tempting, and biting.

He knew where the noises were coming from and he ignored the distractions.

He clenched his teeth and forced himself to turn his head, just to focus his sight on the burning holy fire again.

However, this simple movement was so difficult that it seemed to tear the whole world apart. It took him ten sections to complete it. Ten sections! After singing the martial arts song for ten sections, he finally let the heavy head like lead slowly turn around.

When his gaze finally fell in the direction of the holy fire and his struggle was finally completed, he saw - Daquus.

He was standing beside the sacred fire, singing a martial arts song with a solemn and dignified expression. His voice was passionate and majestic, as if he was declaring and conveying something.

When their eyes met, Dacius just took a breath and nodded to Malekith. His expression contained no pity, no sarcasm, and even no expectation. It was an elusive calmness.

The corners of Malekith's mouth twitched.

He wanted to laugh, he really wanted to, but he couldn't.

For the first time, he realized that Dacus's face was so hateful that it made his heart itch and his teeth numb. He wanted to stand up right now, spit fiercely at that damn face, and then punch it hard with all his strength, hitting that face that was so calm that it made him maddening.

However, just as he was about to look away, he saw Dacius stop singing, move his lips slightly, and utter a few words silently.

He understood.

He knew Dacus and could naturally read every word from the silent lip movements.

“Face your fears and surpass yourself.”

This made his teeth itch even more.

He cursed inwardly, wishing he could rush forward to let Dacus know what true "fear" was, and let Dacus experience firsthand the price of "surpassing oneself".

But at this moment, he was stunned. He stood there, motionless. His heart seemed to be stabbed by something, and the scene that flashed through his mind before appeared vividly in front of him again.

That scene.

A white flame was coming at him at a rapid speed, the flame was pure white like snow, and was embellished with tiny glints of silver and gold, like moonlight falling on a deep blue sea. He knew that flame—it was the sacred fire of Asuryan!
That's not an illusion.

That is not a self-deceiving afterimage in someone's mind, not a dream, not a delusion.

That is true.

Otherwise, how could he turn over Sulek's extremely heavy body?
That's a giant dragon!
That was a weight that no mortal could shake, but it was overturned when he was on the verge of collapse. He stood up, stood up again, opened his arms to welcome the holy fire, all of this was not fiction.

The power of that moment was not through willpower, but the blessing of true presence.

Originally, he had always regarded that experience as a memory of failure, as a humiliation and tragedy. But now, he suddenly realized that it was not the bitter fruit of failure, it was a revelation, some kind of... evidence!
That scene was not an illusion, but reality.

He was blessed by Asuryan! No, he was truly favored by Asuryan!

This realization exploded in his heart, recasting his will and allowing him to find a little light of his own again.

He no longer hesitated. He had made up his mind and made up his mind. He gritted his teeth and swung his right arm vigorously.

However, the arm that had accompanied him in his battles and chopped off countless enemy heads was now like a sleeping dead branch, no longer flexible or powerful, just like the ten years he had been lying on the bed. But fortunately, it could still move, still move slowly on the ground, and still burn with the last bit of faith.

When the martial arts song reached its climax, the whole hall echoed with the passionate sound, and his hand finally slowly approached, almost touching the edge of the sacred fire.

But not enough.

This is not enough.

This distance made it impossible for him to complete the final breakthrough, and it was impossible for him to truly step into the holy fire and receive the final baptism.

Now, there is only one choice left before him.

An option... one he had thought about countless times but never dared to try.

A path he hadn't even considered as an option, a path of no return.

But at this moment, he understood that this was the only way, the only way to reach the other side of destiny.

When the martial song reached its climax, when Aenarion in the song was about to step into the sacred fire -

Malekith took a deep breath and then roared like a wild beast. At this moment, the echoes in the entire hall stopped abruptly, all the noise and all the syllables were instantly frozen, and even the holy fire seemed to be trembling with the roar. He used up his last bit of strength and slowly raised his right arm. It was so heavy that it seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. It struggled to pass through the layers of resistance in the air and trembled in front of the holy fire.

At this moment, he was extremely calm.

His fingers trembled in the air, like dead branches falling into a storm. He concentrated his last energy and quietly wove a magic thread in the depths of his consciousness. He was like an old fisherman, fishing alone in the unfathomable seabed, throwing this thin line to the intersection of the holy fire and reality, trying to touch the sacred essence.

He extended his magic while struggling to maintain his mental balance, but the thread still could not reach the core. He could feel the blazing light close at hand, yet it seemed as if there was an endless void between them. His face was distorted, his head was twitching violently, and his ears were buzzing like thunder. He was getting weaker and weaker, further and further away from reality, and stretching towards the unknown border...

He knew that this extension was dangerous and fatal. His life might be exhausted in an instant, and what was even more terrifying was that his soul might be torn out by this force, crossing the boundary of no return and being lost forever in the invisible abyss.

He felt like he was drowning.

The air became thinner, and my chest seemed to be crushed by invisible hands, and my breathing turned into desperate wheezes.

He was dying.

But at this moment, the sacred flame... flickered.

The holy fire began to shake violently, as if some kind of force was going upstream, passing through the constraints of time and space. The next moment, the holy fire seemed to have been ripped out of its essence, and the flame suddenly tilted, surging like water, and came into contact with his trembling fingers, holding his violently shaking hand steadily.

Not an illusion!

Not a ghost!

The flame took on substance, becoming solid and turning into a hand with will, which tightly grasped the hand he extended.

The flames ran down his arms and he was burning.

The remaining holy fire in his body was instantly ignited, tumbling violently, and pulsating along his blood vessels to his limbs and bones. He let out a scream that pierced his throat, a roar of pain, a scream of despair, tearing the sky apart.

This was no ordinary pain; it was the pain of every moment over the past four thousand years, gathered together in this moment and poured out onto his frail body.

escape!

escape!

escape!!
This impulse was like a raging storm, overwhelming everything. His brain was screaming, his nerves were twitching, and every cell in his body was screaming. He wanted to escape, to get rid of it, to put an end to it all.

But he couldn't escape, he couldn't even stand up.

“Face your fears and surpass yourself.”

Daxus's words were like a remnant, exploding in his mind, echoing over and over again, shaking the depths of his soul like thunder.

The sound pulled him back from the brink, and he stopped listening to the fear in his nerves and listened to his own heartbeat.

He remembered—

He was the son of Aenarion.

He clung to this belief tightly, unwilling to let go. If he could just hold on for a few more heartbeats, if he could just hold on a little longer, would he be able to... be reborn?
If Dacus deceived him, so be it, let him be deceived.

At least now, it is better to die in the truth than to continue to live in the abyss of doubt and pain, lingering on, and facing an era full of humiliation and torture again.

He finally understood that it was not the physical pain that caused him the greatest torture.

The excruciating pain that tears at the bone marrow is but a reflection of the struggle of the soul.

The real pain is his judgment on himself.

The first time he stepped into the sacred fire he knew that he was unworthy—unworthy—of this sacred baptism.

His hands are stained with blood, both symbolically and literally. It is an unwashable sin, and he always carries that guilt with him and has never let it go.

Asuryan never judged him.

Never.

All the punishment he had endured, all the calamities, all the torment, all the self-loathing he had endured—he had inflicted it upon himself.

He finally admitted it.

He accepted.

He failed.

The flames consumed him completely, burning away all the glory, anger, hatred, regret and love of his life.

He laughed, in this sacred burning, he laughed.

This is a smile of relief, a smile of resignation, a smile that is finally no longer escaping.

He knew he was dying.

Before he died, he just wanted to take one more look at Dacus, just one look. He wanted to see Dacus's expression at the moment - was it pity? Shock? Surprise? Angry? Or... crying?
however……

He was disappointed.

Daxus still had the same expression, the same unchanging look, the same calmness that made his teeth itch, as if the holy fire burning around him did not exist at all, as if he was not burned by the flames at this moment, as if nothing had happened.

That calmness, that composure, that indifferent attitude.

He hated it.

If possible, he really wanted to rush over right now and punch Daxus's annoying face, even if it was just a symbolic punch - just as a final farewell.

That's what he thought.

He did the same.

At the moment this thought flashed through his mind, he supported himself on the ground with his hands, exerted force with his elbows, and gripped the ground with his feet. The flames all over his body leapt violently in the air, bringing up a scorching heat wave.

Amidst exclamations—he stood up!

With sacred flames burning all over his body, he stood up without any warning, without any support or external force, and stood up steadily.

His figure was like a statue rising from a sea of ​​fire, making it impossible to look away.

Just as he was about to take a step, rush towards Daxus and punch him, he was stunned.

He realized something was wrong and he stood up!

But he was still burning, yes, the flames were still rolling in his body, but this time, the intense burning sensation that had made him feel so painful was gone.

He could no longer feel the pain.

He raised his hands in a daze, and looked at the back of his hands in the light of the fire. He turned his palms over, and in his palms, the blazing fire was moving like a spirit snake, jumping, dancing, and gently passing through his fingers.

At this moment, he seemed to see the color of the soul. Then, he looked at Dacus again.

This time, Daxus's expression changed.

A smile that came from the heart finally emerged on that calm face. It was a smile of joy, a smile of relief, a smile that seemed to foresee the future and be satisfied with the present.

When their eyes met again, Daxus gently raised his head in the direction of the holy fire. The gesture was like a ripple on still water, silent but full of power.

He looked in the direction Daxus had directed.

His gaze fell on the holy fire.

What he saw was no longer a single flame, but a colorful firelight, like a dream, shining like stars. He looked down and realized that he himself had long been made of flames.

The flames penetrated him, no longer burning, but a gentle embrace that touched every corner of his body and soul without any pain or even a sense of disembodiedness.

He felt like a ghost, free from the constraints of the flesh, wandering outside the world. He swore that he really heard it, heard thousands of voices singing in unison.

It is an ancient song, a hymn that transcends time and life and death.

He thought of his father, Aenarion.

He remembered his father, who had died for the peace of Ulthuan, the hero who would burn himself to death to protect it.

He finally understood.

Only by turning from ashes to rebirth in death can one become the Phoenix King.

There is no other way!
The flames engulfed him again, and he smiled again.

This was not the madness of struggle, but a complete relief. He smiled, took a step, and walked towards the sacred fire, walking into the sacred fire without hesitation or fear.

He walked into legend and into the end of fate.

His body seemed to have grown wings, wings made of flames, which slowly carried him into the air like a phoenix in a nest of flames.

The sea of ​​fire before him remained unchanged, the light and heat sweeping over him like a tide, but he could feel the breeze on his face, gently soothing his scorched skin and broken bones, like a pair of gentle hands, soft but firm.

He was in no pain.

He was no longer afraid.

He stood there quietly, allowing himself to turn into dust bit by bit and be blown away by the wind.

Finally, he disappeared, vanishing in the sacred fire.

There was no body left, no cry, only a flicker of fire, gently dancing. (End of this chapter)