Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Laughter, sharp and piercing, came from all directions, like the sound of nails scratching on metal, or like the sound of wild beasts gnawing on bones, filling Malekith's ears and squeezing into his consciousness without a gap, as if countless mouths were silently grinning, mocking him, sneering at him, cold, crazy, and twisted.

His world became narrow, he was bound by invisible chains, oppressing his thoughts and breathing. Sounds surged from all directions, drowning him like a tide, washing away his will and impacting his soul.

He was trapped in a transparent yet extremely hard cage, surrounded by endless cold mirrors, which, like the gaze of a judge, mercilessly reflected every corner of his heart, exposing the scars and secrets he had tried to forget, magnifying the cracks in his emotions, causing them to twist and break.

The world made of crystal surrounded him mercilessly.

Up and down, left and right, front and back, all were enclosed by cold and sharp crystals. Each crystal wall was trembling slightly, as if it had its own breath and pulse. They were breathing, approaching, and whispering.

They are alive, they are moving.

He saw his own face, staring at him from hundreds of angles in indescribable distorted forms. Those faces were filled with complex emotions: anger, resentment, sorrow, and fear, intertwined and tumbling in those eyes that did not belong to the outside world but to his own. Countless selves were roaring at him, accusing him, whispering to him, telling him the most primitive and inescapable despair in his heart.

He heard his own voice, echoing repeatedly in the crystal, one echo after another, like a huge bell ringing in a collapsing world, but the voice had long been deformed, like an echo from another world, full of strange textures, like a whisper in a rotting dream, every curse was twisted like a crack, every accusation was like the last gasp before reality collapsed.

Time loses its meaning here.

Every second seemed like an epoch nailed to death, and yet seemed to disappear into dust in an instant. He could no longer sense the passage of time, and he could not be sure whether he had stayed here for several days or just a moment.

It makes no sense.

His senses were deceived by this strange space, and he lost his judgment and got lost in the ever-changing and strangely colored light and shadow. The light was like a broken mirror, the shadow was like a crack, and every refraction was like a thin blade, cutting the corners of his heart.

His world became an endless, self-reflecting tunnel, trapping him in an endless self. He tried to find an exit, trying to escape this endless nightmare, but every time he turned around, the way he came had disappeared, as if it had been swallowed up and turned into nothingness, leaving only flickering crystal fragments, floating and spinning in the darkness, like solidified stars.

The walls of the passage seemed to be shrinking slowly, silently pressing on his space. The cold crystals were getting closer and closer. Their edges were as sharp as blades, flashing a merciless cold light, as if lurking beasts were slowly opening their bloody mouths.

They would devour him and eat him up completely.

His anger exploded in his chest, he would no longer remain silent, no longer give in. His eyes burned with anger, and a burning sword appeared from nowhere, roaring into shape in his hand, the sword flame seemed to burn the anger of his soul.

He slashed hard at the crystal walls that tried to squeeze and swallow him!
With a sharp and piercing scream, it seemed as if the whole world was shaking - the crystal shattered!

The cold interfaces that enclosed him collapsed under the flames and anger, turning into countless fragments, as if being caught in a dark storm, spinning and falling into an endless abyss.

He was relieved at the brief relief.

But as the shattered crystal flew apart, he caught a glimpse of a reflection in it - it was not him.

It was a face that could not be described in words, a strange and distorted face, pale and hideous, with hatred and evil intent burning in its eyes. The corners of its mouth were raised, as if it was smiling but not smiling. The light in its eyes was cold and vicious, like a warning from fate.

A chill ran through his heart.

However, before he could think deeply, a gust of wind blew by. The wind was not gentle, but a howl full of wildness and predatory desire. The wind no longer pushed, but pulled and dragged. The strong suction pulled his whole body off the ground and dragged him into the deeper void, the dark depths without stars.

He staggered, trying hard to steady himself, but every step was like stepping into a quagmire, as difficult as walking on the edge of time. He moved forward slowly, with no longer a road under his feet, only darkness, like a tide, swallowing up the light behind him.

Light and darkness continued to merge in his vision, tearing and splitting each other, forming an indescribable chaos. It was the dead silence of colors, the collapse of order, and it was the reality that he was most reluctant to face in the depths of his soul.

Under his feet was not solid stone, nor fragile bones, but something that creaked like crystal. The sound was particularly clear in the dead silence, and every step was like breaking the ice on the lake of death.

Every time he took a step, he could feel the subtle cracking sensation coming from the soles of his feet, as if he was not stepping on the ground, but the wreckage of his own shattered soul. Every step he took was not to move forward, but to crush and flatten a part of himself, kneading it into this twisted dream.

Those seemingly insignificant crystal fragments were not natural things. Each of them flashed his own image, twisted, broken, and incomplete. It was as if every step he took would trample a past self into dust. What he lost was not the memory, but the foundation of his own existence. That feeling was like dismantling the puzzle of his soul step by step.

If he dared to stop, those tiny and sharp crystal fragments would surge like a tide, slowly but unstoppably dragging him into the endless abyss. He could feel their greed, like silent beasts, waiting for him to fall, to be still, and then devour him without mercy.

Everything around him was twisting and breaking apart madly.

His world was collapsing, not just physically, but in terms of concepts, existence, and thinking. His shattered face kept flashing before his eyes, sometimes in the reappearing crystal reflection, sometimes floating in the distorted texture in the air, like an endless nightmare, repeating, entangled, and torn apart.

Suddenly, a gust of angry wind roared from the front, carrying the whispers of an ancient language and like an obscure curse. It had no clear direction, trying to force him to retreat, but also dragging him forward invisibly.

His body was being pulled tighter and tighter by the force, and he heard a mixture of sounds in his ears, those screams, whispers, cries, wails, and curses, interweaving into an invisible net, tearing his reason into pieces inch by inch. Each sound seemed to be expressing an extreme pain and despair, but they were so vague, like a dream talk from the deepest part of Hades, difficult to recognize and elusive.

Crystal fragments flew like sharp blades in the storm, cruelly cutting his skin. His cheek was cut open, the pain spread like a burning sensation, blood slowly dripped down his chin, the scalding liquid scattered in the wind, fell at his feet, mixed with crystal fragments, merged into a strange and cruel beauty, the luster of the blood and crystals shone in a brief moment, giving off a kind of sacred illusion.

However, every pain reminded him that he was still alive and he had not surrendered.

He still moves forward in this fragmented and malicious world, even though the future is unknown and every step is a gamble.

He staggered forward, shaky, and raised his left hand to shield his face, trying to block the dazzling light and the flying crystal fragments. He didn't know what was waiting for him ahead, nor did he know if this nightmare would ever end. But he knew that if he stopped, he would no longer be himself, but just another silent ghost in the void.

Darkness, like an inky night tide, continued to spread on both sides of him, slowly but unstoppably devouring the remaining light. He felt fear, an unprecedented fear, like cold claws tightly grasping his heart. The fear did not come from what was in front of him, but from deep inside, from the edge of his consciousness.

There, in the lightless shadow, there was some huge existence moving slowly. It had no clear shape and could not be completely captured, but its existence truly oppressed the space, making every inch of air heavy as lead.

That thing was bigger than a city, bigger than a mountain. It had no name, but its mere existence was enough to make space tremble and mind collapse. It squirmed in the abyss, as if turning over in sleep, and that movement was enough to distort all the rules around it.

Malekith could feel its breath, not the wind, but the rhythm of some primordial force. He could feel the power of that existence, the indescribable power that existed with the world, watching him, and although it was not close, it made his hair stand on end, his knees weak, and his heart beat faster.

His breathing became rapid and his chest felt like it was being hit by a hammer. Every breath he took seemed like he was fighting against the void, and every breath seemed to be snatched back from the abyss.

He stumbled forward, his steps were jumbled and broken.

The road under his feet seemed to no longer be a physical entity, but an illusion that was being reconstructed according to his will. With every step he took, the already fragile road shattered under his feet, and the crystal fragments were like a flock of frightened birds, whistling into the air, swirling around him, and then flying into the endless dark abyss.

He felt fear, and that fear was no longer an emotion, but a real pain that invaded his bones and nerves and strangled his consciousness. He once doubted whether he could really move forward, or whether he had begun to be swallowed by this chaos, along with his beliefs, memories, and even existence itself, being erased.

The sword in his hand was heavy and powerless, as if its edge had long been worn away by time and nightmares. He felt the reflections around him shrinking, trembling, and fleeing silently, like a group of ghosts who were unwilling to face the truth, wailing silently in the darkness.

Are those reflections him? Or are they just projections of a certain moment in his past? Or perhaps, he is no longer a real existence, but just one of the reflections, flowing and sinking among the countless selves?
Everything became so chaotic, so chaotic that his mind began to break apart, and his heart began to fall apart. He could no longer distinguish between reality and illusion. Those reflections looked at him mockingly, twisted and broken, with cold glints of mockery in their eyes and strange curves at the corners of their mouths, mocking his powerlessness, his fear, and his self-deception.

He didn't know whether he was still the same person he once was, the king who once proudly wielded weapons and fought bravely, or whether he had already died in this void, leaving behind only an empty shell trapped in the mirror, drifting with the waves.

He couldn't see anything. The only thing he could see was his own distorted and broken reflection, flowing in the endless darkness, clinging to every surface of the void and the crystal, showing him that familiar but disgusting smile.

The next second may also be the previous second. Time has already lost its meaning...

Malekith reacted, but he didn't struggle or shout. He chose to stand still, like an afterimage standing firm in the flames.

The moment he put on the crown, he let his consciousness withdraw and wander outside of this transformed body. He fell into the deepest part of the gloomy dungeon, allowing Deha to swallow him up like a tide. He felt the rhythm of the earth veins and the surge of the remnants of the ritual, and then took advantage of the momentum and soared up on the waves.

His consciousness broke through the palace roof like a meteor, passing through the layers of floors, passing through the throne room where his father once lived. He looked down at Tal Anlek. The former glory was now nothing more than a speck of dust and ants in his eyes. He took a step forward like flapping wings, and crossed the interface of the mortal world and entered the high-dimensional realm composed of energy.

As if for the first time he had donned the Iron Circlet, he gazed upon the Realm of Chaos - the realm of the Chaos Gods, a place where time and space, reason and form, were all illusions.

But this time, he felt no fear at all.

No struggle, no dodging.

He appeared in the form of armor, his whole body burning fiercely. The blazing white light drew a provocative flame in the endless darkness, like a blade tearing through the night, causing all the worlds to look back.

The consciousness that ordinary people could not recognize began to vibrate, and the ancient existence sleeping in the deep void slowly turned its attention, and its gaze was like a thousand stars. Malekith could feel their gaze, as heavy as the burning of a star, and as oppressive as the surging tsunami.

"I, Malekith!" he cried, his voice piercing the Chaos. In his hand a flaming sword appeared, a blade like the Sunblade wielded by Aenarion. "Son of Aenarion, slayer of demons! Hear my name, and know me - the Righteous King of the Elves!"

The Temple of Asuryan is not only located at the intersection of the world's crustal faults, but also at the crack line of the cosmic structure. Here, it is a node where dimensions intersect, a place where reality is weak and gods can touch. Here, gods, extra-dimensional entities, and even Asuryan himself may cross the boundaries and interfere with the mortal world.

It was no accident that his father stepped into the Holy Fire here. That leap was not only a tempering of the body, but also a contract of the soul. Here, Asuryan's blessing could truly shape a being like Aenarion, neither a god nor an ordinary being.

Perhaps, there must be other places in this world where other forces can enter.

Vaal Anvil, for one.

This explains why so many magical artifacts can be created there. It is not just the result of skills, but more like the product of energy nodes, and the trace left in the mortal world by the great power that crosses boundaries.

Why was the Dawn Pyramid he had visited before able to burn away all those filthy things? Why could its fierce light tear apart corruption and disguise? There must be some kind of channel, some kind of connection, that pulled the extraordinary power from another world and poured it into this land.

There must be other shrines, scattered throughout the world.

Elves, lizardmen, humans, dwarves...different races, different gods, all come into contact with the origin of the world in certain specific places. In these places, the boundary between heaven and earth is weak, and divinity is diffuse like gas. As long as you find a way, you can communicate with it, or even force your way through.

In the Chaos Wasteland, there must be some kind of node, or altar, or living entrance. Those miracles of madness and depravity did not come out of thin air. They came from the loopholes in the structure itself, the crack in the cosmic grid that should not exist.

It was in places like this that the Iron Circlet was found.

In other words, this entire network, these shrines, altars, sacred fires, rituals, anvils, pyramids, are not isolated phenomena, but a huge power structure, an invisible but concrete network of connections. A canopy across the stars, hidden behind reality, a multi-dimensional mysterious network, the weaver of which may be a god, an ancient saint, or fate itself.

The leap of consciousness can only stay for a moment, can only glimpse a corner, can not stay for long, can not see the whole picture. It is like turning a corner of a page, before reading the words, it is blown away by the wind. The brief glimpse connects the world, but also disturbs some sleeping existence.

And his behavior at that time was just as Dacus said: "Pretend and then run away."

Now, entering through this network is another concept, an experience different from all his previous consciousness leaps. This leap is long-lasting, continuous, and an immersive stay. He not only enters, but is also drawn in, absorbed, and woven into a part of the network.

And in this process of staying and crossing, there was a certain existence, an indescribable will that intercepted him. It was not an attack, nor a judgment, but a kind of obstruction, a well-thought-out setup, to make him self-destruct and collapse.

At that moment, a sudden realization struck Malekith like thunder, freeing him from himself for a moment. The fear and uncertainty that had gripped his mind suddenly disintegrated.

If he could find a way... a way to truly master the power of the network and stabilize the linked consciousness, then... he could escape from his current predicament!

This is not just an escape, but a sublimation!
He combined the vague voice in his head when he fell to the ground just now with the various choices he had made. He clearly realized that he was trapped.

It is not physical imprisonment, but a blockade of consciousness and beliefs.

Some existence doesn't want him to go down this path.

I don't want him to become the kind of person who can "travel through the Internet."

That was a kind of hostility, but also a kind of fear, the fear that he would become a variable, a kind of fire that could not be controlled.

So, He set a trap.

Lead him into self-doubt, weave a cycle of self-denial, make him question his own existence and value, let him lose his way in those countless reflections, and decay in fear, humiliation and confusion. Thinking of this, he smiled.

It was a mocking, disdainful laugh that pierced through hypocrisy.

The laughter cut through the silence like a sharp blade, shaking the twisted crystal and cutting the invisible chains.

He clearly remembered that the moment he stepped into the sacred fire, he felt a certain presence.

A certain energy, a certain consciousness, leaked into this world like a tide, conveying his will to him through the channel on this land - the Holy Fire.

If... he used his senses to extend his tentacles and used his consciousness to touch the edge of eternity, in that place that was infinitely far away yet so close - he could almost touch the existence of Asuryan himself!
Or, conversely, let Asuryan see him.

He himself is a beacon, a signal burning in the void, an echoer at a great cost.

Being here, as a spellcaster, is like swimming in dark water. He can't breathe, but he can feel the flow of everything.

Then, he saw it.

A Leviathan, rising from the underwater depths.

A huge shadow tore through the silence, the sea surged, and the soul trembled. He felt that the overwhelming power of the gods was crossing dimensions and migrating from one world to another. It was a displacement beyond the cognition of all mortals and a transposition of the essence of power.

He slowly raised his hands and stared at the back of his hands in the reflected light. His hands were still the same, cracked, charred, covered with burnt muscles and twisted textures.

But he didn't feel any pain.

He turned his palm over, and in his palm, a ray of blazing fire swam, jumped, and danced like a spirit snake, gently passing through and rolling between his fingers.

The flame is still there.

Never extinguished.

As long as there was some way to harness the power of the Holy Fire and use it as a weapon, he was sure that he could escape his current predicament.

He never doubted it.

Other elves have mastered the art of bending fire to their will, not as a miraculous feat, but as a skill. The priests who clear the way for the Phoenix King and protect him as he passes must know some secrets. Some among them must know how to direct the fire, how to blend it with their souls without being burned.

Fire avoidance spell!
This in itself illustrates a fact - in this world, in this era, mortals can indeed do this.

They shape energy in a completely different way. They don't control it by force or confront it. Instead, they guide, accommodate, or even just serve as a barrier to protect others from being hurt by the flames in a gentle, cautious and self-limited manner.

He disdained this kind of docile behavior. He and his father did not do this when they stepped into the sacred fire.

However, this thought, this tiny idea, quietly ignited a certain possible hope in his heart. Perhaps there is a way to save himself, or even... to light himself up.

It is not to drive away anything, nor to protect anything, but to transform oneself into an extension of the flame, and into light itself!

Maybe no one has ever done it, but he believes he can do it.

Because he is Malekith!

He was the son of Aenarion, the slayer of demons, and he would never be trapped in this damned place, never!

At that moment, he roared angrily, and a heart-shattering roar shook the entire space.

The light suddenly burst out, so blinding that it seemed to devour everything, filling the entire space mercilessly. Every crack, every fragment, every inch of broken reflection began to emit a terrifying light, like a star suddenly burning, or like the world was on the verge of burning and collapsing.

He could feel himself gradually losing his sense of reality. The world became blurred, the boundaries were collapsing, and he was completely swallowed up by the endless light, like a torch ignited by flames, burning bit by bit to the end of the void.

He felt himself burning, but the flames did not hurt him at all.

On the contrary, he felt that he was becoming the light, a kind of eternal candle.

He didn't know if he still existed in his original form, or if he had become part of this sea of ​​light, forever blending into it, becoming a ripple in all things.

"Put away your worthless lies!"

Suddenly, he rushed forward, like an arrow forged in divine fire, and hit the nearest crystal without hesitation.

The crystals spun, trembled, shattered, and disintegrated, turning into star-like dust in the tide of light, fluttering in the air.

He succeeded.

His consciousness, no, even his existence, suddenly penetrated that layer of blockade and appeared in the void.

It was pure chaos, a realm without time and space, up and down, left and right. He could feel that in the depths of the distant yet approaching void, the ancient existence that was originally sleeping in the deep chaos was shaking and awakening!

Their gazes were as heavy as a myriad of stars, and as silent and oppressive as the collapse of the universe.

The dragon armor appeared naturally in this void, like a physical entity of will, wrapping his body tightly. The Yangyan Sword suddenly appeared in his hand, and flames gushed out from the blade, like the sun at its zenith, like an unyielding oath.

"I, Malekith!" he declared loudly, his voice like thunder, piercing through the dimensional torrent, pointing the Sun Sword directly at the being that was watching him, "Look into my eyes, look straight at me!"

His declaration is not just an angry counterattack, not just a cry of glory, but also a call, a provocation to the Chaos Gods, and a gaze at fate itself.

He could feel that their gazes were shaking. He could feel that the consciousness that could be recognized by extraordinary people seemed to be shocked by his actions? Even if it was just a moment of pause, it was also a response.

This made him laugh.

It was not a chuckle, but the kind of laugh of a king who was high and mighty and ignored the rules.

Sarcasm, contempt, burning!
The next moment, he no longer hesitated.

He broke through the void and shot out like a sharp arrow, rushing towards the existence that was watching him - quickly!
He wanted to tear that gaze apart, to let the invisible being know: he was not a mortal, not a pawn, not a sacrifice. He was the king, he was Malekith.

He stepped through the void, like an undeniable flaming sword, and rushed towards the existence that was watching him without hesitation.

He didn't know whether this would be a devastating collision, whether he would be instantly crushed into dust by the stellar will, but he would not stop, he would not allow himself to retreat.

The light twisted around him, no longer the colors known to the world, but a torrent of will, memory, anger, glory and faith. He saw a thousand selves, a thousand possibilities of fate, each burning and shouting at the same time.

He saw the grief and anger he felt when he never became a king; he saw the humiliation he felt when he was defeated by Cain's sword; he saw countless versions of himself kneeling down, being forgotten and drowned - and he denied all of this.

He burned the threads of fate with his rage and shattered the mirror of time with his pure will.

The entire void was like being struck by a giant hammer, with ripples of energy echoing out, like the heartbeat of a god, like an ancient war drum rumbling from the depths of chaos. The existences that were watching him began to take on outlines, not physical forms, but manifestations of concepts, the existence of "definitions" that ignorance could not bear.

It was not an eye but a focus of consciousness; it was not a face but the echo of his presence from the universe itself.

He was struck by countless "gazes", each one was like a mountain pressing down on his soul. He should have split, should have collapsed, but he didn't. He was still speeding, still roaring, the flames left a long tail behind him, like a long whip of light that cut through the chaos.

He hit the edge of that will.

It is not a contact of the flesh, but a penetration of the soul into the divine.

In an instant, his consciousness was torn apart, reorganized, extended, and upgraded. He felt the perspective of God and saw the entire world floating like a bubble on the tide of countless dimensions.

He saw Ulthuan, Elsin Arwen, the mountains, the temples of the Old Ones... He saw the weeping nightmare, the tangle of curses.

Time rushed through his mind like a river, and the past and the future collided to create sparks at the same moment.

And right in the center of the impact, he saw himself.

He is neither a mortal nor a god, he is a key, a rune broken between blood and fire, the watershed between oblivion and return.

He heard voices, coming from chaos, from his own deep subconscious, and from some older, more distant existence.

"You can't exist like this."

"You are not one of them."

"You are too clear, too distinct, and too persistent."

He did not respond; his presence itself was a rebuttal.

At that moment, his consciousness entered a completely new state.

Time is no longer linear, he is no longer Malekith, no longer the son of Aenarion, he is the flame that tears the void, the "possibility" that the gods are unwilling to admit but have to face.

He did not stop moving forward.

He kept passing through Their gazes, crossing the boundary that should not be crossed, and at that moment, he even saw Him - Asuryan.

No, it is His reflection.

An indescribable sacred existence, like the scorching sun reflected in the deep sea, blurs, trembles, and swallows up all meaning, but is full of attraction and mysterious calling.

Malekith stretched out his hand unconsciously.

As soon as his fingers touched the edge of the light, the whole world collapsed.

The void began to vibrate, and the divinity rushed into his body like blood. His body was not flesh, but a shell of all things; his consciousness was not consciousness, but a new star in the connection network.

He felt the holy fire surging into his heart. It was no longer just a jumping light, but a burning logic, a structure, an order, and a law to reconstruct his own existence.

He is not dead.

He is being reborn! (End of this chapter)