Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

The moment Malekith disappeared in the holy fire, the ground shook briefly and low, as if some ancient power deep underground was turning over and groaning dully.

But that's it.

There was no loud noise following the tremor, and a crack appeared at the top of the pyramid, allowing sunlight to pour down and illuminate the new king standing in front of the sacred fire.

There was no crack in the ground, causing Daxus and the others standing by the sacred fire or the spectators in the distance to fall into the void abyss.

There was no sustained shaking, no alarm that would have caused Dacreus to cry out, no panic that would have caused people to rush out of the Temple of Asuryan, as if it were about to collapse entirely and turn to ashes.

Everything was unexpectedly calm.

After the shaking stopped, Daxus did not move. He just stood there, looking around, watching every detail alertly and calmly.

He remembered it very clearly.

When Malekith first stepped into the Holy Fire, the island could hardly bear the tearing sensation of existence. The temple seemed to be split by an invisible axe, the ground shook violently, and the towering columns around it collapsed one after another in the shaking. The whole island was like a lone boat on the raging sea, tossed by the raging waves. People were unstable and tossed to pieces by the shock. Bricks and stones poured down like rain, collapsed from the corridors, fell from high places, hit the cracked marble tiles, and splashed dust and debris.

He still remembered the chairs that had been neatly arranged in the hall, falling to the floor one after another; the ancient altars were blown away, and the holy vessels tumbled to the ground; the plaster on the walls peeled off like quicksand, and the large stone slabs that fell from the dome seemed like the sky was falling, deafening, and a hideous crack suddenly appeared in the center of the floor, threatening to swallow up both the sacred and the mundane.

Dark clouds were gathering, like a canopy of rage woven by the gods, covering the entire island. Lightning was like whips, dancing wildly in the sky, and thunder was rumbling, its sound like the roar of gods.

At that moment when the pressure was as heavy as a mountain, a shrill scream resounded through the heavens and the earth - it was no ordinary sound, it was a mournful cry from the deepest part of the soul, piercing the eardrums of the listeners and shattering the hearts of many people.

That was Spicy Chicken's long howl of pain coming from the depths of the holy fire.

And the second time was more powerful than the first.

As Malekith, Khadroine, Teclis, and the last remaining Phoenix Guard left, a loud noise drew them back, just in time to see the Temple of Asuryan explode in a blinding flash of white light. The temple fell inward, but the destruction did not stop there, as cliffs collapsed into the sea, huge fissures tore across the island, and the waters of the inland sea swept in.

But this time, it was so quiet, so quiet that it was disturbing.

Daxus recalled his memories and looked intently at the holy fire. The sacred flame was no longer that deep blue, nor was it like the flowing flames in the cold night sky. Instead, it gradually became pale and transparent, as light but strange as morning mist.

It was a light that was almost impossible to look directly at, like the wrath of morning light descending from heaven, gradually illuminating the entire interior of the temple, dyeing the dome, walls, and even the air itself with a sacred color.

But Malekith did not show up, was not reshaped.

Only the pale fire, like a signal about to explode, burned brighter and stronger...as if it was waiting for something, and as if it was about to reshape a certain existence.

Thirty seconds passed...

A minute passed...

He still could not see the reappearance of Malekith. There was no shadow, no human silhouette distorted by the flames, not even the slightest fluctuation. There was only the holy fire that was so white that it was almost invisible, burning quietly.

He frowned, slowly reached his hand into his arms, took out a cigarette from the cigarette box, put it in the corner of his mouth without any sense of ceremony, and bit it.

There were soft footsteps, and Finubar stood beside him noiselessly.

He didn't turn around, but just took out another one and handed it over.

"What's going on?" Finnubar asked in a low voice the moment he caught the cigarette.

"I don't know." Daxus answered crisply, his tone calm and direct, without any unnecessary embellishment.

This is not perfunctory, but I really don't know.

He only knew that Aenarion had stepped into the holy fire and was completely engulfed by the sacred flame, burning his flesh and blood, but was reborn a moment later and walked out of the flames, becoming a legend.

He only knew that when Bell Shana entered the holy fire, the flames began to become brighter and brighter, gradually becoming pale, so white that it was impossible to look directly at them. He walked slowly, passing through the holy fire, as if he was walking through the dreams of an old friend, and yet he seemed unaffected by it.

Then, suddenly, the flames shone brightly, so brightly that the spectators had to close their eyes to block out the flames that could burn their retinas. When they opened their eyes again, they saw the vague shadow of Bell Shana emerging from the flames. He turned around and walked out unharmed.

As for Malekith, he entered the Holy Fire twice, although the experiences were different, one time he became spicy shredded chicken and the other time he became teppanyaki, but no matter how miserable it was, no matter what the outcome was, the process was short and clear, and the result came out quickly, not as weird and suffocating as it is now.

From the moment he took out the cigarette to the moment Finnubar took it and started talking, the total time from the beginning to now has been nearly two minutes.

Malekith has not yet appeared.

"Some time ago, I studied the records of successive Phoenix Kings entering the Holy Fire..." Finnubar began, with a hint of temptation and uneasiness in his tone.

"Your research is meaningless." Daxus interrupted in a low voice, his eyes still fixed on the Holy Fire, "It has no reference value at all."

Finnubar was stunned for a moment, then nodded, his expression gloomy. He knew that Dacus was right. Since Bel-Shana, when the Phoenix Kings stepped into the Holy Fire, they mostly followed the rules and were cautious and conservative. They were blessed with fire-avoiding spells and wore divine talismans for protection. After entering the fire, they only walked around symbolically to complete the tradition and ritual. No one had ever penetrated their hearts and challenged their essence...

There had never been any like Aenarion and his sons, save Morwë.

At this moment, he suddenly realized that perhaps... only Aenarion's experience could be used as a comparison.

The problem is, no one knows what happened to Aenarion in the fire.

After sighing, he stopped thinking about these trivial things. He shifted his gaze from the holy fire to Daquus beside him.

Even if Malekith fails... he still has Darkius.

Before this, he had placed all his bets on Dacus.

He held the cigarette gently between his lips, a complex emotion emerging in his eyes, both anxiety and expectation.

Just as Dacus took back the lighter, he suddenly felt a strange feeling, not palpitations, nor a heart attack. His body was healthy, his muscles were as tight as stone, and his heartbeat was as steady as a war drum.

It's not that there's something wrong with my body, it's that...

It is the extinguished Phoenix Binding Curse.

It... moved.

Previously, the young man had a hobby of collecting, and this hobby was ignited by Maranul. Then, the situation was reversed, and Maranul was ignited by the current Dacus to rob tombs.

Originally, the extinguished Phoenix Binding Curse was just a small, seemingly useless fragment that the young man had picked up at the market in Clar Kalond, mistaking it for a ruby ​​with the phoenix emblem.

No one cared about it, and he didn't care about it either, until Darkus found it in the cabinet of the room he lived in in Night Warden's Castle.

The second piece was found by Daxus in the ancient battlefield of the Sinister Peaks, and the last piece was found by him from that unlucky Shadow Chief.

These three pieces are all extinguished Phoenix Binding Curses.

At first, they were just silent fragments, lifeless. After being pieced together, they revealed a mysterious sense of unity, an indescribable wholeness, like a skeleton finally being complete.

Although this spell has the dual blessing of magic resistance and fire resistance, Daxus never wore it on his body.

He was afraid that the brainless autistic kid would suddenly become an unhappy punk one day and set him on fire, turning him into the Happy One of Fire. So he always chose to put the binding spell in his luggage, taking it with him wherever he went, like a shadow, never leaving.

But as time passed, as his understanding of himself continued to improve, and as he explored the essence of things in depth, he began to discover... things were not as he had originally thought.

When he died in the Chaos Realm, the crow incarnated by Tzeentch, a life form that did not belong to the material world, carried the binding curse, crossed dimensions and space, and brought this extinguished curse stone to him.

If he guessed correctly... the binding spell has the function of resurrection.

This is also why Tzeentch brought it, not as a charity, but as a bait, a deal.

just now……

Maybe he was standing too close to the Holy Fire; maybe the moment Malekith entered the Holy Fire, it triggered some kind of energy polarization reaction; maybe even more likely...

The extinguished Phoenix Binding Curse was lit up.

It became——the burning Phoenix Binding Curse.

The abstract phoenix pattern in the center of the binding spell suddenly burned up. It was no longer a dead pattern, but a real burning phoenix. It spread its wings, swooped down, and was reborn among the flames, as if it was ready to break through this reality at any time and fly to the destiny to which it should belong.

Daxus held a cigarette in his mouth, ashes had already fallen between his fingers. He tried to pry open the gap in the binding spell, but the gap no longer existed. The three pieces of the binding spell had merged into one, making it impeccable.

Originally, he wanted to wait until the ceremony was over and find a suitable time to ignite the binding spell.

Now it seems that it is not needed.

"Ah."

Finnubar did not reach out to take the binding spell, but looked at Daquus with a complicated look.

"This is the Burning Phoenix Binding Curse. I give it to you." Daxus said in a relaxed tone, as if he was giving someone an umbrella instead of a magical weapon that could reverse life and death. "We have known each other for such a long time, and I don't think I have ever given you any gifts. This is a gift between friends as compensation... If I am not mistaken, it has the ability to resurrect?"

At the end of his speech, he turned his gaze and looked towards the holy fire that was as bright as the sky.

Yes, compensation.

With his actions, Finnubar, who was supposed to enter the holy fire, now stood beside the holy fire like a spectator, becoming a witness to the ceremony instead of a participant. As compensation, giving the binding spell to this partner who had no means to save his life but had walked all the way here was also worthy of the silent agreement between them.

Now he doesn't want anything to happen to Finnubar.

"Shouldn't... you add an insurance policy?" Finnubar first shook his head to refuse, then lowered his voice and said these meaningful words.

Daxus smiled, shook his head, and spoke in a low and firm voice, cigarette between his lips.

"Should I go in and look for him? No way, absolutely not."

"I will enter the Sacred Fire, but not now, not today."

After he finished speaking, he gently placed the burning binding spell on Finnubar's palm and turned to look at the holy fire that was so white that it was almost annihilated.

That's not the end, but a beginning of some kind.

"He..." Finubar spoke softly, his voice filled with uneasiness and confusion.

"I don't know." Daxus answered straightforwardly, "There is no problem with the process. Maybe... he encountered some trouble. I remember he told me something..."

Then he told the story of how Malekith had put on the Midnight Armor and went to Ithil to show off. This was something Malekith was very proud of, and he had mentioned it many times when they first met, and he had to agree with it even though his ears were callused.

“This…” The expression on Finnubar’s face changed unpredictably, sometimes he was shocked, sometimes he was disgusted, and sometimes he seemed to want to laugh but he didn’t dare to laugh out loud, he could only frown and shake his head.

"Metaphorically speaking..." Daxus continued, with a raised lip, "That time he was standing outside the window, and suddenly woke up the sleeping being in the room, and then he ran away. This time..."

He paused, his eyes swept across the burning sacred fire, and then looked at the spectators around him who had solemn expressions, expectations and confusion on their faces.

"This time, he walked in through the main door openly, and before he even raised his foot, the beings in the room already knew he was coming in. To use another analogy, they used the fire avoidance spell before, but they only stepped into the holy fire and briefly attracted Asuryan's attention, just like when he stood outside the window that time."

After he finished speaking, he couldn't help laughing, with a kind of self-deprecating carefreeness in this absurd world.

"I think it's possible, and it's a very strong possibility. Otherwise, there's really no way to explain why he hasn't come out yet."

Look who is in this hall. Except for the Everqueen, the Asur traditionalists, and the important figures guarding Naggaroth, Asheril, and Elsin Arwen, all others are here.

If an existence is a beacon, a flickering spark, then every person in this hall, together, is a torch that cannot be looked at directly. It is a wick that is hot enough to distort reality, and it is a delicious cake that Slaanesh dreams of swallowing, bite by bite, with juice and meat.

Moreover, this ceremony is not as simple as three steps.

It is not a ritualistic process of opening the refrigerator door, putting the elephant in, and closing the refrigerator door. It is not a symbolic ritual performance to fool the people and stabilize the situation.

No, absolutely not.

This is a transformation from the old to the new, and is the first true clarion call of a new era.

I have been saying that a new era has arrived, a new era has arrived...

But that so-called new era was only a new era for Duruchi, not a new era for the entire elves.

Malekith walked out of the holy fire and was reborn from the ashes. This was not only the sublimation of an individual and the birth of a king, but also a reconstruction that shook the old order from its foundation.

This is more significant than Dacus walking in and out.

Much larger.

Because Malekith does not represent "change", he represents the "legitimacy of the new order".

It is not the return of the old king, but the rebirth of the king.

This "new" is a real thing that was pieced together step by step from blood, fire, and the corpses of history. The significance of this ceremony is not just that Malekith has become the Burning King, and the holy fire in his body is more blazing than the sun.

Rather, everyone, whether it was Asur, Duruch, or the elven nobles, red dragons, messengers, and demigods in the audience seats, they all acquiesced, or even accepted, that this world was no longer the old order represented by Asur, no longer the golden cage woven of elegance, gentleness, courtesy, and tradition.

Not any more.

A new era has begun.

And this new era is not the new era of Asur, nor the new era of Duruchi.

It is a new age of spirits ignited by the sacred fire.

If Malekith is reborn from the ashes and walks out of the holy fire, from today on, the elves will no longer be divided by origin, no longer determine loyalty by blood, and no longer be determined by place of birth.

They only recognize one thing, the will in the flames.

And Malekith is the manifestation of that will!

So, what could Dacuus do? He said he could do nothing to help, and he had no intention of entering the Holy Fire to find Malekith.

He thought Malekith would make it.

Just like in another timeline, Malekith escaped into the Chaos Realm and eventually walked out of it.

He didn't think that Malekith would be burned to the bone, nor did he think that Asuryan chose to give up Malekith because of his appearance.

He had given advance notice, more than once.

It is said very clearly and unambiguously.

Otherwise, why would Bel Hathor, who was free of disease and had a long life span, die earlier than in another timeline? Moreover, the way he died...

The signal is intermittent? The network is bad?
This is Medieval, not 40K.

That was Asuyan, not the one sitting on the toilet next door.

The world he was in was not on the same level as the one next door, absolutely not. Even if he just stood at the door and took a glance, he could feel that the weight of the divine will and destiny carried by both sides were not on the same level.

And now Asuyan is more powerful than ever before, at least, that's what he thinks.

The war has begun, but casualties have not yet appeared. The faith projection on the Asur side is at a stable average stage, neither at a low point nor at a peak, like a bowstring that is fully drawn but not yet released, with power accumulated in it, waiting to be released.

On the other side, that is, Duruchi's side.

Three weeks, a full twenty-four days of vacation were not taken in vain.

During the holidays, factories stopped working and the military stopped training, but society as a whole did not come to a standstill. Ceremonies continued, activities were staged, performances emerged one after another, and the service industry was in full swing, working day and night, making a lot of money.

The basic material distribution policy of Chapeyuto during the holidays continued as usual, with bread, canned food, wine, and dried meat being distributed. When receiving the materials, Duruchi stood in front of the material table and praised Asuryan loudly. This had become a must, a ritual, a form, and an echo of faith.

Highlight the concept of "bread and circuses".

He always thought ten steps ahead before taking one step, and as early as fifty years ago, he laid the groundwork and prepared for today's ceremony.

Or... at this moment, Malekith was walking slowly on the stairs, step by step towards the silent, ancient, burning throne, towards Asuryan who was sitting above and looking down at him?
Or... at this moment, Malekith is fighting the four Chaos Gods, in a realm where time and space intersect and soul and reality are intertwined, turning his will into a blade and slashing into the torrent?

Or... has this ceremony already triggered a struggle and collision between the God of Order and the God of Chaos?

A war that has never truly ended since the creation of the world has heated up again because of the steps of an elf?
Daxus looked towards the area where the demigods were. He wanted to read something from their expressions, movements, or aura fluctuations.

However, the demigods did not react, let alone give any feedback. They were silent, as if frozen in time. No one moved, no one spoke, and there was not even eye contact, as if they were all waiting for the arrival of a great node.

Ten minutes have passed since Malekith entered the Holy Fire...

For ten full minutes, there was no sound, no sign of anything happening, no sign of anything unusual. Only time was wearing away at the patience and sanity of the spectators second by second.

Daxus moved. He couldn't wait any longer.

He wanted to calm the increasingly restless mood of the spectators;

He wanted to go over and see how the injuries to Gilead and Eltharion's shoulders and necks were;
He wanted the Midnight Armor put away, he wanted Kadroin to find an altar, so that Drusara, Karahir, and Bel-Ahor wouldn't have to carry the trays;

He also wants to...

However, just as he took a step forward.

With a thunderous roar, the sacred flame burned violently. The entire hall, the entire temple, and even the entire space were illuminated by the white light that erupted at that moment. It was as if a hole was torn in the sky, allowing the divine light to pour into the mortal world.

In the holy fire, the flames began to condense, twist, gather, compress, and extend...

Malekith's form began to be recast.

It was not a restoration, nor a replica, but a reconstruction of his body from the source, from the original structure of soul and flesh: bones, spine, shoulder blades, limbs, five fingers, eyes...

Everything seemed to be woven by some absolute will, and under the holy fire, there was no flaw.

He opened his eyes.

The flames were not reflected in his eyes, but instead seemed to ignite from his pupils and reflect into the world.

He turned around.

He stepped out of the flames with firm steps and a calm face. There were no burn marks or broken scars on his body. Only a burning pressure emanated from every inch of his skin.

this moment.

Ulthuan is shaking.

Waterfalls flowed like tides, and rivers were like whisperers, transmitting the subtle and violent fluctuations from the depths of the island to the boundless ocean. Dark clouds gathered into silent peaks, like a curtain set by the gods, and the strong winds shuttled through the forests, echoing vague and unclear signals, seemingly real and illusory, like a whisper from ancient times.

Even the most carefree creatures can feel the indescribable heaviness in the air, like a string that has been stretched taut for a long time, waiting for the pluck that will determine its fate.

Since the Great Schism, since the ancient catastrophe when brothers killed each other and the gods' people killed each other, this ancient land full of miracles and blood and tears has never trembled so violently.

The vast ocean is surging, the waves are telling a story silently, as if some ancient power is echoing under the water. The huge waves of the inland sea are piled up layer by layer, as if the hand of God is stirring the sleeping echo.

The Inner Ring Kingdoms, the idyllic lands with four-season summer and permanent golden light, are no longer peaceful. Unknown forces are moving like shadows in the wind, and the Asur have stopped singing and playing, and have stopped to look up at the sky, waiting for some answer that will soon be revealed.

Deep in the forest, wild beasts moved silently and quietly, and they were sensitive enough to sense that something was awakening that would change the world.

The waves hit the shore again and again, as if knocking silently on a door, with a cold and continuous rhythm.

In the Eden Valley, the ancient mountains were whispering, their voices were low, like gods in a dream. Whether it was the quiet top of the Safri Tower, the watchtower on the coast of Iris, the outpost on the cliffs of Terenlock, or the palace on the water of Lothern, these buildings that contained energy and memory all produced low-frequency resonances at this moment, as if they were touched by some invisible fingertips, causing ripples.

The warriors, mages, and poets of Ulthuan all raised their heads and gazed silently toward the heavens. They held their breath, stood still, and listened.

They knew that something was changing.

A certain force is quietly awakening.

This quietly awakening power was transmitted to the earth, and then from the earth to the wind, sweeping across the entire world together with the wind of magic.

The Slann magic priests all over the world woke up from their meditation, slowly opened their eyes, their faces mysterious and solemn.

Far away in Naggaroth and Asheril, Duruchi felt a subtle tremor in his dream, as if an ancient voice came from the depths of the world, passing through time, hitting the soul and flowing into the blood.

The wood elves of Athel Loren and Lauren Loren, though separated from Ulthuan a thousand years ago, held their breath at this moment and gazed at the quietly swaying night shadows in the woods. They felt that the ancient trees were awakening and the sleeping oaths were echoing.

Even humans sensed the change.

The child woke up from his dream, eyes wide open, heart beating rapidly, fingers tightly grasping the corner of the quilt. The watchmen on night patrol felt a vague presence quietly passing through their minds, as if there were eyes watching their souls in the night.

After waking up from their sleep, artists tried to depict in poetry and on canvas the visions that they had never experienced but that actually existed in their dreams; and those who had dealt with elves and touched the afterglow of magic felt trembling in their hearts, as if the world had undergone an indescribable and unconcealable change in that instant.

Even the dwarves living in the mountains sensed it. They silently put down what they were doing and stared at the rock wall above their heads...

However, Daxus wanted to laugh.

If the occasion had not been wrong, if this had not been a solemn and sacred ceremony, he would have laughed out loud without restraint, laughing until he fell to the ground and tears streamed down his face.

He was not laughing at Malekith standing there naked like a performance artist, nor was he laughing at Malekith's size; he was laughing at Malekith's hair.

Malekith at this moment was almost indistinguishable from Idoneth who lived in the depths of the sea in the next era: he had no hair, no eyebrows, and his entire body was smooth, shining with the cleanliness and solemnity after being baptized by fire, like a sculpture recast from fire.

There was Man Guangtou before, and now there is Ma Guangtou?
And at this moment, Malekith opened his mouth.

"I, Malekith! Have become... the Holy Fire!"

His voice was not loud, but it had a power that penetrated space and tore through silence, like a spark falling into the sea, like a bell echoing in a valley. The voice did not come from his throat, but emerged from the depths of his soul, from the source, with an ancient and sacred rhythm, into the hearts of every elf.

He stretched out his hand, slowly spreading his palm, his knuckles as hard as iron, his palm lines as if burning. The essence flowed and rolled in his body, like a burning spiritual vein, running along his spine straight to the top of his head, hot but not burning, powerful but not a trace of tyranny.

His body is no longer a combination of flesh, blood and bones, but a vessel built on a sacred order, a container that carries the will of Asur.

The next second, flames burst out from his entire body, as if some power had broken free from its seal within him, ready to explode like burning hay, or like the moment in some exaggerated animations where a character's combat power exploded, his aura was fully unleashed, and the heaven and earth trembled.

This is not fantasy, it is reality.

Malekith became a living torch.

Every hair of his, oh no, he had no hair now, every inch of his skin, every tendon, every tiny cell, was filled with sacred fire.

He stood there like the intersection of fire and divinity, the intersection of destiny and rebellion.

He burned, but did not burn; he rose, but was not out of control.

As he burned fiercely, the holy fire behind him also quietly changed. The flames moved slightly, the light was restrained, and then it gathered, gathered, and rotated violently in silence.

then……

"call out!"

A soft cry like the breaking of dawn was heard, and the holy fire suddenly rose into the air behind Malekith. Tongues of fire rolled back like a waterfall, and the blazing flames condensed into the shape of a phoenix in mid-air.

It was an incandescent phoenix,

It has no substance, yet it is very real;
It has no feathers, but its wings are spread out.
It has no eyes, but it has gazes that stare at all living things.

The phoenix spread its wings and soared in the sky, its flaming feathers dancing in the light and shadow, a glow that did not belong to this world flowing on its body. Every flap of its wings seemed to pluck the strings of the world, stirring up invisible waves of sound and shocking the soul.

It does not ring loudly, but it makes the echo of its presence heard by everyone.

That is the divine echo, the bell of a new era.

At this moment, heaven and earth are speechless.

Speechless, speechless, can only look up.

The flames were burning, the phoenix was rising, and Malekith was standing silently, like a god walking from eternity.

This is not rebirth, this is transcendence.

This is to trample the word "rebirth" itself underfoot and completely cut off the cycle of fate.

Malekith is no longer the "Malekith" who was mocked by fate, sunk in revenge, and struggled in obsession.

He is not a representative of some power, nor a puppet of some plan.

He is the flame itself.

He is the embodiment of Asuryan's will.

He is the Burning King!

Everything pales in comparison, history turns a corner, the old world trembles at this moment, and a new era...arrives at this moment! (End of this chapter)