Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

The world began to tremble, no, it twisted.

The air seemed to be burned by flames and torn into pieces like a canvas. Light and shadow continued to intertwine and overlap. The originally still trees became blurred, colors lost their meaning, and lines stretched and twisted in the air, as if some ancient and twisted power was reshaping reality, quietly and absolutely rewriting the rules of the world.

Daxus's breathing paused for half a second.

As if in fast forward, the forest disappeared and he was standing under the whirlpool.

Under his feet was a cold, hard black platform, with stone pillars towering into the sky, and the violent magic wind roared in his ears, but it did not bring any real wind pressure. The sky seemed like an abyss that was about to collapse, and energy roared out from the depths of the vortex, like a roar, and like a call.

His hand was tightly clenched, or rather, his hand was tightly clenched - it was not Drusala's hand, not Aisha's, not Lilith's, not Nakali's, and certainly not Slaanesh's hand stained with desire and sin.

It was the hand of Anasara, his clan mother.

The hand was warm and slender, with clear knuckles and neatly trimmed black nails, carrying the majesty and tenderness of someone who once held power.

This feeling, this touch, was so real that it was frightening, and it was exactly the same as what Daxus remembered.

He turned his head and saw his clan mother standing beside him, her black hair falling like mercury, the features of her face had hardly changed, her eyes were clear and deep, yet also empty like the farthest stars in the night sky, boundless, silent, and out of reach.

"Clan mother?" He resisted the urge to punch out and murmured, his voice as low as a dusk bell.

"That's it," Anasara responded softly, without a trace of emotion in her tone.

After saying this, she patted the back of Daquus's hand, her movements as gentle as coaxing a baby to sleep, indicating that he should let go.

Dacus loosened his hand, his movements stiff and restrained. He looked at the tribe mother in front of him quietly, alert and calm in his heart, waiting for what the tribe mother would do.

"Death? We never really die. Forget... sink... time, fate, race, sacrifice, or rebirth?"

Anasara's voice seemed to come from the depths of Dacus' mind rather than from his lips. Her voice was weightless, but it carved into Dacus' consciousness like an axe.

"I'm sorry, there's not much advice I can give you. Forgive me...child?" When Daxus didn't respond, Annasara continued in an uncertain tone.

Then, she slowly raised her finger and pointed at the swirling vortex in the distance. That was the critical point between reality and illusion, life and nothingness, and the source of all beginnings and ends.

"It's time," she said softly.

Daxus looked in the direction of Annasara's finger. The space was flickering, sometimes clear, sometimes blurry, like a broken mirror, it was difficult to capture the truth.

In that brief moment of clarity, he captured a lot.

Malekith's hair grew out; an elf wearing a straw hat and dressed as a farm girl stood not far from Malekith. She was dressed simply, but exuded a strange calm power; a male elf with dreadlocks stood quietly on the other side; and further away, there was a giant clam standing silently.

Although they have different shapes and temperaments, they are all staring at the center of the maelstrom - silently and firmly.

At this moment, tears flowed from Daxus's eyes.

Although they looked different, and even though they were only back views, he recognized them all—Malekis, Liv, Asanoak, Lord Huini Aitanquai, names and figures that couldn’t be more familiar. Combined with the current scene and the words of the tribe mother in front of him…

"My magical attainments may not be as good as Caledor's, but my determination..." Annasara's voice was soft, but it revealed an unquestionable firmness.

She took a step forward and gently hugged Daxus. The touch in that moment was like a mother seeing off her child who was about to go on an expedition, but at this moment, the roles were reversed.

Then she turned around and walked in the direction of Malekith and the others.

She didn't look back, nor did she need to.

Then, they stepped into the core of the vortex together. Whether it was the elves or the Slann magic priests, their bodies withered and turned black rapidly at that moment, as if all their vitality had been drained away. In an instant, only mummies-like shriveled corpses were left standing in the intersection of the wind and energy. The dry bodies were quickly torn apart and blown away by the invisible wind, and finally turned into dust and disappeared in the wind.

However, their souls and afterimages still remain there.

Malekith turned his head and looked at him slowly, his lips slightly parted as if he wanted to say something, but in the end no sound came out, and it disappeared completely like a dream.

The image in the space is still flickering, sometimes clear, sometimes blurry, like a kaleidoscope of light, or like fragments of reality on the verge of collapse.

But Daxus captured the truth of that moment, and he knew what Malekith had said.

The scene was still there, and he was still standing under the whirlpool, but those characters, those Slann magic priests, those elves, those souls, had long disappeared without a trace.

At this moment, he began to think. He had to think about the meaning of this scene and how to leave here. His reason was like a ship breaking through the waves in the deep sea, trying to find a way to reality from the chaos.

However, before his thoughts could really unfold, a new character appeared.

This time, it was clearer, no longer flickering, and no longer a blurry afterimage of a soul.

When he saw the faces of those people clearly, he chuckled, low and somewhat sarcastic, like a spectator who had seen through a crude trick.

Malhandel - This loyal and proud horse has followed Tyrion for many years and witnessed countless wars and glory. Even when his partner fell into the abyss of darkness, he never wavered in his loyalty to Tyrion.

But now, he finally understood.

It was an awakening, an instinctive reaction of noble blood. He was not a beast carrying traitors. He was one of the direct descendants of Khadir, the "Father of Ten Thousand Horses", and a proud and free soul.

He finally realized that it was a shame to continue to be loyal to the mad Tyrion.

Just as Dacreus saw, the moment when Tyrion raised the Sword of Khaine, Malhandel stopped, stomped the ground with his horse's hooves, raised his head and neighed, and threw Tyrion off the saddle and fell heavily on the hard and cold rock at the intersection of the bottom of the guide stone.

"Ah, what a good show." Daxus, who was watching this scene, exclaimed in a joking tone.

Tyrion was not willing to be outdone, and soon struggled to stand up, his eyes red as fire, and the sword of Khaine was swung towards Malhandel.

But the horse leaped lightly and gracefully, like a mountain breeze, and avoided the attack and flew away, leaving behind Tyrion's back.

Although Tyrion was angry and furious, he realized that he would never catch the horse, so he stopped chasing and turned all his attention back to Teclis. The rock under his feet began to crack and shake, spewing out bursts of energy like steam, distorting the boundaries of space and energy.

He ignored these visions and staggered forward like a persistent man about to fall into a sea of ​​fire, his eyes fixed on Teclis.

He had long been enslaved by Kane's rage, his blood was boiling, his will was twisted, his soul was burning, and his heart was filled with desire for revenge against his brother.

At this moment, a scream suddenly came to Daxus' ears, shrill and high-pitched, like a soul struck by thunder, cutting through the sky and the earth.

He was stunned at first, but then he revealed a helpless smile, and an expression of "Why you again?" instantly appeared on his face, because he was too familiar with this voice. What made him even more speechless was that he should never hear this voice again, but he actually heard it here - in this vortex of time and space confusion, reality and illusion intertwined.

He looked up in the direction where the sound came from and waved at the source of the scream.

On the ground, chaos continued to brew, and Seraphim almost caught Tyrion at that moment -

Unfortunately, the scream broke the balance, and the warning force pierced the air like a sharp blade, causing Tyrion to turn around instinctively.

He spun his body at an almost supernatural speed, like a burning flame of anger, and rushed towards the swooping black dragon. Before the black dragon's sharp claws tried to grab him, he rolled over and dodged it, his movements were incredibly clean and neat.

Seraphim didn't need any verbal instructions. She was the kind of being who could judge the situation on her own and react quickly. She leaned sideways, her huge wings flapped the storm, and a deadly breath spewed out of her mouth.

Purple lightning suddenly erupted, roaring like thunder around her and her rider, crackling and ripping through scales and armor.

That was Morathi's spell.

Seraphim screamed in pain, her neck twitched, her body convulsed violently, her wings folded like rags, she tumbled uncontrollably in the air, and finally fell heavily to the ground.

Malekith decisively broke free at the last moment, leaped up like a ghost, and landed steadily just a short distance away from Tyrion, his body as steady as a mountain.

Seraphim crashed into the hard rock. At that moment, his spine was broken, his wings were broken, his scales and flesh were torn into a bloody mess by the rocks, and he lost all his fighting power. He became silent like an abandoned statue.

All this made Dacus, who was standing far away, involuntarily take a step back.

Malekith landed lightly, gracefully, but also with a certain fatigue and stubbornness. As soon as he turned around, Tyrion was already close at hand, and the blade burning with Khaine's curse pierced the air like thunder, pointing directly at his throat.

The battle begins.

"What is this? An illusion within an illusion?"

Daxus could clearly see two huge phantoms slowly emerging in the air. One of them was covered in flames, wearing a mask, and his breath was as hot as the sun; the other was roaring like a beast, his hands were stained with blood, his body was twisted, and his breath was brutal.

Both of them were pouring all their anger and strength, incorporating their hatred and will into every attack and parry.

Countless confrontations and clashes continued one after another. No language or words could restore the reality of this confrontation.

All mortal languages ​​cannot describe how swift and fierce their attacks are, nor can they capture how strong and unyielding their will is to fight hard even when they are seriously injured.

Compared to the duel between Asuryan and Cain, the duel between Malekith and Tyrion was a little less intense, a bit like children playing house.

Tyrion's sword swung continuously, and each time it was wrapped in Cain's anger and madness; and Malekith's blade was not slow at all, and each move was cold and precise, carrying the momentum of oppressing the soul.

However, Malekith's left arm was completely shattered at the beginning of the battle. If it were not for Korthek's superb skills and the Midnight Armor that blocked the full force of Khaine's Sword at the critical moment, the arm would have been completely severed, even piercing the chest.

Malekith launched a counterattack, swinging his sword directly at Tyrion's throat. Khaine's avatar dodged in time to avoid the fatal blow, but his chin was torn by the sword, and blood splattered.

They separated briefly, then rushed towards each other again like two shooting stars.

Malekith circled around, skillfully exposing the side of his body that was still intact to Tyrion's sight. Tyrion swung his sword like a beast, slashing up and down, trying to tear a crack in the Phoenix King's defense.

This is a battle to the death, a collision of fate and hatred, and a contest that symbolizes the fate of the entire elven civilization.

Each person had dozens of scratches on his body, his flesh was bloody, his armor was damaged, and blood was flowing out like a stream along the cracks. The air was filled with the smell of burning rust and the burning breath of magic, and the sound of blades colliding was mixed with bursts of hissing energy echoes, echoing in every corner of the battlefield.

After a few rounds, Daxus could clearly feel that Malekith's limbs began to become heavy, his chest rose and fell violently, and his breathing was as rapid as a bellows. He knew that the exhaustion was not only physical, but also spiritual. He also knew that Malekith could not stop, nor could he retreat.

As he knew, Malekith decided to renew his attack.

At this moment, Tyrion was like the incarnation of Cain's anger. Every move he made was extremely swift, and every parry was as accurate as if he could predict the future. He always resolved Malekith's attack before the next attack arrived, and it seemed that there was no flaw at all.

Watching all this, Daqians couldn't help but shake his head. He knew that Malekith was going to lose. He knew the script, he knew every detail of this illusion, and he was well aware of how the previous magic had exhausted Malekith without him realizing it.

Malekith's injuries were too severe, far beyond the limit of what his body could bear. He could still hold on for a while, but this period of time was not enough to change anything.

The reason he could still stand on the battlefield and fight was only because the last spark of Asuryan had not yet been completely extinguished - and it was this residual divine power that gave him the possibility to fight Khaine's incarnation in this fateful battle.

Malekith's first strike successfully pushed Tyrion back a step, and the second strike was even more powerful, hitting the opponent's helmet directly. The blade almost pierced Tyrion's skull, but the dragon armor blocked the fatal blow. The rebound of the heavy blow from the sword was transmitted to his arm, causing him to suffer severe pain in his already exhausted body.

At this time, Daxus's eyes had shifted away from the two fighters. He was no longer focused on the confrontation like children playing house. He realized that something was approaching, a presence was moving silently.

He didn't need confirmation or further guessing, he knew who the furtive figure was.

It's Aris.

Perhaps it's time to change perspective? Dacus turned around and walked towards Aris without hesitation.

The elf holding the Moonbow was standing quietly in the shadow of a guide stone, where the light was dim and indifferent. His expression was as calm as water, his eyes staring at the center of the battlefield, watching the life-and-death contest between the two bloodlines of Aenarion.

Dacus walked straight through Aris, stood behind Aris, and looked at the two people who were still fighting.

At this moment, the situation on the battlefield suddenly changed.

Tyrion became faster, and his movements were so fast that they were almost invisible, and he used Khaine's sword to block Malekith's attack. At that moment, the power of iron and fire violently intersected, accompanied by a sharp cracking sound - Malekith's sword broke with the sound.

The hilt of the severed blade slipped from Malekith's hand and spun to the ground.

Malekith quickly retreated, trying to gain some distance and regroup. But Tyrion's pursuit was almost seamless, his every step was as close as a shadow, and every strike of his sword was as fierce as a storm.

With the next blow, Tyrion's sword hit Malekith's breastplate accurately, tearing through the midnight armor.

The sharp sword slashed Malekith's chest, which had long been burned by the flames. Blood splattered, and he lay on his back, gasping like a torn canvas in a storm, breathing in the hot and burning air with difficulty. Black blood continued to flow out along the torn armor, dripping into the scorched earth and mud, making a slight hissing sound.

He fell to his knees, his hands groping in the blood and dust, trying to grasp the weapon again, even though it no longer existed.

As Tyrion approached step by step, Malekith was still unarmed, with only the broken hilt of his sword. He coughed up blood foam from his mouth, but still stood straight.

“I have no regrets!”

He roared, his voice rolling across the battlefield like thunder, and he raised the broken hilt high in a final defiance and taunt to Tyrion.

Tyrion did not attack immediately, but returned the attack with a gesture of cruel ritual, pressing the hilt of his sword to his chin.

Kane's sword was slowly raised, shining with a scarlet light, carrying with it the rage and power to crush everything, drawing an arc of death between light and shadow.

Morathi's laughter echoed over the battlefield, a laugh that was almost ecstatic, cruel and twisted.

however……

The blow did not land.

Under Morathi's cruel and cold laughter, Dacreus watched Aris's actions quietly, without making a sound and without surprise. He watched the Shadow King slowly raise the Moon Bow and aim it at Tyrion who was holding up the Excalibur.

The next second, the bowstring sounded - the sound was so clear that it seemed to cut through the air and rip through time itself.

A black arrow, like a feather of judgment from Hades, whizzed out from the shadows, so fast that almost no one could see its trajectory.

Tyrion's body was shaken and he staggered back a step. The arrow was extremely accurate and pierced through the place on his breastplate where Imrik's Star Lance had pierced before.

His knees weakened and he fell to the ground. The sword of Cain slipped from his fingers, with a crisp sound of metal hitting the rock, like the sound of a god's abdication. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, even just a sentence, just a name. But he couldn't say anything, only blood slowly dripped from the corner of his mouth.

At that moment, Kane's madness gradually faded from his scarlet eyes, replaced by a dazed, painful, but clear calm. In his long madness, he finally regained consciousness at the last moment.

This was the first time he woke up after becoming the incarnation of Kane.

Then, wordlessly, the Blood of Aenarion, the Avatar of Khaine, fell sideways, lifeless.

No roars, no curses, only silence.

Ares did not hesitate, he shot the second arrow. That arrow was just as swift and cold, as if to complete a ritual.

The arrow hit Malekith's back accurately, and his body fell down, like a mirror image of Tyrion's fall. Blood gushed out from the fatal wound, drawing a strange arc in the air.

"Ah, Dabo Q!" Daxus smacked his lips and said to Aris who had accomplished all this, but unfortunately Aris couldn't hear him.

Morathi, who was originally still laughing, suddenly let out a long howl of despair. The sound did not sound like the cry of any mortal, but rather more like the roar of a dying beast.

It was a horrible, indescribable sound.

Anger, frustration, sadness, all the emotions mixed together, stirring every inch of the battlefield, her screams seemed to touch some dark and primitive existence.

At this moment, Aris in front of Daxus quietly left without a sound. He looked in the direction of the whistle and saw Morathi had already jumped off the Pegasus. The next moment, a purple lightning like a falling star burst out from Morathi's hand and hit Teclis who was still reading the bar.

The lightning was so powerful that it knocked Tigris over and over. His body twitched violently, blood gushed out of his mouth and nose, and he was covered in blood when he landed on the ground.

And at this moment, the earth began to tremble.

The Island of Death is wailing, cracking, and collapsing.

But Daxus didn't care about it at all. He didn't look at the fallen Teclis, nor did he pay attention to the collapsing crust and the world that was about to break around him. He just looked at Morathi quietly.

Watch as Morathi passes through the churning wall of wind and rushes into the center of the vortex without hesitation.

The moment the dark Pegasus touched the wind wall, it was torn into ashes by the energy and disappeared at the boundary of time and space.

Afterwards, Daxus could no longer see Morathi entering the center of the vortex. His eyes fell back on the ground, watching Teclis, who was covered in blood and breathing rapidly, struggling to get up.

Sometimes he looked at Teclis, sometimes he looked at the Maelstrom, his eyes were as deep as the abyss.

He knew what was happening in the maelstrom, but unfortunately, he couldn't see what was going on inside.

But... this actually feels good.

After all, if nothing unexpected had happened, he would never have been able to witness all of this in person.

Now, he saw it.

Not only did he see it, he experienced the final chapter of the saga firsthand.

The howling wind began to collapse at this moment, and the echo of the vortex became hollow and oppressive. As the vortex itself shrank violently, its core began to twist and deform, and the crack gradually closed in the collision.

Suddenly, a huge roar broke through the sky.

Daxus knew that this was the roar of Slaanesh. He could even feel the vibration and heat waves left in the air by the sound.

I have to say, this sound... is powerful and loud!

The maelstrom eventually dissipated, but the earthquakes continued.

The entire island was wailing, and violent vibrations were heard from deep underground, carrying some kind of omen of the end of the world. The guide stones rumbled, and the huge marble slabs cracked from the sides, as if torn apart by an irresistible force. At the edge of the Death Island, the ocean was no longer silent. The waves, which were already violent enough, became even more violent, roaring and raging on the desolate coastline.

Dacreus's gaze moved calmly. He looked at Alarielle who was walking quickly to Malekith and Tyrion. Then, his sight slowly fell on Alaros who was accompanying Alarielle.

After looking at Alaros, he turned to Alarielle, only to see her half-kneeling beside Malekith, her figure trembling in the wind.

She stretched out her fingers slowly, and her fingertips touched the black arrow shaft on Malekith's back. At that moment, a strange scene happened. The arrow suddenly disintegrated and turned into a fine cloud composed of tree seeds.

The seeds floated in the air, light as gossamer, gleaming with gold and emerald green. Then the wind picked up, blowing the thin cloud away and dropping it on the surrounding rocks.

The seeds fell to the ground and drilled into the cracks, absorbing the remaining warmth of the earth. Alarielle's existence itself was all the nutrients these seeds needed.

In a few seconds, decades of growth were forcibly compressed. The oak trees sprouted out of the ground, and their branches and leaves spread out rapidly. Soon, a slender but magnificent oak forest stood in the center of the Island of Death, like a monument dedicated to the dead.

Malekith's fists clenched and unclenched as the forest grew. He did not move, and could not move. He could only let the forest spread around him.

Then Alarielle stopped looking at Malekith and knelt in the dust beside Tyrion without saying a word. Her robes were stained with blood and dust, but her movements were still graceful and firm.

As Dakwus watched her, he saw a tear fall from the Everqueen's pale cheek, a tear as pure as crystal that landed gently on Tyrion's forehead.

After his death, all the malice and cruelty on Tyrion's face faded, and the twisted expression faded, and his features became soft again, just like the dragon of Cosqui who once brought hope and glory to Ulthuan.

The ground shook violently again, this time more violently and heavily than before, as if the whole world was wailing.

Not far from where the Everqueen knelt, a pathstone gave way, filling the air with dust and rubble. A pillar of rock collapsed, its remains swallowed by the boiling white water.

Malekith finally woke up, panting heavily, and barely supported himself to stagger to his feet. Blood gushed out from the wound, dripping onto the wet rocks and quickly dried by the sea breeze.

No one came forward to help him, and no one tried to approach him.

Daxus just watched coldly, with no intention of helping, because this was an illusion, an immersive illusion.

Although the arrow shaft had been transformed into a seed by Alarielle's touch, the tip of the arrow still remained in the body, stuck near Malekith's almost stopped heart. However, for the legendary King of Burning, Malekith, this little pain was nothing. He had suffered too much, which made him numb to it.

Thinking of this, Daxus couldn't help but laugh.

The next moment, Malekith stretched out his right hand to touch the Sword of Khaine. It lay quietly on the ground, just where Tyrion dropped it after letting go, as if it was still waiting for its next owner.

The Everqueen finally reacted at this moment and realized Malekith's intention. She shouted in panic and rushed forward to stop him.

When Alaros heard the queen's cry, he immediately rushed forward, but it was too late.

Malekith's right hand tightly grasped the hilt of Khaine's sword. At this moment, he roared to the sky and shouted in victory, as if announcing the end of some kind of fate, or the complete victory of a personal battle.

Looking at this scene, Daxus smacked his lips. Does this count as... an achievement?
Malekith finally picked up the Sword of Khaine?

For a long time, Malekith stood there, standing alone between the rolling waves and the collapsed ruins, his right hand tightly grasping the hilt of the sword, his left hand pressing the back of the blade, his posture solemn and ancient, like a god who is about to disappear.

"Nothing but steel! Just metal, that's all."

After saying this, he turned around without any reluctance and threw the Sword of Khaine, which was full of destruction and divinity, into the surging sea.

In an instant, a dark light exploded on the sea surface, and then the sword sank into the deep sea and disappeared without a trace.

As Cain's sword disappeared, Death Island shook violently again. Jagged rocks cracked from the ground, and the guide stones collapsed and sank into the boiling sea.

The entire island began to sink into the sea piece by piece and inch by inch, as if it was making its final curtain call.

"You have work to do. Save our people." Malekith whispered to Alarielle. There was no command or begging in his voice, only tired calmness. He glanced at Tyrion on the ground. "You know, he really is exactly like my father. Exactly the same."

After saying this, he staggered forward a few steps, his steps weak. His injuries and blood loss nearly made him collapse, and his body could no longer bear it. He swayed like a dead tree broken by the wind, and finally fell heavily to the ground.

"Hello."

The scene froze, and a voice appeared in Daxus's ear. He responded indifferently, his tone as cold as iron.

"I'm not good!" (End of this chapter)