Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Thunder roared and lightning kept jumping, like angry snakes, dancing wildly in the sky.

Caledo's body began to shrivele and turn black, like a hollowed-out wooden pole. Under the impact of energy, it gradually lost the color of life and eventually turned into a mummy-like corpse. However, he was still chanting spells, his voice was weak but firm, like the last light of a star flashing at the end of the universe.

Afterwards, this withered body was shattered into ashes by the strong wind and turned into dust flying all over the sky, leaving only a vague image of a wizard, engraved between space and time.

That brilliance, like the afterglow left by a setting sun, was imprinted on Daxus's retina, burning and dazzling. Even with his eyes closed, it was still clearly visible, like a memory mark that could never be erased.

"The final moment has arrived."

He sighed, a low sigh, and his eyes fell on Aenarion - the once mighty warrior, now like a candle in the wind, with only a last trembling flame left.

With only one breath left, he could only rely on the Sword of Khaine to support himself to stand. Aenarion's body could no longer move much, and his broken body was just a lingering warrior's determination.

Dacreus knew that the gasps that came from Aenarion's broken lips were tearing, he knew that deep in Aenarion's chest there was a sound of blood surging, his lungs filling with blood, his breath like the foam of a drowning man struggling.

The suffering that Aenarion had endured had long exceeded the limits of his powerful body.

He was beaten, poisoned, burned by fire, and torn apart by magic. He slew four of the most powerful demons in the world, his army was almost wiped out, and all his friends died in battle.

However... the ritual is still incomplete and victory is still out of reach.

The elves have risked everything and tried their best to bring all possibilities together in this final ceremony.

But the bet was lost.

The elf's last desperate attempt failed.

Now, only the price and the end remain.

Aenarion threw back his head and laughed.

The laughter was harsh and hollow, yet it carried an almost insane uninhibitedness, like a soldier who burned to the last, shouting before death.

The elves had tried hard, fought hard to resist, fought hard to survive, but in the end no one witnessed their failure, no one could remember their sacrifice, and no one could witness their demise.

Dacreus knew that at this moment Aenarion was thinking and hesitating whether to throw himself into the vortex that had not yet fully formed and use himself as a sacrifice, just like he did in front of the sacred fire of Asuryan, once again, burning himself in exchange for the future of the entire world.

But Aenarion knew that this time it would not work.

This time, there is no "if", no "again".

This time, there was no miracle.

The elves tried hard and fought to the end, but in the end no one will witness their failure. Without anyone, the world will be destroyed.

Now, there is nothing to do except to fight again and kill as many enemies as possible before death comes.

"Go! Kill until the world ends!"

The whispers in my mind appeared again, this time more urgent than ever, like whispers from the abyss, tearing at the bottom line of my soul.

"Failed, failed..." Kaila at the side sighed softly, the sound was like a dead leaf falling to the ground in the wind, lifeless.

Dacreus did not respond, but continued to look at Aenarion, who was getting less and less. He knew that this was the final moment, the real end, but this was also...

He also knew what Caela meant by "failure".
He understood what the so-called bet was.

A brief silence fell, making people feel uneasy and oppressive, like a heavy stone pressing on their hearts.

The vortex was spinning and swaying, like a spinning top that was about to lose power, shaking violently between heaven and earth, swaying unsteadily. It could collapse and disintegrate at any time, turning into an unstoppable torrent of energy and tearing the entire world apart.

In fascination and horror, Aenarion watched the collapsing vortex, the core where chaos and order intertwined, where magic and fate began to swirl out of control.

However, at this moment, Caledo's gradually disappearing figure suddenly stabilized.

The ghostly figure slowly turned around, facing the ever-swirling vortex, raised its arms, and once again chanted the spell that had long since burned out its life.

Then, figures with faint glow appeared around him one after another, blurry and solemn, as if they were afterimages walking out of the starlight, awakened by Caledor's will, and gathered here again with reluctance and loyalty.

Daxus knew that those were the souls of the dead archmages, the remnants of those who had sacrificed their lives to resist Chaos. Some of their existence, some of their essence, still remained on this island torn apart by war and energy.

Death cannot take them away completely, their will remains, their spell has not yet ended.

The souls of the great wizards joined the unfinished ceremony like a solemn and silent procession, one after another, silently walked into the vortex, and then disappeared silently. Their souls were solidified, imprisoned, and locked into the structure of the spell itself, but they continued to chant and cast spells. They were sacrificing themselves forever to this great and terrible spell, using their eternal souls to support this magical miracle that could save or destroy the world.

"No!"

The voice in his head suddenly screamed, and Daxus felt the chorus of crazy hatred surge and roar in his mind.

"Destroy it! Destroy them! Destroy the whole world!"

This call was intoxicating, like poisonous wine or a beautiful dream, making people unconsciously want to obey, throw themselves into it, and sink into it. Even he, as a spectator, was almost shaken, and the desire to tear everything apart was maddening.

The next second, he laughed. He knew that Kane was anxious, really anxious.

Aenarion supported himself with the sword of Khaine and walked slowly, his steps heavy but firm. He took one step after another forward, like a warrior swimming upstream. When he got close, the ghost of Caledor blocked him and made a gesture of stopping him, calm and solemn.

The archmage shook his head slightly, without saying a word, but it was more than a thousand words. He raised his hand and pointed at the sword - the bloodthirsty, fate-distorting sword of Cain.

Khaine's sword howled and trembled in Aenarion's hand, the blade trembling and shining with bloody brilliance, urging him to cut into Caledor's soul, then jump into the vortex and sweep in all directions. In this way, Aenarion will destroy everything, release the energy that the wizards have spent their entire lives to gather into an unstoppable disaster, destroying everything, ending everything, and bringing this world on the verge of collapse to silence.

Dacreus knew that Aenarion was wavering at this moment.

He understood that this legendary being now had the power to end everything, to destroy all things, to become the end of the world, and to let Cain's Sword devour the breath of death of the entire planet.

Why should Aenarion die while others live?

If Aenarion could no longer exist in this world, did he care whether it continued to exist?
Part of Aenarion desired it all. If he was to die, why not take it all with him?

At this moment, he stood there, silent, staring at the soul of his former best friend.

Caledor sensed the turbulent struggle deep within Aenarion, but he could neither help nor stop it. The choice was entirely in Aenarion's hands, or rather... in the hands of the sword.

But the next moment, Aenarion woke up.

He - is his own master! He has never succumbed to chaos, even in the face of the great devil; he has never kneeled before the gods, even if the gods whispered in unison; at this moment, the final moment, he will not succumb to this sword!

The sword of Khaine sensed his decision, and wailed in anger, shaking like the howling wind, trying to break free from Aenarion's hand, trying to tear his soul apart, shatter his will, and turn him into a puppet of killing. But Aenarion remained unmoved, he just silently gripped the hilt, even though blood oozed from his knuckles, he did not let go.

Caledor smiled, his face showing a peacefulness of relief amidst the sadness. He waved his hand gently to say goodbye. At this moment, ten thousand years of time were frozen in this farewell. Then he turned around and walked into the vortex that would imprison him for eternity without hesitation. He did not look back, nor did he need to look back, because he had already completed his mission.

This departure... is forever, or in other words, eternity!
Aenarion slowly turned around, facing the vortex that had already taken shape and pulsated like the heart of the universe and the gradually disappearing Caledor, and walked away with difficulty. His steps were heavy, and Khaine's sword struggled wildly in his hand. Every step he took seemed to be weighed down by a thousand pounds, and every inch he moved was like fighting against the curse of the gods.

Lightning flashed down from the dark sky, thunder roared like war drums, time twisted, collapsed, stretched and stagnated around the vortex, like a pulled curtain, the whole world was trembling around the core. The demons were dissipating, they were stripped, removed, and disintegrated from reality, returning to the chaotic void that gave birth to them. Chaos servants collapsed one by one, and in a few seconds they turned into dry bones, their flesh rotted, and their bones piled up like mountains. The smell of defeat filled the sky.

Aenarion watched silently, without saying a word, then he waved his hand for the remaining survivors to evacuate. They were the last flame of the elves and could not stay here any longer. They had to leave here as witnesses and tell the elves what happened here.

“Failed… Failed…”

Kaela's whispers were like whispers in the wind, lingering in Daquus' ears like the elegy of the dead.

Dacreus ignored Kaela, he just quietly watched the departing figure - Aenarion, who was ready to take the Sword of Khaine and complete his final mission. At this moment, Aenarion understood everything.

He knew that the sword could not fall into the hands of others, could not be left near the Maelstrom, could not be found by a belated demon, an immortal being, or a mortal who wanted to control fate. He finally understood why the elven gods were unwilling to let anyone hold it, because it was not supposed to exist in this world.

"It's a pity you can't help me now, old friend."

Aenarion gazed upon Indrognir's body and sighed.

A huge dragon eye slowly opened, and the cracked pupil reflected the image of his comrade. The dragon tried to roar, but the sound was only a faint hiss, like ashes in the wind. He struggled to stand up, blood gushed out from under the cracked scales, dripping onto the ground, staining the scorched earth red, but he was still trying to support himself.

"Then let's take the last flight."

Aenarion said, his voice firm and calm.

The dragon nodded slightly, as if in agreement, as if to say, "I'm still here."

"We must take this sword back to its original place and thrust it deep into the altar, so that no one can pull it out again."

This is a promise and also a judgment.

Then Aenarion forced himself onto the back of the dying dragon, slowly but surely, and he tied himself tightly, pulling the reins. Indrognir raised his head and roared, weak but still courageous, and then suddenly leaped into the sky, rushed into the rolling clouds, flew through the storm, and flew high into the sky, flying towards the sun.

The wind howled beneath Indrognir's wings, creating a sonic boom like a huge wave. He, dying, flew against the wind with his dying companions, rushing into legend.

Daxus said nothing, but just watched quietly, his eyes never moving away for a long time. Tears quietly slid down his eyes, silent, but burning like fire, as if to engrave the memory in his eyes forever, even though this was the second time he had seen this scene.

"So, do you know?" Caela asked softly, his voice a mixture of fatigue, sadness and relief.

"Of course." Daxus responded softly.

The emergence of the Great Whirlpool marks Kane's failure and the failure of Kane's bet. This was the only moment when Kane could win, the only moment when he could turn the tide and realize his will, but in the end, he lost.

Daxus understood why Caela did this, and finally understood why Caela wanted to talk to him and why she wanted him to see all this - these images, these echoes, this history that is being played out at the end of time.

In the previous era, Kaela Mensa played a role very similar to him. In this era, Kaela was promoted to a god and became Kane.

However, this meant nothing to Caela.

Becoming a god does not mean liberation, it just means a deeper prison.

Caela's anchor had long been left in the previous era, just as his anchor was firmly embedded in the reality and memory of this era.

For Kaela, this era itself is meaningless. Rather than repeating the failures and disillusionments on this boring stage, it is better to destroy it completely and end everything.

If Dacreus's speculation was correct, the relationship between Cain and Asuryan in the last era was probably similar to the delicate relationship between him and Malekith, or between him and Finnubar. They were both comrades and opponents, both a community and an opposition. They had fought side by side, and also confronted each other.

In the last era, they failed.

In this era, with the arrival of the Ancient Saints, everything became more complicated. Disagreements began to emerge among them, and they began to change from executors of fate to players in the game of gambling.

Asuryan advocates the continuation of this world, making it a hotbed for fighting against chaos, giving birth to new power, new wisdom, and new weapons, reserving possibilities for the future, and leaving room for struggle.

Cain disagrees. He refuses to continue this absurd and cruel game. What he wants is the end, the final sound, to respond to destruction with destruction, and to respond to battle with battle. He is unwilling to delay, unwilling to tolerate, and even more unwilling to be a tool or successor of the Ancient Saints. What he wants is to continue fighting in another way, a way that he understands and believes in. Absorb the essence of this world, devour all the power left by the Ancient Saints, and then pick up Cain's sword to launch a final attack on the Chaos Gods!

Thinking of this, Dacus could not help but sigh. He suddenly realized, was he a little obsessed? Was he confused by the situation? Or had Kaela's words subtly influenced him? He might have always viewed Cain from a fixed standpoint, treating him as a symbol of killing, madness, and depravity, just like looking at Lilith from a human perspective, demonizing and abstracting her.

But when he changed his perspective and tried to see it from Kaela's point of view, everything suddenly became clear.

Kane is no longer a punk.

The shepherd boy pointed to another village in the distance? Apricot Blossom Village with willows and flowers?
He didn't know, he needed time to think carefully.

If we continue to deduce along this line of thought, then in the end, they who once belonged to the same circle split up. They were once gods in the same camp, but they took different paths in the choices of the times.

The gods in the elven pantheon eventually split into two major camps, the Kadai pantheon and the Sesarai pantheon, with two philosophies and two choices.

Asuryan and Khaine made Aenarion's behavior a bet, leaving it to Aenarion to decide whether the world will continue or be destroyed. It was not a god, but a mortal, who let the choice of a mortal determine the direction of this era and this world.

The result...Kane lost.

Aenarion did not do as he wished.

He did not destroy everything, nor did he drag the world into the abyss of war and end.

Aenarion was never both the avatar of Asuryan and the vessel of Khaine, as the Elves generally believed.

He has always been himself. He is not a puppet of the gods, but the master of his own will.

He stepped into the Holy Fire for his faith; he took up the Sword of Khaine for revenge. He never fought for God, but for his heart.

A gentleman judges by deeds, not by heart. Judging from the heart, no one is perfect in the world?
Yes, but Aenarion's "trace" itself is to constantly surpass himself, constantly deny his own destiny, and constantly struggle, fight, and resist the choice of God's will and chaos.

Kane, who lost the bet, fulfilled his original promise. In a very unique way, he guarded the Island of Death, a land isolated from the world and shrouded in eternal shadow. Like a silent statue, he protected the Island of Death from being disturbed by any force until the final moment truly arrived.

At that moment, there will be the final battle between Asuryan's incarnation and Kane's incarnation, the end of the chess game of fate, and the conclusion of thousands of years of foreshadowing.

However, for Kane, this so-called "final battle" is actually meaningless. It is no longer a judgment of fate, no longer a clash of wills, but more like a gorgeous farewell, a performance that is destined to end, and the last dignity and respect that He can have as a god.

As a result, the next era...

The Great Whirlpool existed for more than 6,400 years from its formation to its dissipation. During these long years, there were only two days when Death Island was the busiest: one was the day it was formed, and one was the day it dissipated. The rest of the time... it was exceptionally peaceful.

This was undoubtedly a torment for Kane, a long and cruel punishment. He could not fight, roar, or burn the world wantonly. He could only wait in silence, waiting day by day in the abyss of time for the end that had not yet arrived.

He could only occasionally chat and play chess with the old man in the whirlpool to while away those maddening long nights.

But who made Him lose? A bet is a bet, and if you lose, you must keep it, even if you have to keep it for an entire epoch.

Because of this, when Dacus suddenly arrived, Kane was extremely excited, like a torrential rain that finally came after a long drought, like a light that suddenly lit up in the dark night. As soon as they met, Dacus punched him in the face without hesitation, without any respect or greetings...

From a certain perspective, Kane's character is actually... not bad? At least, when there are sacrifices, He will respond; He keeps his promise, without regret or escape.

With Aenarion's departure, the scene once again solidified, frozen in the cracks of time.

Kaela took the chess piece representing Aenarion in his hand, and played with it carefully, turning it slowly and examining it over and over again. He seemed to be appreciating some kind of irreplaceable work of art, or as if he was saying goodbye to a former friend.

"You're right, he is independent." He whispered, with a barely perceptible sigh in his tone, "He has never been my servant."

He put down the chess piece, raised his hand, and saluted Daquus slowly and slightly mockingly, as if he was joking, as if he was greeting, or as if...

"We don't have much time this time, but I am very happy." His tone was relaxed, but with a hint of fatigue. "I am very happy to be able to sit down and talk with you, Daquus, like a friend, even though you killed all my believers and punched me when we met."

At this point, he smiled gently, and as he spoke, he stood up from the intricately carved chair, his movements elegant but somewhat lonely. A helpless expression appeared on his face, an expression that only people standing at the end of their destiny can have.

"You can come here often. You are always welcome here. I still have a lot to say to you."

"No problem!" Daxus agreed readily. There was no hesitation in his tone, only frankness and sincerity.

After saying this, he stood up and stretched out his hand, signaling to Kaela. (End of this chapter)