40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 671 53. Belated Judgment (Twenty-two, twists and turns)

If possible, Serafax hoped that he and Lion El'Jonson would have a chance to sit down and talk calmly with each other.

There was no deception, no conspiracy, not even any hostility - but he knew full well that Lion El'Jonson would never agree to this.

The lion he knew was a man of great willpower, cold-blooded when young, but even harder as he aged. No matter how hard you tried, he would just stand there, holding the lion sword in his hand, waiting for the opportunity to strike a fatal blow.

Lion El'Jonson sees himself as the protector of mankind - and he'll do anything to achieve that.

However, there is still a long way between 'doing' and 'achieving'.

Of course, he could continue to fight, to use the willpower that Serafax had never seen in other Lion El'Jonsons to resist the influence of the warp magic, and even wake up briefly and make his own voice.
But he couldn't overcome it all.

Serafax turned his head and gave his Primarch a long look.

The surroundings were full of darkness, and the lion just sat on the throne with his eyes closed, leaning on the lion sword. A weak beam of light fell from the sky and hit his face. Although he was covered in blood, his majesty was not damaged. At this moment, he looked like a king who had fought a bloody battle, and murderous intent suddenly appeared between his frowning brows.

Serafax couldn't help but sigh.

He was very tired, really very tired. Even the authority bestowed by God could not offset this fatigue in the slightest. There had never been a moment in his life when he realized his own insignificance more deeply than now.

I am only a mortal, with a mortal mind, and I am neither immortal nor a saint. Serafax thought about this, reminded himself again, and felt a sense of calm.

Yes, calm.

He did not grow mad like other self-righteous collaborators of Tzeentch, nor did he step into any inevitable traps forged by human nature. He did not lose sight of his goal - in a sense, this is the perfect proof that he is the descendant of Lion El'Jonson: he has the same willpower and action as his primarch.

Of course, the Lions would never be proud of this.

Serafax couldn't help but laugh, and at the same time, he hooked his fingers, causing the undead in the darkness to whine. He didn't want to torture them, but he had no other choice. Tzeentch really gave him power, but he never said that he would not obstruct or tempt him along the way.
The magic he provides is part of the endless temptations that Serafax has to face.

In essence, this magic circle is very simple. It takes the pain and despair of human beings, absorbs it, and refines the souls of the sacrifices into pure energy to feed back to the caster. How much you give it is how much it can give back.

It sounds simple, but the simpler it is, the harder it is - the reason is just one thing: it has no side effects, not even a single one.

If it is energy, it is energy, without any impurities. If it is said that it will be fed back to the practitioner, it is feeding back, and not a single bit will be accepted or transferred away.

Think carefully, how great is this temptation for a normal Chaos wizard? Think again, how incredible is this for any sorcery born from Chaos?

Tzeentch offered too much, but Serafax still chose not to take it.

He concentrated on manipulating the magic circle, and the constant wailing and screaming in his ears did not affect him at all. When a person really makes up his mind, he will not be held back by anything other than death.
This was true of all human beings, even the lowest, most shameless, and weakest of them all, and every time he thought of it, it gave his tired heart new life—oddly enough, he was even proud of it.

Not for myself, but for them.

Which them?

Was it the ordinary soldiers who dared and still dared to charge at him? Was it his brothers who let the civilians board the ship first and stayed on the ground to raise the banner of the Knights? Or was it the bureaucrats who dared to call him a traitor to his face?

Serafax had no answer.

He had seen people begging for mercy on their knees, people trying to cooperate with him to become a member of the so-called "new god", and people betraying everything in order to survive. But what he saw most were those who refused to submit to him.

There are countless timelines related to this world, countless similar or different Calibans. Killing, blood, betrayal, sacrifice - never-ending, and the number of victims is countless.

The soaking wet soldier who stood up in the trench by stepping on the corpses of his companions, trembling, grasped his gun and shot at him. The crew leader who climbed out of the burning tank limped and charged at him. The knight who had used up all his ammunition and whose power sword was worn down by the resurrected dead, protected the few remaining civilians behind him, used the company flag as a weapon, and roared at him.
Too much, too much.

Serafax felt tears running down his charred face, which was strange, because he hadn't cried in probably years.

He had fallen into madness, and had collapsed and cried in the face of endless slaughter. The tears at that time were the pain and remorse for the atrocities caused by his own stupidity, but the tears now came from sadness, a sadness that had existed since the ape era.

If possible, he didn't want to kill any of them. If possible, he hoped that he would be the only sacrifice. If, the most beautiful, dreamy, and painful words in the world - read it, the brain will start to fantasize. Read it, the beautiful things that you want but can't get will appear before your eyes.
Then it becomes more painful because of the gap between all this, because reality does not accept ifs.

Reality rejects all beautiful fantasies. Reality is cold and cruel. Otherwise, why would people use it to refer to or even accuse someone of being particularly pragmatic? In the final analysis, everyone has a moment or thought that can only be replaced by "if", and the difference between Serafax and them is here-he will take action.

at all costs.

"We were born of the Great Crusade, Primarch."

With his back to the sleeping lion, the traitor who had committed the most horrific atrocities in the history of the Dark Legion spoke in a steady voice and began to tell his genetic father his purpose and plan word by word.

"It is a noble and arduous task, but it is also a task that must be performed. Since the Old Night, mankind has lost touch with each other for too long, and our fellow men have lingered in pain, and some have even become slaves of the xenos."

"The Emperor could not tolerate this, so he created us. He needed us as tools to make humanity whole again. He trusted us so much that we could not fail him. But we failed in the end."

The charred corpse turned around, and two black ropes suddenly appeared in the darkness and wrapped around his wrists. A dim light flashed in his eyes, and terrifying energy began to spread from his hands to the surroundings.

"The Emperor is seriously injured, Terra is broken, superstition is rampant, and bureaucracy makes people miserable. You can randomly select a thousand worlds in the galaxy, put them on a list, and observe carefully, then you will hear their screams, you will hear the cries of our compatriots." "I believe you can hear it, Primarch, and you must have realized the absurdity of this matter - we obviously won, but why are our compatriots still living in great pain?"

"You must have seen this mistake, otherwise you would not have carried out drastic reforms in your own protected land. I understand, Primarch, I understand your difficulties. Even as a Primarch, you are still a human, not a god. How can you do what even the Emperor cannot do? It is already quite difficult to manage these worlds at present."

"But did we really win?" The charred corpse looked up and asked the lion.

The lion did not answer, and could not answer, so it was more like he was asking and answering his own questions.

"Officially, we have won, and won mightily. The traitors Horus and Alpharius have been slain, and their traitorous children are in hiding until their day of judgment. But what is the truth?"

"Chaos doesn't care about the death of Horus and Alpharius. They never cared. They just want the Emperor to sit on the torture device. Ha, the Ecclesiarchy proudly calls it the Abode of God, the Golden Throne. Bullshit!"

"That chair is but another tool of the Emperor, with which He burns Himself to protect Mankind. So accept it, Primarch."

Serafax sighed in shame, sadness, and anger.

“Humanity lost, and we didn’t make a difference,” he said. “I couldn’t accept that, so I wanted to change it.”

He paused for a few seconds, his cheek suddenly twitched, and a hollow and distant echo came from the darkness.

"This requires a huge amount of energy and power. I must be able to participate in that day and have an impact on the situation. But what if I fail?"

Serafax lowered his head and began to walk up the stairs. He walked slowly, and each step on the stairs seemed difficult. The rope wrapped around his wrist was stretched straight, and in the darkness, there were two heavy sounds of falling, followed by a sticky and creepy grinding sound.

"I must make two preparations, a backup plan, just as you taught us, just as Sir Luther told us - before launching a battle or stepping into a battle, make sure you have at least two options. Don't just think about how to win, but also think about how to deal with failure."

Serafax walked towards his Primarch step by step, then knelt on one knee, his arms bent in a ridiculous position, the weight of his sins hanging on his wrists, causing him unparalleled torture.

Another spell is at work, greedily feeding on the pain it has wrung from the human soul, craving more.

And here happens to be a person who is in great pain and has been in pain for a very long time.

Serafax was powering it himself.

"My second solution is you, Primarch." The Dark Angel said calmly. "I don't believe I can simply go back to the day of Terra's shattering and undo everything. No, it's impossible, even if I kill another ten thousand Calibans. The longer I kill, the more I kill, the more I understand how powerful the enemy of Chaos is, and how powerful the Emperor is."

"He is our only light, our only shield and sword. If I can't change this, I hope I can at least do something for him. Therefore, I need you - or a better you."

The ground other than the throne began to melt, the darkness disappeared, and the corpses were exposed. The Lion El'Jonsons wrapped in roots floated up one by one and floated around the throne.

A blond boy floated forward, still alive, his eyes closed.

"A body," Serafax said. "You, the purest and most innocent of all timelines, will be the vehicle that carries you back to the past."

A dark angel floated forward, it was the sleeping Zabril. Many roots penetrated his face, quietly changing everything, making his eyebrows look very similar to Serafax.

"A guard," Serafax said. "A loyal man, a man of great determination. I will tell him everything, and then I will let him accompany you back in time. Trust him, Primarch, as you once trusted me and Ser Luther."

He closed his mouth, as if he had finished speaking, and his burnt face began to recover rapidly.

Bones became solid and white again, and any damage or Chaos taint was erased. Then nerves and flesh, and finally skin. Even the tattoo returned - an emblem of a winged sword, engraved on the left side of the chest.

Serafax stood up slowly, and a set of armor flew out of the darkness. As if controlled by an invisible hand, it floated to his body one by one, aimed at the neural interface, and began to put on the armor.

This is a very old MK2 suit. The unique black color of the First Legion makes it look extremely majestic. The unique reliefs of the Astartes during the Great Crusade shine brightly on the shoulder armor and arm armor. A power sword hangs at the waist and a bolter is held in the hand.

The Dark Angel Serafax raised his head and let his helmet fall down, covering his face. The scarlet eyepiece lit up rapidly, and then his deep voice, which had been changed by the breathing grid, sounded in the lion's ears for the last time.

"But you must prove yourself first, Primarch. Not to me, but to them."

Who? Prove to whom?

Looking at the corpses around, the answer is self-evident.

Serafax turned around, and a door appeared in front of him. There was no sign on it, just pure light.

Behind him, Zabril, who was still asleep, suddenly opened his eyes. He obviously didn't know what was going on, but his eyes were fixed on Serafax, who had his back to him, as if by instinct.

Without even turning his head, the Dark Angel said, "Do what you must do, Zabril, and do not betray the Emperor and the Lion."

After saying this, he stepped into the door of light, and a world of war that he and many dark angels had never been able to visit roared over and swallowed him up.

(End of this chapter)