40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 815, Section 12: Walking with Fire (Part 4, 11,000)

I know Khalil Lohals.

What I mean is, I know this person, not his other side.

That aspect was written into a hidden history and then sealed away, with only a few people able to peruse those books. I was one of them, but that doesn't mean I was lucky. On the contrary, what was recorded in those books was almost a fatal blow to an empire living under the doctrine of divine salvation—provided his faith was even remotely devout.

Interestingly, I was indeed very devout for a time. Without boasting, I was devout enough to be a pastor.

I actually tried it.

I once attended a chaplaincy.

The priest in charge of recruiting acolytes knew perfectly well what my father did, yet he still allowed me to enter that sacred place. He upheld the noble principle of education for all, and I was grateful to him, respected him greatly, and he had high hopes for me.

But later, I left on my own because I discovered that the God-Emperor described in the book was not the same as the one I had seen when I was wandering around with my father.

They are not the same person at all.

The book says that the God-Emperor will extend a helping hand to every suffering and devout person, but I have actually seen people starve to death, I have also seen people die of illness, people freeze to death by the roadside, and even nameless corpses. The book also says that the God-Emperor will bless us to enter the world of light after death, but I have also seen the souls of some dead people suffering in places that resemble hell.
That leaves only three possibilities.

First, the so-called world of light is hell. Second, this world of light doesn't exist at all. Third, this book was written by a fraudster.

It's normal for a seventeen-year-old to be cynical. So I left the academy quickly, and was quite indignant for a while, feeling that faith was all a lie. Sometimes I even thought the God-Emperor was a lie, that he didn't exist at all, just an image fabricated by the church to gain power.
In retrospect, this idea was wrong, but not entirely wrong either.

The God-Emperor is indeed a figure fabricated by the Church, but they are extremely cautious about power, knowing full well what a dangerous force it is, and are even careful to come into contact with it.

The real emperors, just like the countless beings in this galaxy, suffer and endure torment.

So, what about Khalil Lohals?
He is depicted in the book as a powerful and righteous god. The book also says that He sacrificed everything to ensure that humanity and the Empire won the war, and even personally nailed his own body to the back of the throne for this purpose. Then there are things like the nature of His power and the limits of His danger.

These things are written in great detail, almost half a book, but there is not a single word about His past or anything else.

It's as if this god with a human name suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The meaning of His life is sacrifice, to die in that terrible yet great war.

This is fucking absurd.

The Khalil Lohals I know is not like this.

He was a person who smiled often, sometimes out of habit, sometimes from the bottom of his heart. For example, when eating, even if it was just cheap and ordinary food, he ate it with great care, as if it were a delicacy. When working, he would habitually remain silent, especially when dealing with documents, but he would often sigh.

He also enjoys telling jokes, which can be roughly divided into three types. One type is not funny at all, another type is completely incomprehensible, and the last type can make people waver between morality and humor, leading to laughter in bewilderment, and finally covering their mouths, realizing that they shouldn't have laughed at all, yet they just couldn't help it.
He was a living, breathing human being with a set of principles that he strictly adhered to. Along the way, I witnessed his ruthlessness in executing certain deserving people, and I also saw him deliberately taking detours to buy expensive candy, then smilingly distributing it to the war orphans in the orphanage.

He enjoys spending time with children.

I can tell, because I'm that kind of person too. It's just that I don't have his ability to be gentle whenever I want. Most of the time, my face is more suited to being labeled with a wanted poster.

So I can say I know him—but now, I must go see that god.

I need Him.

You're probably curious about what happened to make me say something like that.

Okay, let's rewind to a few hours ago.

At that time, we had just entered the vast cave system of the extinct volcano. The temperature here was unbearable for humans, and there were often huge lava pits or freely flowing lava blocking our way. Whenever this happened, my newly acquired special ability would come in handy.

Simply 'touch' them, or stare at them for a while, and the lava will cool down and solidify into stone as if it recognizes me, allowing us to pass through directly.

This saved us a lot of trouble, and we were able to follow the marks left by the salamanders and the map they provided, and very smoothly. With the guidance of the map, we avoided many territories belonging to wild animals.

Killing them wouldn't be difficult for our squad, so why complicate things? Our immediate priority is finding Lord Vulcan.
Right now, all the sons of the dragon have come out in full force, tirelessly working for the lives of their mother planet's inhabitants. This is their will, and the Primarch's will, but who can guarantee that this isn't a trap?
That's why my mistress, Marshal Constantine Waldo, and I have come here.

One hour and thirty-two minutes after entering the cave, we officially stepped into the tunnel that the fire salamanders had dug themselves, leading directly to the center of the earth.

A wave of intense heat washed over me, as if I were enveloped in invisible flames and relentlessly roasted. The armor's built-in temperature control was already operating at near-maximum power, but it only offered slight relief.

The breathing mask was in a worse state. It had been working very hard, and it was a miracle that it hadn't broken down, but every breath I took felt like fire tormenting my nose and respiratory tract.

My special vision didn't help me in this situation, which makes sense. For a true Fireborn, this temperature would probably only make them feel slightly warmer. But for an imposter like me who only got a pass temporarily, I was bound to suffer a bit.

Serrano was in a much better situation than me; after all, an inquisitor is an inquisitor. The Grand Marshal of the Imperial Guard was the only one unaffected; he walked at the front, his figure holding a spear looking very reliable.

We continued downhill like this until the air became viscous.

At first, it was just an eye, a greedy, deep yellow eye, stuck between the dark stones, small and inconspicuous, then it flashed by and disappeared without a trace.

A burst of laughter followed, like an old man who had phlegm stuck in his throat being amused by his grandson, laughing so hard he could hardly breathe, laughing as if he were about to die.
Finally, he started coughing, and the cough, streaked with blood, made it sound even stranger than his laughter.

Then Constantine Waldo moved.

Even the description "as fast as lightning" doesn't do him justice.

It was understandable that I couldn't see his movements clearly; after all, he was the most powerful of the Guards, far surpassing Astartes, while I was just a hot and tired mortal. However, until I saw it for myself, I truly didn't expect him to be so fast.

The divine weapon in his hand—the Sun God's Spear, which sounds like thunder to those of us who know more about it—has been deeply embedded in the ground, its blade completely gone.

At the same time, I heard his voice.

I was certain he was talking to me, even though Serrano was standing right behind him and had already drawn his gun.

"Run," he said calmly.

So I pulled Serrano over and ran with her.

She yelled something at me, but I ignored her. I didn't have time to pay attention, because that thing—the thing that had been stabbed by the Imperial Guard Marshal with his spear—had somehow appeared in front of me.

I wish I could find a way to describe what it looks like, but I can't, because my sanity begins to crumble the moment I see it.

I think I must have fallen, but Serrano didn't; she's much stronger than me, always has been.

She withstood the creature's gaze and then fired at it.

I was often responsible for maintaining the gun she used. I knew this strange weapon better than my own revolver—its bullets sliced ​​through the air like fragments of the midday sun before piercing a thick wall of flesh and blood.

The thing inside the wall, or rather the wall itself, seemed to swallow with satisfaction.

My senses returned at that moment. The gunshot startled me, and my years of combat experience made me immediately get up, raise my shield, and stand in front of Serrano instead of going forward.

This decision was correct, because if I went up now, I would only get in the way—Constantine Waldo appeared before us at the very first sound of his run, which was like a bomb exploding, but the Spear of Apollo was nowhere to be seen.

I couldn't see how he was wielding that divine weapon at all; all I could see was the continuous, flowing golden light.

The water shimmered and was incredibly beautiful, but it was accompanied by flying flesh and blood and increasingly shrill laughter.
Constantine Waldo spoke again.

“Run,” he repeated. “Go find Vulcan.”

I wanted to do as she said, but the person behind me wouldn't allow it. She continued firing while yelling, "What is that thing?!"

"You know what it is," the Imperial Guard Marshal replied calmly, almost ruthlessly. "You've seen it in the files, Delleif."

I looked back and saw that the eyes on the breathing mask suddenly widened, revealing an emotion I had never seen in her eyes before.

I know what it is, but I don't want to admit it—then she took my hand and tugged at it.

We left Constantine Waldo behind.

I feel deeply guilty and uneasy.

She seemed to read my mind; she always managed to do it, almost as if she had some kind of device installed in my heart so she could read my mind at any time.

I saw her sneer at me again, her lips behind the semi-transparent breathing mask shrouded in condensation becoming cold and sharp.

"You don't think you're some big shot, do you? You think you can help him?"

I didn't say a word. Damn it.

"Hurry up," she said calmly, her tone shifting. "We have to take a detour. Look at your map. We'll go back to the tunnel's starting point and take the path the Ash Hammers take."

I quickened my pace, but still fell behind her. I didn't look back, because the sounds of the Imperial Guard Marshal fighting that thing somehow filled the entire tunnel, far exceeding the limits of its intended range, becoming an integral part of the natural environment.

Like the sound of the wind when you run, it's everywhere.

As he lifted his foot, I could hear his cold snort. With each breath, I could hear that thing's laughter.
But I didn't look back, not even once.

Deep within me, a force compels me to resist. And I worship this force with the same devotion as the young man killed by my father, Ivanov Sable, when I was fifteen, surrendering myself to it with all my heart and soul.

We ran like that, leaving the world behind, and now all I can see is my wife's back.

I remember what she looked like on our wedding day. For the first time in my life, I saw her wearing a color other than black.

Then I recalled Constantine Waldo's gaze not long ago, and the light that the Spear of Apollo had emitted in that instant.

Other colors appeared before my eyes, different from the vibrant flames and the pitch-black rocks. A third color, a color that did not belong here.

I stopped, tossed aside my shield, and drew my plasma. I was already panting heavily, but my right hand remained steady. The plasma's trigger, as light as a thread, was already trembling impatiently before I could even pull it.

A dazzling blue light flashed across the muzzle of the gun, grazing past Serrano van der Leyef and striking a towering giant, leaving only a barely noticeable charred mark in the center of his black and gold breastplate.

He raised his hand to wipe it away, but I had already picked up my shield and roared.
A brilliant flash of light burst forth from the gun barrel once more, and Serrano, far more composed than I was, raised his gun and fired, each shot aimed at the man's face.

He raised his sword to block, his posture nonchalant, and remained standing in the same spot.

The sword was unusually large, far exceeding the size of a typical power sword even by Astartes standards.

It reminds me of a butcher's cleaver; those who sell synthetic or mutant meat always need a very thick, very large knife to cut the meat properly.

This sword is probably not much different in use from those knives.

He raised his sword, and deep blue arcs of electricity crackled violently.

“That’s really interesting,” he said.

What's so interesting? You bastard.

I pulled Serrano behind me, then raised my shield and prepared for battle.

The shield in my hand is probably just a small shield to the Astartes, but it comes from the Salamanders after all, and I believe it can withstand at least a few impacts from that sword, even though its disintegration field is obviously an enhanced model with greater output.

There are two problems now. First, if he is about to draw his sword, I definitely won't be able to see his speed.

Secondly, even if the shield can block it, I'm not sure I can withstand the power of an Astartes.
In an instant, I realized I had to take a gamble.

Strangely, he seemed to know what I was going to do, and didn't attack immediately.

I had no time for such things; I could only concentrate on my newly acquired ability—vibrant, dancing flames filled the world I saw, but none of them approached the giant, which was the main reason why I was able to discover his presence before Serrano.

I stared at them, and for some reason, an inexplicable heat surged in my left hand, which held the axe; some of them had already responded to me.
But that probably wasn't enough, so I gritted my teeth and touched all the flames in my field of vision.

They immediately swarmed over and entered my body.

My heart was the first to burn, without pain or any unusual burning sensation. My thoughts followed, rising to higher places, and the apocalyptic scenes of the trials on Nocturne, famous throughout the world, flowed before my eyes like water.

The heavens and earth trembled, mountains shifted, tsunamis surged, and radioactive dust and hurricanes became allies, working together to bring more suffering to the people on this shattered land, yet they did not yield. These people, who had lived in this terrifying world since birth, struggled to survive the disaster and rebuild their homes afterward.

They were no different from the steel in their own forge, melted in the fire and cast on the anvil.
I too will throw myself into this fire.

The Soul of Nocturne roared in my ears.

"You have been recognized, Fireborn!" she said, her voice booming and chaotic, as if all the calamities had come.

What she said is true.

The next instant, I returned to the real world. Supernatural flames burned fiercely on my body, almost pure white and incredibly hot.

The rocks beneath my feet and around me gradually softened; they were products of the cooled lava from the extinct volcano, and now they were slowly returning to their most violent form.
I gripped my axe and shield tightly and charged at the giant. They had turned orange-red in the fire, and I could even hear the machine spirits roaring with joy.

But what happened after that?

I don't know, I really don't know. I felt a surge of power as I rushed towards him, even though I knew it didn't mean I could fight him, but at least it would buy Serrano some time, right? With the understanding between her and me, this kind of thing didn't even need communication.
My thoughts stopped there.

and then?
I looked down and saw a giant sword pierce through my chest.

Now you probably understand why I need Him.

I turned to look at Serrano, who was bowing her head and preparing a spell, probably unaware that I was watching her.

That's good, because the face of a dying person is ugly. I'm already ugly enough, so let's not add to that at a time like this.
I uttered His name in my heart.

Black flames ignited.
-
Even with her head bowed, Serrano van der Leyef knew that her lover had been pierced by that sword.

She could recognize the sound of a sharp blade piercing flesh; she was all too familiar with it.

But there was no time for sadness; she had other things to do.

She had already recognized who the person blocking her way was—Azekael Abaddon, or rather, the last remaining trace of Azekael Abaddon in the world.

The unearthed history of the Terra Wars and the details recounted by eyewitnesses were like nails driven into her mind, never wavering. She understood exactly what it was.

Since he is here, it proves that Khalil Lohals's guess has come true. The so-called rebellion that is about to break out in various parts of Nocturne is just a smokescreen, a common but very useful sleight of hand in war, also known as a feint attack.

However, there are also more sophisticated uses, such as open strategies.

Khalil Lohals would always try to save both the majority and the minority, unless he had no other choice. To this end, he himself went to Hesiod, from where he would begin the extermination of all inhuman beings within the seven great cities.
He then brought Serrano, Sable, and Constantine Waldo to help Vulcan deal with the potential threat—they only needed to hold them off for a while to wait for the Grand Inquisitor's support, his speed of action was beyond question.

The problem is that neither he nor they expected that Azekel Abaddon would have an unexpected ally.

That thing.

Serrano van der Leyef, recalling its yellowish eyes, suppressed the urge to vomit, tried to keep his hands steady, and prepared to cast a spell.

She needs to concentrate for at least thirty seconds to gather enough spiritual energy to summon a blade belonging to the wasteland.
Her role as judge allowed her to wield this weapon for no more than five minutes; once that line was crossed, a spiral of hatred would begin to spread from her.

The harsh conditions brought immense power, and Seraphim had already used them to truly kill more than one powerful demon. She believed that Azeroth's Abaddon would not escape its blade either, even though he did not possess any evil belonging to Chaos.

But she failed.

Serrano van der Leyef stared blankly at the suddenly appearing, surging, dark flames of fury before him, his mind going completely blank.

Naturally, her unprepared spells failed, and psionic energy burst forth from her fingertips like a runaway horse, shooting towards the ground and stirring up the magma's fury—but she only froze for less than a second before immediately preparing to cast a dispel spell.

She knew how to banish a demon belonging to the wasteland, but did Rental Sable really have the ability to ascend to demonhood?

He was not a believer; he merely had some understanding of that deity and knew nothing more.
A thousand thoughts raced through my mind, but finally settled on one sentence.

Those who harbor grudges may ascend the altar—any altar will do, He understands. If you have made up your mind, He will respond only once. The flames of wrath will consume you, and from then on, you will be annihilated, body and soul. Your hatred is His hatred, your resentment is His resentment.

Both body and soul destroyed
No, that's not right. The judge immediately realized the key point of the statement—the altar.

Is the extinct volcano an altar?

She took a deep breath in disbelief, feeling the urge to vomit again.

She tried to suppress it, but this time, her body did not comply completely; instead, it resisted strongly.

A few seconds later, she ripped off her breathing mask and vomited up all the little food she had eaten the night before. The nauseating smell spread between her lips and teeth, and she felt a burning pain in her throat. The judge felt a deep sense of humiliation.

This was the first time in her life that she was unable to control her body through her own will.
But she couldn't care less about that now; she just started preparing her spells again—compared to a true demon of the realm of vengeance, even the thing fighting Constantine Waldor and Aizekel Abaddon were no threat at all.

She didn't know what oath the sable had taken, but she figured it must be related to killing them, so once he fulfilled his oath, she would send him away immediately.

She was completely unaware that she was already in tears while thinking about these things.

A loud clanging of metal and a roar that was completely inhuman came from behind the wall of fire formed by the raging flames.

Serrano stared intently at the scene, while behind him, the sounds of another battle grew clearer. Constantine Waldo remained silent, simply continuing his fight with the thing.
She knows what it is.

In the near future, a young man named Cassidolius Delkunas will embark on an endless quest to conquer the shattered Terra. He will then travel with Van Cleef.

They became messengers, traveling back to the past, to the very beginning of human history, in order to find that glimmer of light that exists in every era.

They succeeded, bringing a gem from the past to Terra, which Cassidolius Delkunas personally handed to the Emperor.

But human history is not all glorious.

In reality, in most eras, darkness and death were the most common occurrences—people suffered immensely, resorting to cannibalism; foreign tribes breached city gates, slaughtering, plundering, raping, and destroying everywhere; visionaries were persecuted to death by religious cults; generals who attempted to defend their country were betrayed, their bodies left with nothing but dust.
Cassidolius and Van Cleef could only accomplish that great feat by using the subspace.

Thus, a monster, with an essence diametrically opposed to their deeds and what they had collected, representing all the evil of humanity's past, was quietly born within the Chaos Sea the moment they took their first step.

It has no name, because evil doesn't need a name.

It is an evil without reason, the most terrifying malice that humanity can harbor towards itself, others, and even the world; it is born to destroy light.
Therefore, it cannot be killed unless humanity is also destroyed.

Evil persists, malice remains, and humanity still clings to it tightly.

Serrano closed her eyes and listened intently. She wanted to hear Azecal Abaddon's screams, but she knew in her heart that was unlikely.

She had to do something.

Thinking, Serrano van der Leyef, thinking.

What should be considered first? It should be what the one who has acquired Abaddon's body and name desires most.

He's come to the Death Volcano, so there's probably no need to think about that answer anymore. However, even disregarding Constantine Waldo, he has absolutely no chance of defeating the Lord of Fire Dragons.

That was a genuine Primarch who had spent ten thousand years in the material world, and his power had probably already reached its peak.
What does he want to do?
A flash of light flashed.

Yes. The judge gritted her teeth. She had an idea.

Obtaining Horus Lupecal, forged in one's own heart by the Lord of Fire Dragons, is certainly difficult, but what about another one?

That entity that was born in the warp because of the foolishness and piety of some people, that being who truly believed himself to be the former Wolf God.
The Inquisition has been tracking its trail for a long time, long enough to figure out some patterns and its current state—this entity has a strong desire to be resurrected, but its own power is completely insufficient to accomplish this.

Coincidentally, there exists another Horus Lupecal in the material world, one that is far more popular with the veil than the original.

It has been confirmed that it will be drawn to him without even realizing it. Its past appearances have gradually moved its location closer to Nocturne.

According to the plan of that destroyed cult, 050.M40, which is the thirteenth occurrence that conforms to the double sacred number, will appear on the star Nocturne.

But this is 25 years ago, now it's 025.M40
Serrano's thoughts were interrupted by an unusual sound. She immediately looked up at the curtain of fire, only to be met with a blast of scalding wind. A still-hot corpse was sent flying from behind the flames, landing in front of her. The axe was nowhere to be seen, but the shield was still clutched tightly in its hand, though it was badly damaged.

Azekair Abaddon strode out of the curtain of fire, his expression remaining calm.

"Too weak," he commented. "Even the reckless power of revenge cannot help his frail soul defeat me, though his courage is commendable. Not everyone can accept the fate of being annihilated, body and soul. Judge, you have a fine servant."

Serrano stood up and looked away from the corpse.

She raised her gun again, but this time, Abaddon did not give her another chance.

He completely ignored the bullets, simply stepping in front of Serrano, knocking the weapons away, then grabbing her by the neck and lifting her up, listening intently. A few seconds later, a smile appeared on his face.

Did you know that an embryo's heart begins to form and beat around the fourth week of pregnancy?

He suddenly asked a question, bringing up something completely unrelated to the current topic. Serrano ignored him, simply unleashing a well-prepared psychic energy blast.

Abaddon took the blow squarely; his breastplate caved in and blood gushed from his nose, but he didn't let go, and his smile only grew wider.

“The process of bringing life into the world is extremely complex, Your Honor.” He sheathed his sword, wiped away the blood, and spoke slowly.

"I don't have in-depth knowledge of this, but I have read a few books. As I just said, the baby's heart will start beating in the fourth week, and at the latest by the sixth week. After the heart, the neural tube will form, followed by facial features, and then the limbs will begin to develop. By the eighth week of pregnancy, the major organs will be basically formed, as will the limbs. It is no longer a small lump of flesh, but a fetus with human characteristics."

He tightened his fingers, gradually suffocating Serrano. At the same time, he coughed up blood, withstanding the second psionic shock.

"Let me put it more clearly, you're pregnant," he said, smiling through the blood. "Although it's in the early stages, your child does have a heartbeat, which is good news for me, but probably not for you. So, whose offspring is this? The one of that warrior lying on the ground? Ah, I'm sorry."

He sighed and released his grip, letting the judge fall to the ground.

Despite the suffocating pain and a kind of madness she herself was completely unaware of, she unleashed psionic flames the instant she landed, burning her own skin to shreds, her armor shattering and melting, but also forcing Abaddon to retreat repeatedly, with even the stench of burning flesh emanating from beneath his armor.

However, the backlash from this hasty spellcasting was too severe; her mind was severely damaged, and she was unable to take any further action.

Abaddon steadied himself, stepped forward, and gently twisted her limbs to make sure she couldn't move. Then he took a dagger from his waist.

Pitch black, as thin as a cicada's wing, and curved like a sharp claw.

He crouched down and pierced the ground with his needle. Lines and patterns were carved one by one, his meticulousness reminiscent of a teacher instructing students in mathematics.

Soon, a massive summoning circle took shape, with Serano lying at its very center. However, it was not a typical octagonal array associated with chaos.

Abaddon sheathed his knife, took the Inquisitor's blood to activate the magic circle, and then looked at her with a beaming smile.

She miraculously recovered from the backlash of the spell in such a short time, only to face an even more desperate situation.
Moreover, she cannot invoke that deity yet.

She was well-trained and a devout believer; she knew that she had to rely on the power of rituals, otherwise the power she invoked would be uncontrollable.

“He will soon hear his name being called,” Abaddon said.

He turned around, looked at the Lord of Fire Dragons who had appeared behind him at some point, and smiled.

"You're too late. I've already finished everything."

Vulcan charged at him with his hammer, and Abaddon immediately retreated, but was still heavily struck and sent flying like a cannonball.

The unparalleled power of the Fire Dragon Lord shattered every bone in his body, even his eyeballs exploded into two clouds of blood mist within their sockets. By the time he was embedded in the rock wall, he was lifeless, nothing but a mass of blood and flesh.

However, just a few seconds later, a twisting, creaking sound slowly began to emerge.

Vulcan took a deep breath, staring at the enormous, upright shadow, a flash of intense rage in his eyes.

“Live on, Serrano van der Leyef,” he said, his back to the judge. “Don’t give up.”

After saying that, he rushed towards the monster.
-
Serrano van der Leyef underwent extensive training and medication to reduce her sensory and emotional sensitivity. With no other option, she had to resort to such a dangerous and extreme method to ensure she didn't lose herself in hatred.
When she was ten years old, she witnessed her parents being murdered. She hid in the closet, but the killer found her.

They originally intended to kill her as well, but the Ministry of Justice had already arrived.

They were late, though not by too much, but still late.

She understood the importance of punctuality and efficiency at that time.

Years later, she became a judge, but she still struggles with hatred.

Coincidentally, some of her colleagues were also living in a torturous hell. They all harbored deep-seated hatred, with nowhere to retaliate, and could only drift further and further away in torment.
In this situation, sinking into emptiness might be a good option, or one could use alcohol and chemicals, but they happen to be judges, so they cannot do that.

They can only suffer more and more, and then one day they will experience a less-than-peaceful release.

Therefore, the appearance of Rental Sable was a miracle—at least for her.

She loves him.

At first, she didn't think so; she just thought the spy sent by the Master of the Seal was incredibly stupid, not realizing that she didn't need his so-called protection at all.

But the situation later changed, because he actually actually believed that.

He didn't see himself as a spy; instead, he devoted himself wholeheartedly to this incredibly stupid job. Over time, Serrano got used to it. In tense situations, she often only needed a cold laugh, and the sable would point a gun at someone's head.

She no longer has to do everything herself.

Over time, they became a perfect match and gained a deeper understanding of each other. She learned the details of several of her father's work contracts and his aversion to them, while he learned about her childhood trauma.

To be fair, Serrano knew that her experience wasn't a big deal; there were many children in the galaxy who had suffered more than her.
But the weight of suffering cannot be equal.

Moreover, the one who harbored hatred was not her, but that ten-year-old child, a child torn to pieces by the deaths of his parents. She was merely a product of those healed fragments; she had no power to decide whether these things could disappear, nor was she qualified to take the child's place in finding peace or relief.

The sable understood this.

He understood perfectly, but from a very strange perspective—he had killed his own father, and a part of him was also broken, a part of him that has yet to heal.

Therefore, from this perspective, it's quite reasonable for them to go from knowing each other to falling in love. Two people with inherent flaws have found someone who can fill the void in each other's lives, as if they were made for each other.
They got married a year before they were about to leave Terra, and the blessing was read by the High Inquisitor himself.

That was a time when happiness and joy were all that mattered, a time that had become very distant for them. Therefore, they both cherished the opportunity to experience it again.

She loves him.

Serrano van der Leyef turned to look at the corpse, tears streaming down her face. Grief cut into her heart like a knife, and the unbearable pain returned vividly, making it hard to breathe—but she deserved only this brief moment to remember the departed.

The judge's training quickly restored her composure.

Amidst her tears, she tried to gather some strength, but the consequences of the spell's backlash were far too powerful. She barely had a thought before the intense pain caused her to bleed from all seven orifices.

In a fit of intense dizziness, she slowly closed her eyes, and the sounds around her gradually subsided, leaving only the sound of her own heartbeat and another, even fainter sound.

Bang, bang.

The judge opened his eyes, panting.

No, no.

She once used herself as a vessel to seal away a demon. The feeling was terrifying; even she almost didn't survive it.

Becoming the host of that entity might be different from her experience, but probably not too different. She didn't want her child to go through the same torment.

And, and
I must.
She began to inhale deeply, but only exhaled a tiny amount each time. The pain gradually became less intense, especially the pain in her mind, which was crucial to her—she was a trained psionicist, not a high-level one, and currently only able to manipulate a small amount of power, but that didn't matter.

When you have the determination to get everything done, this matter doesn't matter.

A knife—originating from her waist—slowly floated up, then swiftly and accurately stabbed into her abdomen without the slightest hesitation.

It ignored the melting armor, precisely slicing through her flesh. As a judge, how familiar was Serrano with human anatomy?

She could perform this minor surgery without even observing, but now she has to keep her eyes open, to observe, and to look carefully.
The blade continued to penetrate deeper, downwards. The pain made her want to scream, but she held back. The more she was in pain, the more steadfast the psionic hand gripping the blade became.

Her heart was as cold as glacier iron, to the point of being incomprehensible.

Soon, an unformed embryo, along with its internal organs, was pulled from the body and landed on the cold ground, which had been chilled by the flames. A faint blue light, like a thin film, covered its surface.

It only took her two minutes to do all these things.

The knife finally fell to the ground, and at the same time, the magic circle beneath her finally emitted a bright light.

A pale golden spirit appeared, looking at her with a complicated expression.

"you"

“Don’t touch the child,” Serrano said softly. “If you truly believe yourself to be Horus Lupecal, the Emperor’s loyal heir and the firstborn son, then don’t touch the child.”

The spirit came to her side sadly and nodded heavily.

I promise you—

"I don't need your promises. I've already foreseen the future. You can't go against your nature. You're not him."

Serrano interrupted him, staring at the dark rocks above, feeling his eyelids growing heavier.

Death was imminent, about to take her away, but her speech became clearer and her voice calmer.

"Do me a favor," she said again.

"Okay, what do you want me to do?" the spirit quickly replied.

“I have a syringe in my belt. Take it out and inject the child. It’s undamaged, otherwise I wouldn’t be in this state now. I also need you to move that body next to me, and then, stay away from me.”

The golden spirits did exactly as instructed.

With her last ounce of strength, Serrano van der Leyef turned her head to look at the still-warm body, and at her lover.

An unprecedentedly beautiful smile bloomed on her pale face, which was covered in blood and sweat, like a rose in blood.

“I love you,” she said.

A raging inferno began at her chest and burned furiously, engulfing her and Rentar Sable's corpses.

In the fire, the two corpses gradually twisted, their blood boiling and crisscrossing; their bones contorted and intertwined.
They looked almost like they were embracing.

When the flames of anger subsided, what rose from within was no longer Judge Serano van der Leyef and her servant Rental Sable, but another being.

A demon.

It possessed a ferocious, spiraling horn atop its head, was exceptionally tall and strong, like an ox, yet its face was indistinct, veiled in black. A woman sat atop its shoulders, dressed in a blood-stained long dress, her feet transformed into thorns that pierced the demon's body; her eyes glowed with a dark red light.

She turned her head and glanced at the spirit.

“Let’s go, my love,” she said.

The demon answered with a roar and charged into the depths of the cave, causing the ground to tremble.

The embryo injected with the panacea is completely unaware of this; it cannot even be considered alive at this point, and should have died completely after leaving the mother's body.
Its mother wove a strong shield for it with determination and love, a cradle that isolated it from the outside world, allowing it to live and survive.

He believed himself to be the spirit of Horus Lupecal watching all this, unsure of what to think. The longer he gazed at the child, the stronger his longing became.

He stared wide-eyed in horror.

(End of this chapter)