Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 571 Whose Wings Are You?
In the core area of ​​the ruins of the Eldar Museum Palace on Belia IV, in this tangled vortex where countless rivers of time and space and the longitudes and latitudes of fate are intertwined, the number of rapidly rising possibilities has reached a maximum, almost touching the infinity of nine.

So, there is only a thin layer of window paper between this subspace and reality.

As it should be, the power of one god began to grow immensely stronger.

Malcador's fingers tightened on his staff as he sensed something coming over their battlefield and watching over their every move.

He drew upon his powers a little more deeply, and found that they were indeed strengthened through some inexplicable channel by some mysterious metaphysical connection - although Malcador was well aware that the source of his current powers was not theoretically the same as that of the dark god of knowledge.

Although he didn't want to have any power intersection with the other party at all now - the source of power that Perturabo had found was not absent from his and the Emperor's list of options, but it was rejected very early - you know, compromises, ambiguity, political exchanges, and then killing and using war to settle all bank loans are what a qualified emperor should do in his mind. But judging from the current situation, since the Emperor or the Empire can't control him or see him now, Malcador will not refuse such external assistance, especially since it is really clean, reliable and easy to use.

But just like quantum entanglement, his power from another source is increased by the enhancement, approach or sheer expansion of the indescribable and immeasurable entity of the Lord of Magic and Change - or essence, or Atman, or sum, ousia, etc. as given by ancient philosophers.

——This is the terrifying thing about the Lord of Change and the Master Designer of Destiny, and it is also the strength that made it the most powerful dark god. There are even some rumors that in order to maintain the endless chaos and changes in the subspace and not turn it into a boring victory for a master, it was the Lord of Change who broke his own artifact staff with his own hands, which allowed the four gods to return to the current state of dynamic balance.

Although the other three mighty ones certainly have different opinions on this statement, it does not prevent it from still sounding plausible.

If you don't even have this basic cognitive alertness, you will sooner or later become a puppet in the palm of the hand of the Lord of the Crystal Labyrinth, consciously or unconsciously. - Of course, no one could have imagined what Perturabo did, but even if they did, they couldn't bring themselves to break it. The possibility of a repeat of the concept substitution, the withdrawal of funds, and the desperate illiteracy of Russian roulette is better not to be considered by ordinary people. In fact, just thinking about how he could succeed and what price he paid for success, this series of logic would make Kadur Malcador's cognizable body, which is now condensed, somewhat precarious.

In short, everything represented by the Lord of Change is destined to mean that no matter how many layers of skin you put on various things like spells, witchcraft, magic, Taoism, alchemy, systems, etc. in this damn universe, as long as it has something to do with "knowledge", it will definitely be connected to the Lord of Change. Except for people like Macador who are very clear about their own power and can use it directly from the source without middlemen, all other related powers and technologies should be labeled "Beware of the Crystal Maze Pig Killing Scheme" and used with caution through gloves - an extreme example in this regard is that the time it takes for the Empire to purify the machine souls of some new equipment obtained from archaeology can be stretched to several centuries before putting them into actual use.

However, this place is neither the territory of the Human Empire nor are there any humans in the ordinary sense around. Nor can any human eyes penetrate the Eye of Terror and the Warp hurricane tides within it to see the situation here.

Without the worries of the mortal world - even if he could hold on to the Golden Throne for a while, rain down torrential rain on Mars, or snatch the moon Titan from orbit and hide it in the cracks of time and space, the scenes of his actual use of power are almost unknown. Everyone knows that Malcador the Sigillite is powerful, but few know how powerful he is, because he needs to be low-key to highlight the extraordinary feats of the Emperor.

There is no such concern now.

Malcador pondered.
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What are you going to do?
The shadow also folded its wings and hovered over his staff.
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Although it seems that some of the Eldar are missing, the difference is similar. What about the enemies I told you about being attracted here? -
The amount of relevant information I have released in Commorragh and the Webway must have overflowed, so the Haemonculi, Pirates, Archons, Conspiracy and Demons will all arrive on the battlefield in three breaths. They are still unaware of each other's existence. When I think of this, I want to chant a poem for it... Oh, I also killed a few Dark Eldar who really made me angry. Is that a big problem?
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...As long as you don't touch any tricky lines like Victor, Maris, or Lyris, I don't want to write a report on the additional actions.
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No. I just sneaked into the arena compartment of Lalith and took away a few warriors. Who let those pointy-eared aliens stand in my sneak path without knowing it?
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…Well, you’re going to like my next plan.

An energy wave describing the scene of harvesting "crops" was sent into the shadow at the top of the staff.
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Excellent. I like it.
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It's the third breath, let's just go for it.

Malcador pulled his thoughts out of the mind that communicated faster than light, and then simply and roughly kicked away the defenses built on the wall of souls of the prophets led by Eldrad and Iyanna, and Ivrenee and her right-hand man "Thousand Faces" Visage, and while the aliens' faces were distorted with horror, he projected psychic language into their minds that were similar to but very different from those of humans.

"Tell your people not to look into anyone's eyes that are too obvious outside the curtain. And don't look at me. - Don't look at yourselves either." He emphasized again.

"Don't lift your head or open your eyes until I give you permission!"

Of course, there were people who dared to curse this rude old monkey in the Eldar language, and then this brave man was hit by a psychic shock directly in the stomach and was knocked back to the front line - although this shock also turned the pink terror monsters surrounding this person into ashes, it also made this rude pointed-eared man lie on the ground and vomit for a long time without being able to get up.

"I won't be so lucky next time."

Before the Eldar's companions could fight back angrily, the terrifying spiritual pressure from the "human" in front of them made them speechless.

The Eldar were created with physiques and psychic affinity that are very different from humans, and therefore they can feel a thousand times more than humans the terror that is about to burst out from under the seemingly ordinary green robe of the old man in front of them - the speed of time in the entire museum palace ruins was forced to be infinitely close to stagnation because of his power.

Eldrad Uslan and Ivrenee's faces changed at the same time. In addition to sternly ordering their warriors to obey the ban, they chose to impose more protective measures on their fellow tribesmen. Soul stones, the resonance of souls, the brilliance of runes, and the whispers of artifacts all rang out in the ruins of the palace.

When the last breath of the third breath dissipated into the air filled with the smell of decay in the old woman's world, the faint light in the sky was completely obscured.

The light was blocked by the overwhelming enemy.

Like a high wall erected by a tsunami, or like the sky falling, the earth opened its big mouth wanting to swallow all life and secrets.

All around, no escape—

Then the bravest of the Eldar, or those who thought they were the most powerful and had to see the truth, carefully opened their eyes a crack and lowered their heads to look at the ground. Shadow.

They only dared to look at the shadow. There was only a shadow here.

In the first second, there was no light. The ears could hear the horrible and unique gasps of the Haemonchi's flesh-born army, the slight clash of weapons of the Archon Cabal, the sound of the weapon chains of Khaine's hounds and bloodletters, the ecstatic moaning and dancing of the Slaanesh dancers and the Keepers of Secrets, the rustling of feathers of Tzeentch wizards and horror demons, and the blue-purple magic fire brought by the demons illuminated the faces of every Eldar, making them look weird and pale. Some people who were too close could not help but raise their weapons. The weapons twisted and changed back and forth between metal, flesh, plants and dust. If Malcador had not asked them to close their eyes, just witnessing this scene would be enough to turn those with weak minds into unconscious tentacles and meat on the spot.

The next second, natural light began to leak from the top of their heads. It was as if someone had used the power of gravity to forcibly twist the stars in front of them. All the seemingly endless movements that surrounded them just now turned into a second of panic, shouting, scolding, cursing, hissing, screaming and roaring. But the sound seemed to be cut, disappearing piece by piece in order. As the sound disappeared, the shadow became smaller in size, but the edges began to shrink. A big demon cursed loudly and tried to shout out the name. A storm of orchids appeared from Malcador's fingertips and burned on his vocal cords. The demon screamed, and the last ashes of annihilation fell at everyone's feet.

In the third second, the shadows became smaller, more specific, and clearer, and all the enemy's movements disappeared. A satisfied burp sounded.

Some people seemed to catch a glimpse of colorful black feather tips from the corner of their eyes, but could such beautiful, delicate and unpredictable colors be composed of countless tiny compound eyes or scales? It was not certain, because the unfortunate guy with too sharp eyes demonstrated to others what would happen after seeing it: he began to twist and roll silently, half of his body turned from the inside out, and the other half began to turn into a thick black oily liquid, which seemed to have a hint of blood-red reflection. The last part of him began to experience an unusually high-speed passage of time. As an Eldar whose cause of death theoretically almost never includes old age, he used himself to teach them a solid lesson: it turned out that as long as time passed long enough, they could also see the appearance of an Eldar aging and the end of the corpse gradually decomposing into bones and gradually weathering into dust.

"That is... what on earth is that?!" Iverene shouted. Her fan dagger and crone sword were still tightly grasped in her hands, but she was almost exhausted. The spiritual pressure just now was too strong for her. "What on earth are you?" She grabbed her weapon angrily, "I can feel it! I can feel it! What did you just take from me?!"

"It's nothing. Don't worry." The old man had returned to his previous appearance, exactly the same as what they had just seen. A ball of blue living storm flames danced in his palm, and countless spirit souls cried out in it. "Just now, I did borrow your Sword of Sorrow and 'Him''s power. However, until He finds his own destination, I will still keep Him with you."

The ball of orchid living flame rushed towards Ivrenee and merged into her body without causing any harm. She felt that the souls that had been absorbed into her body before and were under the protection of the god of death were still there, but they seemed to have suffered a great mental shock and were a little listless.

"What do you mean?" The Shadow Daughter widened her eyes, and her loyal guardian Visage raised the sword even though it seemed very difficult, "What do you mean by deposit?!"

"Eldrad just wants to awaken Him." Malcador didn't want to reveal too much to the alien. If he didn't have to take a specific group of people and a specific route to weave the tapestry of fate, wouldn't it be better for him to drive the mechanical ark into the Hera Fortress openly? He also had to play charades with the pointed ears every day to find loopholes in their myths. "You have only accepted the fate of awakening the priestess of His destiny. You don't think you can obtain all of His authority or become His incarnation, right?"

"But I can feel that this is the second time, and I am more certain than the last time! The power of death and soul that I have absorbed has reached a certain level. The One I serve once promised to give birth to a new incarnation for us to guide us and help us. Every time it is about to appear, you begin to extract these powers, making it unable to take shape!"

"Didn't I guide and help you? I personally think that the content of my prophecy is more straightforward and clear than those of you who speak the least cryptic. In the battle just now, I have wiped out most of your enemies in front of you, relieving the worries of the Death Army for a long time, right? Lalith's good opponent, Victor's thorn in the eye, Miss Iverene, the succubus of the Comoros Arena."

Ivrenee stared at him, and the Great Prophet intervened at the right time, "I have observed that the blood and death in your destiny map have indeed decreased a lot. What he said is true."

"But the incarnation of death..." At this point, she suddenly choked, realizing that she couldn't just say that the constant "death" that was brought about was the key to Inkahn's appearance.

The subtle feeling of discomfort and meddling conveyed by the gods once again surged into her heart.

But what she didn't understand was that, no matter what, as a human being, Malcador didn't want the Aida God of Death to be born soon, so she could understand why he devoured the power, but why could he intercept, return and use the power of Inad so smoothly...?
"Here." The old man's voice brought her back to her thoughts. A bright white-gold fire ignited in the shadow of the staff, pointing to a place under the ruins of the museum. The light made the dull soul stones under the dust on the road reflect a faint light. These stones looked very different from ordinary soul stones. Ivrene knelt down and brushed away the dust on their surface with her hands.

"These soul stones... they are 'dead'..."

"That's right. Just like that day... so it should be nearby." Malcador walked towards a place where dead soul stones were piling up more and more. Soul stones without souls piled up like a mountain, like colorful beverage bottles that had been drunk up.

Everene's heart began to thump, and she placed her hand on the ground and felt something underneath: a sword, which must be one of the five Crone Swords she was looking for.

But she couldn't pull it out... Damn it! That old monkey took away some of her power...

An invisible palm covered her hand, and a slender and shining crone sword appeared in her hand.

She knew its name immediately: Villiszar, the Sword of Souls, the greatest of all the Crone Swords in size and power.

She heard her fellow Death Soldiers cheering.

But who helped her?
Ivrenie looked up in confusion, and seemed to see only a black feather that was falling and gradually turning into ashes.

(End of this chapter)