Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 587 The story about the truth of scars
-
A sharp blade killed a person. The death of one person eventually murdered a generation of people in the galaxy. But when the blade had not yet been sharpened into a weapon destined to commit that murder, could we distinguish every atomic particle that would make it up from tens of millions of tons of ore? No matter what method is used, prediction or calculation, how much sacrifice is needed as a price, or how many galaxies and generations of people are needed to work hard? Are those who dig out the ore, select the raw materials, and finally make and sharpen it, injecting the potential for destruction and killing into it, considered accomplices in this grand murder? So the question is, can we prevent the sin that has not yet happened, or can we forgive or define things that have not yet happened? If the prevention, forgiveness and remedy in advance are meaningful, then does it mean that their premise must also be meaningful...

————————A random note in the corner of a book page found by a judge in Wandering Port

--------

Varro Diglis continued to be carried safely through the deepest abyssal turbulence of the Warp, where even the most powerful and insane wizards could not and would not dare to tread.

Here, the meaning of time and space was completely lost. When the bubble that enveloped him passed far past the special intersection at the deepest part of the abyss, he risked a look there - it seemed to be a black hole in the universe, a missing soul, a false hope, the pupil of a beast approaching, a bottomless well or -

Darkness suddenly descended upon his physical and spiritual eyes. The voice that resembled his father rang in his ears, still gentle, but slightly reproachful: "Curiosity kills the cat, and it can also kill a chief think tank. Respectable Digris, please don't make it difficult for me to be disrespectful to you."

"My eyesight..." The Chief Think Tank raised his fingers, and the touch under his fingernails told him that his two eyeballs were still intact in their original places in his skull, dry, and could still move. There was no pain, and no blood.

"Yes. That's what I call impolite. I took them away temporarily before I could remind you." Julius' voice said, "To make you safer when traveling here. It's very convenient for us to wander here, but it's too unsafe for any human who still has ideals but fails to find the ultimate shelter."

Although the Chief Think Tank was somewhat hesitant to use such mild words as "wander" and "travel" to describe such a dangerous place that is beyond the human mind, he wisely chose to digest the content of this passage instead of asking more questions.

His sight passed through the images transmitted to him by some tendrils that had just penetrated into his soul, and saw countless altars of the past, present, and future dedicated to the Ancient Four and their great demons. The throats of the voluntary or involuntary sacrifices were crossed with countless scarlet, hideous wounds, like countless weird smiles; his light body passed through countless murder moments and battlefield scenes over tens of thousands of years, and the last wisps of hot air of life were still rising from the cut surface of flesh and blood.

For a moment he didn't know where he was or who he was.

The last moment he was standing on the red sand ground, watching the ragged gladiators beside him raise their simple and primitive weapons and pass over him, feeding the bloodthirsty audience with their lives and meaningless deaths; the next moment he came to a desolate and vast black rock desert basin, witnessing the most despicable atrocities of deception and betrayal between the legions that once called each other brothers and cousins. From the blood of the melee and killing everywhere, he recognized the Emperor's Children, Iron Warriors, Night Lords, Word Bearers, Iron Hands, Death Guard, Sons of Horus, Salamanders, Raven Guard, Alphas and... World Eaters...?
Just when he felt dizzy, he suddenly found himself lying on the uneven stone ground, surrounded by blood and broken limbs, his own neck was oozing with the hot blood that took his life, and the Emperor's Children commander beside him was holding his weapon high, looking triumphant, while a man in gorgeous purple power armor and a man in simple black armor with iron hands were fighting each other.

And not far from where he fell, a giant with purple eyes and the most perfect and flawless face he had ever seen was holding a silver-white sharp blade shrouded in purple mist. He had just let out a cry of grief, and the wet demigod blood on the magic sword that had just committed the crime of betrayal and murder was still dripping down. The scar on his throat was pressed down by the sharp blade in the hand of the owner of the still terrified face.

Blood spurted, and with it spurted more revenge, revenge, and endless war—

The tall headless corpse with a pair of large silver hands rolled to the ground. Countless invisible hands and countless angry and huge forces poured out of the cavity like a hurricane. The Chief Think Tank trembled and discovered a lot of inhuman magic that should not be observed by someone like him. When he raised his eyes in horror, he saw more specific details, the tears flowing from the purple eyes, the flaming sword aimed at himself slashing the burnt throat, and his giving up in grief and despair, and those things that took the opportunity to enter him -

Is this what he should see? Is this what he can be shown? How can he be allowed to see this? And is all of this real?

A voice inside him told him that this was all real because something in it could never be imitated by anything.

Can……

If so...

He was in a theater that was once magnificent and full of artistic elegance, but now it was decadent and corrupt, with traces of corruption and graffiti of suspicious liquids everywhere, making it unrecognizable. Where was this...

The familiar ultramarine power armor flashed before his eyes, accompanied by the rustling sound of the snake's huge scales moving. He suddenly realized that the color of the corpse under his feet was of the same bloodline as him, and Digris opened his eyes wide. His psychic energy turned into lightning and was fiercely imprisoned around him.

"No--!!!!"

The dagger was unable to withstand the devil's blade's extremely precise blow. The Extreme Warriors were dying in droves, using themselves as shields to block the advance of the fallen figure. Several people died perhaps only to delay for a second until the light of teleportation came on. The heroic sacrifice was left here, and no one would know about it ten thousand years later.

He might be the first person to know about it besides the two people involved.

A huge sadness overwhelmed him like a flood.

Then Diglis found himself taken away again, in another unimagined scene, and just when he thought he could no longer be disturbed by anything, he saw clearly the murder being committed.

This made him tremble all over, and if it weren't for the fact that he had no physical form, he would have completely collapsed to the ground.

He saw Terra and Luna passing by the huge porthole that was several kilometers high. He saw the spiked hammer of the World Destroyer smashing down mercilessly. The blood merged with the noble face that was ruthlessly destroyed, dyeing the pure white wings red - no, no, no, it's not just that - the scene changed, and the hammer of the treason was still being raised high and dropped heavily, raised and dropped, raised and dropped.

What is he... this monster with a huge black armor and red eyes on his chest smashing? ! He is smashing? ! How dare he - he actually - what is that? ! Who is that - no no no he can't accept it he can't watch this he can't his anger his psychic energy is uncontrollable and is burning him from the inside -

An eyeball connected to the optic nerve, which had fallen out of the skull, was knocked out from the remains of broken flesh and bones without blinking, and rolled to the side of the boots of the chief think tank standing there, turning back and forth twice. Diglis's blood froze, the chief think tank's limbs were cold, his mouth was stiff, and even the tip of his little finger was numb. He couldn't even cry out. He took a big gulp of non-existent oxygen so that his non-existent lungs could support his breathing, as if his three lungs and two hearts had lost their original functions at this time.

He slowly lowered his head stiffly and just happened to look into the iris of that eye. It was golden at first, and when it shook, the light changed. It seemed to be green like the sea for a moment, and then it turned into the darkest black like the sea on a rainy night, staring at him from the deep darkness at the other side of ancient time.

A dizziness rose from the depths of his throat. Diglis now wanted only to rush over, grab his staff, and pour out all his strength on the hateful leader of treason without reservation, even if it meant burning his own flesh and blood and turning his soul into ashes.

"Hush." ​​Julius' voice appeared in Digris's ear again, stopping his impulse. Julius' tone sounded so calm and composed, so calm that Digris almost screamed at him like crazy, "Who are you? ! Why can you be so calm when facing this battle that will determine the lives and fate of so many humans and Astartes ten thousand years later? ! !
"Well... this is a gift from my Lord, but unfortunately it cannot be shared, because it first requires the talent composed of blood, opportunity and time." As if it could see through his silent scream, the voice explained, and then continued to remind him, "Shh. Don't worry, keep reading, the stories I tell you will soon end."

Diglis witnessed death and resurrection in reluctance and spasm, saw something summoning the body that had already ended back to the world, turning it into another new existence, he saw the duel between two wounded gods, white and black, dotted with scarlet blood, entangled and almost evenly matched, he gasped nervously when his claws cut the throat of the sacred existence and left blood, he held his breath when they burned each other with the fire in their eyes, and finally, he saw who killed who with what.

The Chief Librarian almost wanted to beg Julius to block his sight and remove the relevant memories from his mind, because he knew clearly that what he saw now was completely shaking all his cognitions for hundreds of years and the cornerstone of his indestructible loyalty to the empire. Julius' voice came back in time, just as he had great experience in being a teacher in this situation. "Think about the people you want to protect, respectable Digris, and just be loyal to the people you want to protect."

This reminder was like a ray of light in the smoke, drawing his attention away from the chaos. When he gathered his scattered mind and looked around again, he found that the environment here had undergone subtle changes again.

"This is the last sacrifice..." Julius seemed to be sighing. His voice, which had been calm and gentle like a book of Ecclesiastes from beginning to end, finally took on some human emotions.

The Chief Think Tank's heart sank into his stomach. Looking up, he saw that those blood-stained golden bodies, big or small, had all left the place. Only the gradually forgotten darkness and coldness began to cover the eye sockets of the empty huge corpses. The last Moon Wolf was still guarding beside his corpse, just as it had been watching over him back then.

Then he saw the culprit of thirteen dark expeditions in the past nine thousand years appear at the door, not yet consumed by Chaos, and rushed in with others. Then he was stunned to witness the last chosen sacrifice being delivered to the altar of the Four Gods by the agent of the ancient will, and the priest's eloquent words like a venomous snake made the flame of ambition spread in Ezekiel Abaddon's eyes like a ignited wildfire. The cycle of revenge ended here and solidified into a substance, becoming the echo of his crimes behind him and following him forever.

"It's over," Julius' voice said. "We should go back."

"No!" At the moment of crossing countless dimensions, the chief think tank tried his best to throw the greatest force he could muster in the direction of the hateful man. Did he hit it? Or was it just like his own existence that he couldn't even blow away a speck of dust in that time and space? Diglis didn't know.

Because of the next moment.

He felt the heat on his face and remembered the scene he had just seen of them igniting each other with the light in their eyes. He jumped in surprise and pressed frost made of psychic energy on his face, but then he felt the icy cold and hurriedly let it go.

Diglis shook off the frost that had turned into cold water on his eyelashes, his pupils slowly focused, and the world became clear again.

He saw that "Robert Guilliman", transformed by Julius with exquisite magic, was looking at him from above with the same concern as before.

He was still sitting in the same seat, with the afternoon sunlight of Magna City shining obliquely through the window lattice onto his face, indicating that it might have been only a short while since the Eldar envoys left. It was the warm sunlight that caused the illusion of burning just now.

In his Lyman's Ear he heard the aromatic herbs in the garden swaying and growing, tiny insects crawling through the deep soil, birds alighting and pacing on the roofs of the houses, the fire crackling in the big kitchen with grease dripping from the roasting meat, and a team of Honor Guards trotting hard to take over at the door of the Temple of Rectification - the rustling sounds of countless living lives made him want to cry.

It's like an eternity.

"I..." Diglis moved his lips, and after a while he rediscovered his language center. "You..."

"Are you okay? Don't worry, it won't have any effect on your shell remaining here. If you can't stand up now, you can sit for a while."

Julius considerately pushed a wine glass towards him. Digris took a look and smelled the scent of the precious cognac produced by Quatis. He could not wait to grab it and drink it all. The golden wine seemed to have been filtered extra, making it purer and fresher. He felt his soul and body gradually coming together again, and the power that had been infused into his deep body before had left at some point.

The Chief Librarian slowly focused his gaze on the smiling Julius' neck.

That horizontal scar.

Now he knew how it was formed.

—This is not just from the murder of "Robert Guilliman".

It embodies the painful truth of murder, revenge, sacrifice and death that has run through everything for thousands of years.

(End of this chapter)