40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 479 200. Terra (End)

Kor Phaeron was the first to sense his death.

This happened very suddenly, but he was not surprised. The voices of the dark gods followed closely behind, rushing in. It was as if the waves of the sea were rolling past his ears, one wave higher than the other.

They seemed eager, more eager than ever. One command is often followed by more commands, some of which are even opposite and have abnormal logic. Others are simply confusing, like this one, where one of the gods asks him to summon Lorgar Aurelion again.

Kor Phaeron didn't understand what this meant. Horus was dead. He was so powerful, but he still couldn't escape the blade of revenge. So, what's the use of causing more deaths and starting another summoning ceremony now?

Can Lorgar Aurelion change all of this?

No, forget it, there is no need to call that thing that way anymore.

Cole Phaeron smiled.

Now, he was finally willing to be honest with himself. That was not Luo Jia at all, at least not the Luo Jia he knew.

From his belt, he pulled out a ceremonial dagger given by Erebus, his pale face covered in sweat for some reason. Around him, the Word Bearers' elite battled with the Ultramarines and War Hounds.

Their defeat has become inevitable, Robert Guilliman and Angron are fighting in the battle. Even if the dark gods were to fabricate hundreds of blessed sons out of thin air, they might only be able to delay the defeat for a moment.

Defeat is decided. Cole Phaeron thought with relief.

Then, what followed was a sigh that seemed a bit rebellious and even ridiculous.

Finally, finally. He sighed.

He let go, threw the ceremonial dagger to the ground, turned around without looking back, and gave the order to retreat through his psychic voice. Few could hear his voice, and the Blessed Sons were completely deaf to him.

The power surging in their bodies has obscured everything, and these fanatical half-humans and half-demon have long been addicted to the slaughter. Every drop of blood made them happy, and every death brought them more blessings.

Blessing?

Cole Fallon stopped.

Blessing? ha. Bless.

He sighed again - a blessing?

The past of Colchis flashed before his eyes one by one at this moment. He was studying at a young age, was scheming, and had lofty ambitions.

The Four of Darkness knew what kind of person he was early on. They gave him strength, gave him revelation, gave him authority, and almost responded to his requests. However, these things are just to let him participate in this drama.

They chose the actor Luojia, so they carefully selected Colchis in the galaxy, and Cole Phaeron from Colchis.

Their vision is unparalleled by ordinary people, and their gifts are as cruel as their temperaments. Those visions glimpsed in the darkness, and the power pouring into his body like running water, had actually paid the price in advance.

Cole Fallon stopped.

Angel Tai stood before him, holding a blood-stained power sword.

This didn't make sense, the disintegration field was enough to destroy any blood that splattered from the wound, the power sword was such an elegant weapon but the problem didn't stop there, there was his armor. The iron-gray color looked so familiar that Cole Phaeron almost wanted to laugh.

"Iconoclasts?" he asked.

"Yes." Angel Tai nodded, then waved his right hand.

Cole Phaeron's chest was instantly pierced by a sword. He turned slightly and saw Battusa Narek. One of the 'traitors' of the Word Bearers.

That face had been completely distorted by hatred, every muscle was trembling slightly, and his eyes were scarlet.

Cole Phaeron breathed out a deep, deep breath of cold air, feeling his consciousness slipping away quickly.

Battusa Narek didn't give him any mercy. He didn't turn his wrist to hasten his death. Instead, he propped up his sword and slowly lifted Cole Phaeron up so that he could be restrained by gravity. Taste more pain.

"You bastard!" Bartusa growled.

Just hearing this curse, Cole Phalon burst into laughter again.

He coughed twice and replied in a low voice: "You are crazy, aren't you, Bartusa?"

"You seem to be at peace with your death." Angel Tai walked slowly, his face full of calm.

Compared to Battusa Narek's violence and madness, this calmness made Cole Phalon feel faintly uneasy. So, he didn't answer the question.

Angel Tai nodded, seeming to have understood something from his silence. He raised his right hand again, and Bartusa let out a low growl full of threats and reluctance from his throat. However, in the golden light shining between the brows of the son of Aurelion, he still put down his sword.

Cole Phaeron fell to the ground in a state of disgrace, unable to resist.

The gods were angered by his weakness and his decision to drop the ceremonial dagger and retreat, and their blessings were quickly fading away.

You know, Kor Phaeron has never truly completed the transformation of the Astartes. He is a defective product, and now, the combination of age and the disappearance of blessings has brought bitter consequences to his body. Completely manifest.

But in just a few seconds, his face began to age rapidly, even becoming like a mummy.

Anger Tai slowly squatted down and looked at him. Half a minute later, he came to a conclusion.

He said with a firm tone: "You want to die."

"Of course he deserves to die!"

Batusa said fiercely, he was pacing anxiously, and his whole body seemed to be on fire. His sword kept shaking in his hand.

Anger Tai didn't look at him. He still stared at Kor Phaeron, and even stretched out his hand and put it on his neck, feeling the passing of his life.

"Death is a relief for you, right?" Aurelion's loyal heir suddenly laughed. "I understand, you are such a pathetic monster, Kor Phaeron."

"You can neither sink completely into darkness nor choose to run towards light like us. As early as when you entered the Legion, I thought your existence would corrupt our discipline. Now it seems that my premonition seems to be correct."

Kor Phaeron coughed up a burst of blood foam, half of his face had sunk into the blood and flesh mud, and he was barely breathing, but he stared at Anger Tai.

"Kill me," he said with difficulty. "Am I not worthy of being killed by you as a traitor?"

Angel Tai slowly stood up, he looked up and glanced at the darkness above the Rupercal Court that was dispersing.

The noisy screams of the demons followed, and the tide of the Unliving finally began to recede. They ran back to the warp, fearing to fall behind. Only the traitors were still struggling to resist.

One after another, the war cry came into his ears, and the smile on his face began to grow little by little.

Kor Phaeron raised his hand at this time and grabbed his right leg.

"Kill me."

He said with desire in his eyes, and the whole person didn't know where the strength came from, and he actually leaned on Angel Tai and barely knelt up. He gasped violently like a broken bellows, and looked back at Batusa Narek.

"Kill me." He asked again.

Batusa Narek raised his sword with trembling eyes.

Angel Tai shook his head again.

He raised his leg and walked in another direction. Kor Phaeron was unwilling to let go, and was carried by him in a mess. Anger Tai walked a dozen steps and then stopped. He bent down and picked up a pitch-black dagger from the pool of blood. It looked like it was made of stone, and the blade was dull and dull, and there was no magic at all. Kor Phaeron coughed and fell to the ground. Anger Tai turned around and stared at him. "It's too easy for you to die like this, do you understand?" He said slowly. "There is one thing you don't know, but Erebus once stabbed my forehead with a similar dagger." He tapped his eyebrows with his left hand. Kor Phaeron slowly raised his head and looked at him with despair. "Yes, I know what this thing is." Anger Tai said. He held the dagger tightly, and then hissed a word in the Nostramo language he learned. "Revenge." He threw the dagger. Its thin tip instantly pierced Kor Phaeron's forehead, and the huge force carried him backwards and nailed him firmly to the ground. A vortex appeared behind his head, swallowing up a huge amount of fresh blood.

An illusory shadow loomed from the rotten body, screaming and full of despair, and it disappeared into the vortex.

"What did you do?" asked Batusa Narek.

"I made him live in an eternal nightmare." said the son of Aurelion.

The revenge was taken, but he did not feel any pleasure. His eyes were full of sadness, and they left. What they did not know was that another thing left Terra with this vortex.

——

The darkness is fading.

Malcador held the scepter tightly, stared around, and then came to this conclusion.

His body was climbing to the peak again under the influence of his will, and when he was determined to use his power regardless of the consequences, the psychic energy gave generous rewards.

For some reason, the Master even felt that they were complaining - why didn't you do this earlier? Why do you keep restraining yourself?

He was too lazy to answer, and he didn't care how much younger he was.

For the immortals, age has always been an insignificant number. But he did like the appearance of the elderly, which could bring many hidden conveniences to his work. And if, under the influence of psychic energy, his appearance was to return to his youth.

The Master's temples began to throb, and he was really not sure whether his appearance when he was young could shock those fools who might be endless in the next ten thousand years.

+ You are worrying about something insignificant. +

Malcador looked back coldly at the man who was sending him words with psychic energy, and walked down the pile of corpses he had created with his own hands, holding the scepter. A guard came over, it was Ra, Ra Endymion, Malcador recognized him at a glance.

"The Lord said," Ra leaned on a spear and spoke slowly. "He wants you to go and talk to him."

"Why doesn't he come?" Malcador asked.

La looked up, as if sighing: "I ask you to think twice, sir."

"No, I won't go now." The seal holder said so. Then, he suddenly looked away and looked in another direction.

The veins in his hands bulged at this moment, and the bright blue light burst out from the depths of his bones, making the brilliance of the scepter surge.

La frowned and became vigilant—could there be any demons daring to cause trouble at this moment? This shouldn't be the case. They could have fled as far away as they wanted.

what happened?

He turned his head and cast his gaze towards where Makado was looking, and then, his question was answered instantly.

As the sounds of everything disappeared, a burst of extreme darkness that far exceeded the previous level of darkness enveloped La's vision. It swallowed up everything, and La even felt that his soul was dissolving. If it hadn't been for the extreme darkness to stop, La might have died completely at this moment.

However, even if this was the case, he also paid a heavy price. The tribune bent over unbearably, feeling that his entrails were being burned by some cold fire.

Then, the hatred in his heart - the violent hatred that had been soothed by others roared again at this moment.

He immediately understood who was standing in front of him.

The tribune bowed his head deeply as a sign of respect.

"Are you okay?" Malcador said hoarsely.

The darkness surged, and a breeze came, bringing a whisper that was different from any language to his and La's ears.

“It’s not good, but it’s not bad either,” He said. "I can probably survive for a little while, and that's enough time to get everything done."

Malcador was silent for a moment, and an unprecedented roar suddenly erupted from his thin body. His voice was so loud at this moment that La La felt his eardrums hurt.

"What else are you doing?!" Makado asked sharply. "Damn it, Khalil Lohars! Why can't you just sit down and have a moment of peace?"

Ji An didn't answer, and another breeze blew slowly, bringing a smile.

"Because there are still more people who have not yet received the peace that belongs to them."

The person holding the seal was silent. After a few seconds, he raised the scepter in his hand. As if it was a huge weight, it suddenly fell to the ground, causing a loud noise, and the light of psychic energy roared out. When Ra opened his eyes again, he had come to a dark and huge cave.

He had never been here before, but he wasn't surprised. All the questions were solved after seeing the throne, not to mention, he was not the only one here.

Many are here, Astartes, mortals, and Primarchs. I don't know if it was an illusion, but La even saw some illusory golden figures in the darkness that shouldn't exist.

Of course, the Emperor is here too.

Everything was silent, no one spoke. Malcador, the Sealbearer, raised his scepter high. The eagle mark on the top of the scepter burned brightly, illuminating every corner of the darkness.

People looked at each other, and Ra was one of them. He recognized many people, such as the Primarchs and his Marshal, Constantine Valdo

The Marshal of the Forbidden Army looked the same as before, but for some reason, President La felt that he was completely different.

Time passed slowly, people didn't speak, they just waited. After a while, in the light of the flames, a man wearing a white linen robe appeared.

His chest was covered with blood, and the shocking hollowness was unreservedly revealed under his robe. He was wearing a laurel wreath, his face was pale, but his expression was calm.

He slowly walked to the throne and sat down.

At this moment, there was some kind of sound rolling in from a very far away place, like thunder or roaring.

Keep your eyes on that throne.

Its surface is rough, like an unpolished boulder, without any carvings. In fact, calling it a throne would be an understatement; if it were not destined to bear the Emperor, it would be nothing more than a giant stone chair.

The Emperor raised his head and looked at the crowd. His gaze did not fall on any place, but everyone could feel his gaze. That kind of gaze is warm and powerful, like the warm sun in winter or a bonfire in the middle of the night.

After a while, he spoke slowly, completely ignoring the bleeding on his chest.

"We won," he said.

There was no response from the crowd. Someone was crying. La didn't look to see who it was. He just recited his oath silently and tried to stop his tear ducts.

"But this does not mean that we will step into the light." The Lord of Humanity continued firmly. "The future of mankind is a little brighter. With countless sacrifices and countless bloodshed, we have been able to survive this disaster."

"However, the darkness will not simply let us go. They are bound to come again. They are such things, always waiting hungrily in the darkness. In fact."

He paused before continuing to speak.

".They are already doing this."

Malcador took a step forward, and the face under the hood seemed to have changed back to that of a middle-aged man. His arms were no longer skinny, and he held the scepter high again.

The Sealmaster spoke majestically: "They set off a disaster that affected the entire galaxy, brave loyalists. We don't know when it originated, and we don't even know when it will end."

The spiritual radiance in his eyes flashed away, and a dim star map was projected into the air. Almost everyone present knew how to read a star map, and even those who didn't know could see something from the patches of darkness.

"The power of chaos has torn apart the curtain of reality. Only the situation in the Sun Star Territory is slightly better. As for other places, I am afraid it has been plunged into darkness."

"The only thing we can be sure of is that in this dark night that envelopes the empire, there must be other loyalists fighting desperately. We will never sit idly by and we will fight against those despicable and useless people at all costs. The perpetrators and shameful traitors proved that the will and glory of mankind will not be so easily destroyed by their despicable means."

"When does it start?" one of the crowd asked. He was tall, and his faded bright yellow armor was stained with blood.

The person holding the seal stopped talking and took a step back. The man on the throne raised his head and looked at Rogal Dorn. A rare smile appeared on his face, and even Ra was shocked.

"Don't be impatient, Rogge," said the Lord of Humanity. "These things will be completed one by one. Everything must be done one by one. Don't rush it. You are an architect. You know best, right?"

Dorn nodded silently, his face tense and trembling.

"Perturabo," the Emperor spoke again, calling for his other heir.

The Lord of Steel strode out of the crowd, his warhammer twisted and deformed as he held it in his hand. He was expressionless, as if the armor covered with bruises was wrapped in another piece of steel instead of a human being.

"I'm here," he said. "I'm here, Father."

"I hope you can cooperate with Rogge," the Emperor said, already looking a little tired. Blood flowed continuously from his chest, creating a pool of blood at his feet that would soon spread everywhere.

"I've already worked with him," Perturabo said.

"Yes, I know, my son," the Emperor replied.

He seemed to have a lot to say, but couldn't say a word. He looked at Perturabo, and in the end he just sighed.

The complexity of this is too obvious. The Lord of Steel lowered his head deeply and rubbed his chest with his left hand. A flower of steel loomed between the fingers.

"But this is a completely new duty," the Emperor said. "I hope you can join forces with Rogge and use Terra as the basis to set up defenses along the solar system. Every planet must be turned into a fortress."

Perturabo turned to look at Rogal Dorn, who stretched out his hand and hammered his chest.

So he turned back and said to his father: "I understand. Rogge and I will make the solar system the strongest fortress."

The Emperor smiled again, pain and laughter mingling on his face. La had blocked his tear ducts for a long time, and now, he finally couldn't bear it anymore.

The tribune lowered his head, tears flowing freely on his dark face. There is only one person in the world who can make a Custodian so sad. He issued an exhortation in his heart, trying to let his master rest and do what a patient should do.

"He has a will of his own," said Constantin Waldo.

Ra raised his head and found that the Marshal of the Imperial Guard was staring at him intently. His expression was extremely calm, showing no sadness, only a heavy solemnity.

"But."

"No need to say anything, La." Waldo patted him on the shoulder. "He is a captain, trying hard to make the ship we are on survive the coming storm. We are his sailors, and we should listen to him to hoist the sails or prepare the cannon."

In the midst of their hushed conversation, the Emperor called again.

"Leon, please come here."

The lion of Caliban moved forward without a word, walked to the rough throne of his father, knelt down on one knee, and buried his head deep in his father's blood.

"I came too late, father." Leon El'Jonson said seriously. "I was tied up by a conspiracy that was not worth mentioning. If I could have rushed back as soon as the war started, the situation would never have developed like this."

"No such thing, Leon," the Emperor replied nonchalantly. "You have done enough but I still have new responsibilities to give you. And you too, Ferus. Please come here too."

Ferrus Manus clenched his fists and walked out of the crowd. He looked straight ahead and walked little by little behind the lion. He did not kneel down, but just lowered his head. However, neither the Emperor nor the Lion cared about this matter.

"Your hometown is very close, so I want you to join forces to fight and return to the Obscure Star Territory in the name of the empire."

"Then what, father?" the lion looked up and asked.

Ferrus Manus asked the same question with his eyes.

"Then everything will be business as usual," the Lord of Mankind said calmly. "Give death to the enemy and reward the loyal, that's all. In the process, you will inevitably encounter endless dangers, but I firmly believe that you will survive them all safely."

The lion stood up, touched his forehead with his spear, and accepted the order wordlessly. Ferrus Manus nodded to him, walked back to the crowd with him, chose a corner, and started talking in a low voice.

The expedition had not yet begun, but they were already deeply involved. For some reason, La actually felt that he could vaguely understand their mood at the moment.

Perhaps, this is not just because they still harbor hatred and want to vent against the darkness. Perhaps, this is just because they dare not and do not want to look at their father's pale face again.

"Fulgrim, Jaghatai, Vulkan—" the Lord of Mankind shouted three names in one breath. "——I don't want to do this, but can you please come closer? I can't see clearly."

The Fire Dragon Lord strode forward and arrived at his father's throne. His armor had long been charred and melted, hanging cruelly on his tall body.

Chemos' Phoenix followed closely behind him, walking slowly, and with every step, the shadow-like cloak behind him surged.

Chogoris' Eagle, known for his speed, was the last to arrive. His beard was messy, his face was tired, but his eyes were bright.

He was the last to respond, but also the first to speak.

"Father." The Khan paused for a moment and slowly exhaled. "I roughly understand what you want us to do. Chemos, Chogoris and Nocturne are not far from each other. But I am more worried about you than these."

"What are you worried about, Jaghatai?"

"Your condition," the Khan replied briefly. "What kind of injury can make you so weak?"

The Emperor smiled but did not answer, just nodded at him in approval, and then looked at Fulgrim.

"Come here, Fulgrim." He called affectionately, waving at the phoenix. "Come closer, please? I want to take a closer look at you."

For some reason, the Chemos man trembled, and he walked up to the throne step by step, bowed his head and bent over, and put his unbroken face next to his father's powerless right hand.

The Lord of Mankind sighed inevitably, and he put his hand on Fulgrim's cheek and patted it gently.

A warm power bloomed from between his fingers, and the light shone. The shadow behind the phoenix began to fade little by little, and it also forced everyone to have difficulty seeing what was happening here.

When the light faded, they found that the phoenix was lying at his father's feet and crying bitterly. His hair was still gray, but the shadow behind him had disappeared, and his broken face was completely healed, without any cracks.

"This is all I can do." A father said regretfully to his son. "I can't help it, Fulgrim, I'm sorry to make you suffer this."

The Chemoss couldn't say anything, just holding his right hand, tears kept falling, stirring up ripples in the pool of blood.

The Emperor raised his left hand and waved to his other son, so Vulkan stepped forward and took the Phoenix down. They stood side by side under the throne, waiting for their father's words, not orders.

At least at this moment, he was more like a father, and more than a ruthless emperor.

"Chagatai, you have guessed my thoughts. Yes, this is the mission I want to give you. Once upon a time, you were scattered among the stars, unaware of the existence of the Empire and Terra. And now, I want you to start again from Terra, return to your hometown to save them, my sons. But don't be like me, I am not a very qualified savior."

"Father." Vulkan called in a low voice.

"What is it, my blacksmith?"

"You have done well enough."

"Look at you, Vulkan." The Emperor took a deep breath, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. "Ah."

He looked up at the top of the cave. The firelight cast by Malcador's scepter danced on it, reflecting many murals.

The brushwork was rough, and the coal ash left a scene of collective hunting on the gray-white stone wall. One after another, it looked like the evolution of a tribe.

One of the paintings was particularly eye-catching. It was a tall primitive man fighting alone in the dark. He held a spear in his left hand and a torch in his right hand. In the abstract brushstrokes, his angry eyes still seemed to burn.

He glared at the darkness and protected the others behind him.

"I am not a protector." He lowered his head tiredly. "Robert, Angron, Corax, please-"

He couldn't finish his words, and a mouthful of blood suddenly gushed out of his throat, causing a cry of surprise. But the seal holder knocked on the scepter, indicating that they didn't need to panic. Ra watched this scene, and it seemed as if a heavy burden was weighing on his heart.

Until Constantine Valdor's voice sounded from the bottom of his heart through some kind of connection.

+Keep calm, Ra. +

+Marshal? +

Valdor tilted his head slightly and nodded to him: "He has already calculated everything, you don't need to have any panic, you all do."

His thoughts were transmitted from the chain one by one, one by one, and reached the heart of every guard.

"-Please come here." The Lord of Mankind said reluctantly.

Almost immediately, Korvus Corax dissipated from the shadows and appeared in front of his father again. The one-armed Nuceria walked over silently, with heavy steps. Robert Guilliman's eyes were blazing white, his cheeks were tight, his jaw muscles were highly stressed, and his teeth were clattering.

"I would like to start with a joke that is not so serious, but it doesn't seem to sound like a joke." The Emperor coughed, and more and more blood escaped from between his lips and teeth.

"What do you want to say?" The Lord of the Savior asked softly. At this moment, he sounded almost like one of his brothers.

"A bad joke, my son." The Emperor swallowed blood and looked down at them.

His gaze was so sad, so guilty, and yet contained a fierce pride that he had never seen before. He stared at them in silence, and they stared back. At least ten thousand words were spoken silently in this exchange.

Robot Guilliman took a step forward.

"I should stay in Terra, father." He gritted his teeth and said. "Your overall planning, as well as the planning of various supplies and personnel, this task is probably only mine that is capable of it. Therefore, if you want me to return to the Five Hundred Worlds, I am afraid I must refuse."

"Robert." Angron said in a low voice, already putting one arm on his brother's shoulder. "Just listen to him."

"Alas." The emperor sighed. "I didn't mean to make you make that difficult choice, Robert."

"It's not difficult!" shouted Robert Guilliman.

"But it seems difficult to me." The Emperor looked at him, golden against blazing white. The Lord of Mankind smiled. "Forget it, answer me a question, Robert. You swore to be the protector of mankind. Is this oath still valid?"

"Until I die, until my body and soul are gone." Guilliman answered without hesitation.

"Then, you should go back." The Lord of Humanity said. "The people of the five hundred worlds are longing for you to be their sword and their shield."

"But--"

"——No more, Robert." The Lord of Mankind said firmly. "Every rescue has its meaning, and there is no distinction between high and low life. I don't want to see you give up the lives of those people for this work. If I let you do this, you will not forgive yourself, and neither will I." I will forgive myself."

The son of Macragge bowed his head deeply and could say no more.

"Angron."

"I'm here, father." The Son of the Mountains took a step forward.

The Emperor looked at him speechlessly. After a few seconds, Angron suddenly smiled. This smile is so clear, so peaceful, without any pain or impurities.

"I understand, Father," he said, his smile never ending. "They never die, they are always with me."

He stepped back and gently pushed Corvus Corax forward. The Lord of Crows raised his head and looked at his dying father. His dark eyes covered most of his emotions. Only his clenched fists could give people a glimpse into his soul.

The emperor looked at him. One second passed, then two seconds passed, and he suddenly asked: "Is the dried sand eel meat delicious?"

Corax was stunned. After a while, he nodded: "It's delicious."

"Can I have a taste?" the Emperor asked. "I've never had food like this."

Corvus Corax pursed his lips, reached out and took out the silver pouch from his waist, then walked up to the throne, picked out a larger piece of dried meat, and handed it to his father's lips. The Emperor opened his mouth and gently bit off a piece. He chewed several times, a smile spreading across his face.

“It’s so delicious”

He swallowed it and hung his head.

The one who holds the seal strikes the scepter.

"Leave," he said. "Do what you are supposed to do."

With a flash of blue light, the crowd disappeared, and the cave fell into silence. Malcador extinguished the fire, held the scepter, slowly walked down from the throne, and sat tiredly on the bottom step.

Behind him, the throne in the darkness was slowly transforming. Some incomprehensible machinery spontaneously moved out from under the stone throne and connected to the emperor's body. He still lowered his head and said nothing, as quietly as if he were dead, with blood winding down and spreading in the darkness.

Malcador lowered his head, silently counting his heartbeats, and waited slowly. I don’t know how long it took, but there was a sound of footsteps at the end of the cave.

The palmer raised his head.

"I got him back and lifted the curse," Khalil said, slowly lowering the angel in his arms. "But he was seriously injured."

"But it can still be cured," said the Sealbearer. He lowered his head and felt the temperature of the angel's cheek with his hand.

There was a flash of blue light, and the Baal man who was still in a coma disappeared. He was sent to his heirs by Malcador using his power. The curse was lifted, and through the Primarch's own resilience alone, he could defeat death.

Malcador believed him, but...

He raised his head again and looked at the god wrapped in ferocious armor, his vision blurred for a while. He couldn't look directly at the other person, and the gods were punishing him with pain for his disrespect.

This was not Khalil's intention, and he smiled apologetically. The person holding the seal did not accept it, but stubbornly raised his head and looked directly at his friend.

"Say, you have a way to make them leave." Malcador said in a low voice. "How are you going to do this?"

"It's not difficult."

Khalil answered with a smile. He raised his right hand and a golden light bloomed from between his fingers.

"Last chance, remember?" He winked at the person holding the seal. "I have stayed until now, and I can still disobey the authority for the last time."

"."

In silence, Malcador raised his scepter, stood up, passed by the giant, and gradually moved away, towards the opening of the cave.

"Makado." Khalil stopped him.

"What?" The palm-printer asked with his back turned to him.

"To be the hero I can't be," Khalil said.

Malcador didn't answer and continued walking.

Khalil chuckled softly, and the laughter spread far and wide, enough for the Seal Holder who was walking alone in the dark to hear clearly. He walked far away and then slowly stopped, reaching out to hold on to the rock wall, as if he had lost the strength to walk.

Five seconds later, he heard the sound of a sharp blade entering his body.

"You are already a hero, Khalil Lohars," Malcador said.

A burst of darkness rushed from behind him, it was the body of a god. Behind it is a golden skeleton, as illusory as a soul. Golden tears flowed from those empty eyes.

The person holding the seal stared hard with all his strength, but he could only catch a glimpse of this trace in the darkness. He could only stay where he was, holding on to the rock wall and watching his friends go away little by little. He held the scepter tightly and tears finally fell from his eyes.

"No more than ten thousand years!" Suddenly, he shouted into the darkness.

The sound continued to spread in the darkness, colliding back and forth between the rock walls. It's like a declaration, like a roar, like a person's anger towards his friend, but also like a promise.

No, that's a commitment.

No more than ten thousand years, no more than ten thousand years.