Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 466 The Crimson King (End)

Darkness enveloped the throne. There was nothing here, as if everything had been annihilated in the fate of the end before it came into existence. All sounds and smells turned into a wisp of meaningless dust in the vacuum, and the dust itself had never existed for a moment.

This is the dark ruins that remain after the end has come millions of years. It is the destined end of the nothingness that time is accelerating to, and after it crosses the end, it returns to the beginning that has not entered the light, swallowing the swaddling clothes before the birth of the world.

Magnus placed his palm on the blocking curtain wall, and soon he lost the perception of his palm. This slightly trembling and spasming deprivation spread over him, removing the brain's mapping of the world bit by bit, and his tool for understanding the outside world was taken away by darkness.

He gently slid down the curtain wall into the nothingness that held him up. The feeling of his body touching the entity had disappeared, leaving only the hint of eternal falling in the inertia of his consciousness-the mind of the demigod could not cope with the bone-deep void under the throne of the King of Darkness.

He kept falling, falling deeper and deeper, his nonexistent face screaming, his insensible stomach throbbing in pain, he stretched out his hands blindly and grasped randomly, like a blind man touching the Braille of a heavenly book in mid-air.

Stop, he shouted to himself, the imaginary voice had degenerated into a weak scream, stop, Magnus! What else can you do!

The Crimson King continued to fall, his conventional thinking simulated the acceleration brought to him by the fall, his neck was so painful that it was on the verge of breaking, and his breathing had stopped centuries ago, it was over. He had already become a pile of numb and uncontrolled flesh and blood, falling into the silent abyss, strangling his spirit and dragging him down...

The Emperor...

He forced himself to imagine the faint golden light of the Emperor. Before the darkness completely deprived him of his soul, he had to ascend to a higher state of mind where consciousness was, and temporarily escape from the horror of the flesh...

If he wanted to see the Emperor, he had to reopen the Thutmons Rune, so that the root of darkness would be locked in the cage of the galactic world again, and thereby break through the blockade of the formation and truly touch the remaining light of the Emperor... Then what would happen after that? The Dark Lord can still use the destruction and death in the world as nourishment, and grow endlessly, making up for the missing part that is still missing after the death of half of the Primarch...

Ten thousand lives, one hundred thousand, one million, the more they try to hunt the darkness, the stronger the darkness will grow. This is an irreparable festering cyst, a greedy baby in the making, and potions and blood are its nourishment.

The vortex of despair threw Magnus back to the bottom of the mental environment. If he wavered again, he would fall with his body in endless terror. The darkness was ready to swallow his legs, and then his abdomen and chest. The illusion of tearing his head open and letting him fall would still echo forever after the end...

Perhaps the Emperor's plan is still not perfect, and perhaps the Lord of Mankind has only touched the level of opening the cage. Humanity's exploration of the Warp is still limited. Until the last moment, facing fear, perhaps the Emperor cannot accurately perceive that even if the Dark Lord has not yet been born, and has not yet made the first cry that tore the galaxy apart, it is enough to destroy the entire Tianchuan Galaxy.

So, is it over here? Magnus saw the future, and the future does not exist. The Emperor's gamble has dragged the game between humans and Chaos to a situation where one chess piece determines life and death. Once the chess piece is wrong, the entire human race will be doomed.

Unless - the end and death have another destination, a destination that is not the Dark Lord's entity... and who has an equal essence in the galaxy?

It's still the Emperor. The Emperor is the core of the human race, and there is no other. And the Emperor is indeed an enemy of the Dark Lord. Whether it is two sides of the same coin, or the breeder and the bred, the sustenance and the sustenance, in any relationship, the Emperor can separate from the Dark Lord's half.

Magnus staggered to a slightly higher level of meditation environment, leaving the feeling of falling out of control of the body behind.

A new problem came, all time accelerated to flow around the Dark Throne of Terra. How could he, an ordinary Primarch, a demigod who was no more than a grain of sand compared to the New God of the Universe, compete with it? Where is the other end of time?

Millions of places lit up like stars in his consciousness, and their weak flames quickly extinguished one by one, representing the exclusion of a method. No... He knew all these places, no, he verified the environmental conditions of all the special places in the universe he knew, and none of them could become a fortress to compete with the New God.

He was doomed to fail, Magnus thought. This idea collapsed under his limited ability. The empty tide submerged his mouth and nose.

No——

Magnus struggled to slap the desperate water that oppressed his body. He was the only Primarch who saw the truth of what was happening. No, no, no...

Where else is worth a chip? Where else is there worth betting on? Where else is there a place he has imagined but never had the time to explore? A crossroads where time stops, another endpoint that was born before the beginning of the world, a special place that is special enough to confront the end of time because of its failure of time sequence?

It would be better if it were located in the Webway, so that he could from now on calculate the modifications to Thutmons, assisting in the direction of the end and the power of death towards that end. It had better be ancient and mysterious enough, and become a powerful enough celestial aid when manpower is limited. It's best to be indestructible, and it's best to be a unique, almost natural singularity in the universe, an incredible and mysterious place.

Wigberach.

The crossroads where time ceases to flow, the end point where glorious paths intersect.

Magnus continued to float in the ocean of consciousness. He became light and tiny, like a fallen leaf or a quietly broken hair. Unhindered by physical pain, he reached the upper level of his mind.

In Wigberach, time exists inertly, even against the current. It is the unexplored end of fantasy, like the singular point that the hand of creation has not yet reached out to touch. All things are ten thousand under the Throne of Darkness, and they can also be one under Vigberach.

and……

A new possibility emerged in Magnus' mind. Since Vigberach is originally located in the Webway, could it be the end point for souls in the Webway? That is to say...

After the Primarchs lost their bodies and essence, could their souls be reunited in Vigberach?

Magnus's spirit gradually rose up in the haggard, like the last burst of bright flame before the candle burned out. In front of his eyes, that ray of emperor's brilliance reappeared, which meant that he was almost no longer restrained by his body and began to perceive the world from a pure spiritual perspective.

The Thirteen Nodes of Thutmons require only the physical body and warp essence of the Primarch. The spiritual intelligence of the Emperor's children is a superfluous element in the Emperor's creation, and is also a superfluous ingredient not needed to maintain the final seal.

These intelligences can also have a final destination...

And if the Emperor is reborn in Vigberach, at least the Emperor will definitely be able to continue them at this special end of time forever; even if these rootless and ethereal spiritual intelligences lose their support, they will be unable to leave the mysterious place... …

The answer is already clear. Magnus thought that what he had to do next became easy. The unprecedented excitement almost became his disease at this moment, making his will burn with excitement.

Emperor, he thought, Emperor, he opened his legs, stepped on the darkness and silence, stretched out his hand to the heights, until the hot stars pressed against his melting palm and flowed into his burning veins.

This is what he's going to do - is he right? Is there anything else he hasn't considered?

No, there is no chance anymore. Even if he thinks about it in the dark for a thousand years, he will only come up with the same answer.

Emperor, will you forgive me? For my mistake in killing Omegon? For the crime I'm about to commit?

The light reflected him.

The runes of the Webway formation burned his fingers, and his consciousness expanded to infinite dimensions, touching every line in the darkness like a blind man.

He interpreted them, quickly and firmly rewriting the lines that had to be modified for the new bet. His invisible eyes were sore and swollen, and his fingers hurt terribly. He was trembling, standing alone in the darkness, feeling what constituted himself. Everything is dissipated in the output of energy.

There is no puppet string that can control him and no clockwork that can assist him. He made this crazy decision and he will not hesitate anymore because time is almost over, if it all ends in his hands. Then the world is a felony that he cannot afford but his decision must be carried out otherwise this is the end of it all, if he does then regardless of success or failure he is personally destroying everything he has ever created because of his tampering with Tutmon The Si barrier will inevitably undergo fundamental changes, and no one can give him a word of guidance. He is starting to destroy his achievements just to bet on a new ending, and he is about to become the biggest criminal in the entire human race...

The light became increasingly subtle.

He had no support from the Emperor because he could not hear the Emperor's voice, and all he could believe in was the existence of this beam of light. Countless runes were burned down and then reborn in his hands. He completed this irrational undertaking alone and he really Will he succeed? Will he die before completing all this, leaving only the damaged realm half-finished, when all the remaining people have enough power to accuse him of destroying the entire glorious dream? And he must plead guilty and escape, his name will die forever...

How many runes has he rewritten? a hundred. One million. One hundred million. The rune barrier trembled on the verge of collapse several times, but in the end it was fixed in a new form - the core was no longer the Throne of Terra, but pointed directly at the crossroads Vigberach, just waiting for that intersection to be blocked by a sufficient A powerful beacon lights up.

Time starts to branch off and flow again from the crossroads, intersecting in confusion.

The Emperor's light is always present, however faint, although barely visible...

One step left. Magnus thought. Then he raised his arms, Emperor, he thought quietly, Emperor.

He stretched out his hand upwards and grasped further. One layer of the dome was broken through, and a blockade somewhere in the distance was shattered. Thousands of golden dust scattered around him, and the first lock was broken. Figure Temons shuddered.

I don't know when he was no longer afraid. The fear in his heart disappeared in the pure work. He was still panting, but his intelligence was clear and stable, as if he had been promoted by some kind of illumination, and had been injected with energy. A new and infinite vitality. His heart is so peaceful.

Perhaps he has been restored to the Holy Father. Maybe he has died.

He broke the second blockade, and he had no way of observing whether the golden light in the darkness was closer.

The webway trembled under his destruction, telling him very clearly that he was destroying everything he created.

He was destroying the webway. If the plan failed, the imbalance of power in the webway would lead to the destruction of the entire network system. The glory he gained from the construction of the webway was abandoned by himself.

I should rest for a while, he thought. I have little strength left. My bones and blood were filled in the destruction of Thutmons.

Then he broke the next layer of locks, because there was no time.

By the time, the last few layers of locks were as brittle as rotten bones. Magnus soberly killed Thutmons' last vitality, and there was no way back.

Perhaps outside this darkness, the turmoil brought about by the half-destruction of the webway array has long been unparalleled, and perhaps the entire galaxy knows that someone is cruelly destroying the last hope of mankind hidden in the box.

But here, the world is still so quiet that any slightest sound can completely explode and tear apart this dying moment.

Magnus wanted nothing, he just stretched out his hand.

His fingers were touched.

The light wrapped around his fingers, and then fell into his arms, like a light feather, held in his arms.

Some noble thoughts flowed out of it, illuminating Magnus's mind.

He felt a voice, coming from this invisible light, it was the sound of dawn beyond language, the sun at noon and the holy fire of love, but also the confusion of distress, the night after the harsh and lonely dusk, the pile of stones of evil and the low night, a body that needed sleep, and a mind that needed to rest in the night.

He had calls, hardships, crying, tears, explanations, enthusiasm, indignation, and condemnation. He had fought against the darkness for a long time.

He had revealed the light of the nations, but now only this remnant of the unawakened spirit remained, painfully alone.

He was in his arms, and handed the last soul to him.

Magnus felt a little helpless. He shouldn't have such unnecessary sadness under such a tight time. He looked up and opened his eyes, thinking, let's go, Magnus, go to Vigberach, to the place where the sun can be reborn as a star.

The only light is already in his arms, and there is no light anywhere he can see. He wants to find the way to Vigberach, and he needs a path of light.

Magnus imagined a carving knife, thin enough and sharp enough.

Then, he continued to hold the light with his left hand, reached into the void with his right hand, took out the carving needle, opened his right eye, trembled slightly, and then meticulously carved the rune pointing to Vigberach on the surface of his eyeball.

After this work was completed, he took out the eyeball that had been transformed into an invisible candlelight from the eye socket and held it in his palm. A layer of faint guiding path emerged again in the darkness in front of him. This is the price he must pay to leave the Dark Throne.

He began to move in the direction indicated by his eyeballs, and the last wisp of restraint left by the Emperor on the Dark Lord finally couldn't bear the weight.

The darkness behind him finally reacted, surging and chasing his back, silence formed a suffocating scythe and tendrils, hooking through his body, pulling him back again and again, but not daring to go directly into the inner side of Thutmons.

Magnus stumbled, like a stumbling rolling stone, holding the beam of light and running hard.

How far is the darkness from him? Is he about to be caught up?

Magnus staggered, took a step forward, and moved forward in the spasmodic dark world. Sometimes he felt like a small boat about to be overturned by the wind and waves, and sometimes he felt like he was falling a thousand meters from a height and smashed on the boulders below. He climbed up, roaring in pain, running non-stop, while protecting the light in his arms.

What is he doing, Magnus? It sounds like a cowardly escape... He just tampered with the energy flow of Thutmons, he even blew up all the blockades, and now he is running for his life in the dark with the Emperor like a fool, or like some weird and embarrassed insect, twitching and jumping.

Or he has died long ago, and the world now is all the fantasy of the moment before his death that has been infinitely extended. He actually has nothing. After he destroyed Thutmons with his own hands, he has died completely... Is that so? Maybe so.

But he doesn't want it to be like this. He also hates destruction, dislikes darkness, and hates hopeless gambles. He hopes that he can always live in the crowd, eat Prospero's dessert under the glorious sun, and turn the emerald feather pen in his hand...

Two hundred years ago, he lived like this without worries, and his only worry was the topic of tomorrow's research. He grew up freely under the protection of the sages of Tizca, soared in the ocean of fantasy with the Emperor at night, immersed in the piles of books with the fragrance of paper, and lived a happy and pure life listening to the voice of his heart. He felt that this was all he needed.

Sometimes he also knew that a person always had to grow up, and responsibilities would fall on his shoulders as he grew up, as a deferred reward for the happiness in his childhood that he had asked for in advance, but he didn't want to bear the pain alone, nor did he want to face the expectant eyes of others, because they were too hot and hurtful.

During the day, he enjoyed everyone's admiration. At night, he was worried that he would fail to live up to the expectations of the people he cared about. Occasionally, when he lay under the starry sky and looked at the stars of Tizca, he would worry whether he was not good enough and whether his evasion and avoidance were not worthy of others' admiration. He hoped that he could live alone in a pure white tower, looking up at the sky and no one else's gaze around him.

Soon, Prospero's world turned upside down. So many of his teachers and friends died, and he still missed the laughter and joy when they grabbed the same book and rushed to read it first. I miss the biscuits from the market that Amon brought him that he missed. I miss the glittering shell of the Great Library and the warm sun in the sky.

But all this has passed for two hundred years.

In this way, he kept running in the dark. His eyeballs had taken him through many curved branches, some of which were folded up and down, and some of the horizontal and vertical convergence lines were difficult to distinguish, and he was already very tired. He was too tired, and his strength was no longer enough to support his consumption.

His heart was shrinking very fast, and the world was spinning. Was he really still running forward? Had his steps stopped?

Were all the efforts he made in the pure darkness and silence just illusions and fantasies?

For a moment, he felt as if he had returned to Prospero, lightly crossing the puddles on the ground after the rain, and wandering around in the clear sun...

Oh, the faces of those who were almost bumped by him recklessly, flashed in front of him one by one, forming the fragments of his life... How much he loved his life, how much he liked the world he once had, instead of this dead darkness that brought him endless pain and repeated despair.

His body was still falling far away, sinking non-stop, burying him in the suffocating cemetery...

Tell me, no matter who it is, tell me, am I doing the right thing?

At some point, the surroundings seemed to have changed. A faint complex perception emerged from the darkness, colorful and full of malice, swirling and surging eagerly... The thick fog was whistling and rushing around, filling and surging, more turbulent than ever, madly scratching the outer wall of the webway - and Magnus had already reinforced everything he could while reshaping Thutmons. He hoped that this would really come in handy.

For a moment, the terrifying pure darkness grabbed his neck fiercely. He was knocked to the ground indirectly by some vicious force, pressed into the thick fog in the webway. The eyeball was thrown out of his hand.

The Emperor's Light in his arms flashed for a moment, and Magnus murmured in a trembling voice with worry: "It's okay, father, don't worry..."

He groped blindly with one hand, and his trembling arm carefully swept every inch of the rugged road around him until his little finger touched the ball protected by the rune. The lights came on again.

He struggled to his feet, tried three or four times, his whole body twitching uncontrollably, he was shaking so hard, his breath was filled with the smell of darkness and cold, and his strength was like the passing of water vapor, trembling from his will.

"Don't worry about those things, father," he said, "I will take you away from here..."

He seemed to see the back of the Emperor, the robes swaying slightly, the candles, the stars waiting for him to look up...

He listened carefully, and it seemed that he could still hear the Emperor's steady footsteps, right beside him, and the waves of the warp that were dispersed when he raised his hand. He followed, watching every flickering color around him - now there was only one candle left, burning in his own palm.

Magnus took a deep breath and supported himself on the ground to stand up. Did the light in his arms gently pat the inside of his arm?

His cheeks were wet.

After leaving Prospero, he took on the responsibility of a leader, leading his warriors and scholars to fight for humanity, just like now, he squeezed out some of his remaining strength to hold up a thin shield to resist the wind and waves brought by Chaos hitting the Webway.

Sometimes he was at the front of the battle formation, and sometimes he was in charge of the ship in the sky. When thousands or even tens of thousands of psykers united their hearts and poured dangerous power beyond reality into the same battle, he was the last ruler and guide who held up the shield with them. He repeated the duties he had performed in the war of millions of soldiers, but now he was fighting alone.

Nearly two hundred years ago, he was no longer a child or a teenager. He had grown up and became a leader. Most of the time, he was respected and even feared. Especially when accepting the annual research results, even Ahriman avoided him. He waved his weapon, pointed the direction, looked into the distance in the vast galaxy, put the stars into his bag, and then presented them to the glory of the empire.

Countless decisions were made by him, and countless orders were signed by the Scarlet King at the bottom of the parchment scroll. He was sanctified as the supreme monarch and demigod by some planets, regarded as a ruthless overlord who played magic in some places, and some mortals called him a killer under the divine glory.

He gladly accepted these ominous names and accusations, even if he occasionally felt resentful and wronged. He never neglected his duties, and he dared to swear on Prospero.

He was a beacon for others, and his figure was also a signpost for his warriors to identify the road. Tens of thousands of Thousand Dust Suns, as well as countless auxiliary troops and crews... They shine brightly...

"It will happen, father," Magnus whispered, his voice like an endless stream of air, full of strange panic and unconcealable confusion, "We will succeed, and everything will be fine."

He moved forward awkwardly in the darkness, one step at a time, the hands surrounding the light were too cold to feel, like a mist hanging on his shoulders. A sob rose in his throat combined with his heartbeat. The road ahead was in tatters, and at times the bitter air slapped him against the wall, cracking him like a torn canvas.

Even without the ability to truly enter the Webway, the power of Chaos was still enough to destroy a Primarch that had burned almost everything.

His blood was shed for the calculation of the plan, for the murder of his brothers, for the destruction of the Webway, for holding the Emperor's hand. He was turned into a jagged piece of wood, split with a giant axe, thrown into water and baked in the fire.

He is too tired. He is too tired. His strength has been exhausted.

Then Magnus broke into a trot, some lifeless trot, and he heard a steady crackling sound in his body as the powers of the Dark Gods and the Fifth God clashed near him. He could feel the powerful force of destruction hitting his body hard, passing through his skin and into his blood vessels and bone marrow.

He suddenly remembered the Tower of Astartes opposite the Star Observation Tower, and for no reason, the illusion of white marble swayed in front of his eyes. Very bright, white and shining, shaking with light.

"That's it," muttered Magnus, "Father, I swore to you there. Gee, I'm not scared at all. I do feel a little tired, or something. I do run a little slower. Son, after all, I am not the Primarch who is the best at sports..."

His footsteps echoed in the webway. No, it was still dark and silent. The sound of his footsteps echoed in his own heart. One voice after another.

"It's almost there, it must be almost there." He said softly, and the light in his arms flickered quietly, becoming increasingly dim. "Hurry up, Magnus..."

Unconsciously, time around him seemed to slow down and twist toward the horizontal.

The energy of the time-stagnant crossroads itself condensed, pushing back other forces. At this time, Magnus realized that Vigberach was now resisting himself - until the spirit of the Emperor came to Vigberach. Only when Lach stagnates can the entire path of glory be illuminated, and only then can the power of death, under the leadership of the Emperor, follow the path of enlightenment to the beginning of time.

The resistance is still increasing, and the indomitable and ruthless power has an end...

Magnus fell, his arm hitting the ground, his head banging hard, the pain rolling through his spirit and drifting away from the leaky remains of his body. The body he built with his will is dissipating, and the impact of pain is still spreading, starting from his calves and shoulders, gradually evaporating his will form. Blood and tears covered his face, forming a cold mask of despair.

He failed.

He could never get up again, his last vestiges of strength having burned away as he realized what was happening at the crossroads. The eyeball landed near his cheek, and the flickering light went out. His dim consciousness cried in despair. He was close enough, but the final obstacle was one he had no chance of breaking through. His hope exploded painfully in his chest, creating a huge, unparalleled cavity.

He failed.

With some futile ferocity he trembled and cursed Chaos, cursed Lorgar Aurelion, cursed the Illuminati, cursed them to greater failure, cursed them to the end. Then he began to blame himself, his own failures and shortcomings, and regretted the many things he had not done well in his life... There were so many hidden opportunities, and he missed so many details...

He failed miserably.

His death struggle was worthless, his lonely progress in the darkness was nothing more than a joke. No one knows where Magnus disappeared to, but with Thutmons destroyed, power imbalances will accumulate, the Webway Project will collapse, and the Crimson King will carry his sins with him until the end of time.

His body and soul were burned away, the Emperor's light settling near his last vestiges of consciousness, slowly fading away as the Dark Lord's power drew ever closer.

The Dark Lord could not gain a drop of power from Magnus's remains, because everything he had was dedicated to the Webway and Vygberach, but the arrival of the Fifth God was unstoppable.

From the first cry of the Lord of Darkness, mankind will be annihilated in the depths of eternal chaos and evil. All reality will no longer make sense, and all the past will come to an end. Chaos will sweep over the world. There is no longer a Milky Way, only the inanimate Temple of Ten Thousand Demons.

Whoever it is, don't forgive me.

The dark tide was rolling around him, and its power was so close. This huge power that was once restricted by the Emperor has now seized the Emperor's cold power, and is about to avenge this abominable man a thousand times. Cruel world.

it's over. He has already heard the echoes of destruction, rolling rumblingly on the dark backside of the world, tearing and rubbing the surface of reality, twisting it into a fragile paper ball worth mentioning, and then turning into crumbs, falling endlessly into the abyss.

This was once the power of the Emperor...

No. There is another chance.

There's one more chance... Yes, yes, Magnus, stand up, don't give up, think about it... since it was the power of the Emperor, then, perhaps, it was worth trying, one last time. Magnus, for the last time.

He stood up.

He was no longer an entity, but a separate perspective, an empty eye.

He looked down at the last ray of light that was still on the ground, and then he floated up, letting himself fall backwards, into endless blackness.

His vision transcended reality, drifting in a torrent of pure energy, calmly passing through the endless horror of the darkness, sinking deeper and deeper.

The world flew by him, and he kept falling, staring calmly at the sky, staring at the last ray of light of the Emperor. He was nothing, nothing. A crimson tail trailed the trajectory of his falling existence, like a hanging spider thread.

Until he reached the depth he desired.

The Cursed City of God.

In the depths of darkness, this realm that once belonged to the Emperor still exists, and the souls in it are bound by the directionless darkness and have nowhere to go.

And Magnus sensed their existence - stubbornly protected by a clear consciousness equal to that of the former Primarch, resisting the erosion of darkness together.

They will rise.

He landed on the edge of the City of God, where a crimson thread connected the dark and lonely city to the outside world.

Gradually, he saw some light rising upwards, and following that thread, he found a path to follow through darkness and despair... Thousands of angels flapped their wings, and a tide of light surged past him, and no soul noticed the fall of a tiny crimson stardust. So bright, so glorious...

They climbed upwards until the light disappeared at the end of the darkness he could see.

The darkness returned to the silence of death, the void covered everything again, and the crimson thread gradually dissipated, disappearing without a trace.

Magnus calmly waited for the final judgment.

He watched the light disappear and continued to fall in the darkness. His self had long been burned out, but he still insisted on existing, in a form he could not explain. The last part of him continued to stare at the end of the darkness. He could no longer live to witness that decisive moment, but he was still watching.

After an unknown amount of time, a flash of light suddenly lit up in the distance.

A star suddenly broke through the darkness at the far end of time's stagnation, emitting a wonderful light.

...Look, the angel brought the Emperor to Vigberach, and whether it was a sense of fate or instinct, he won the gamble...

The Emperor ascended to the intersection of the shining paths. The flow of all paths was gradually reversed, and the formation he changed was taking effect, and from now on, the supply of death and the end would return to the star.

One day, one day, that star would become the sun of the human race again.

Ah, if he could share his joy with anyone. If he could just talk to others, ask them if they had done their duty.

He really wanted to hear others praise, or encourage him. He wanted someone to tell him that he had made up for his mistakes. He did a good job. Just like two hundred years ago...

The sun was so warm at that time, and the pyramids of Prospero in the distance were bathed in clear light. Nothing had any sign of destruction, as if this peace would last forever.