bookbashuk Page 849
Page 849
Chapter 847 [289] [Motalian] Illusion Moment
Where does humanity's future lie?
Under the macro-level, how should you navigate this path, and what is your miracle?
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The first rebel turned his head, and in the moment before his soul truly sank into the air, his pupils reflected the entire world—darkness, boundless darkness and greed.
Before his soul could even scream, the darkness pounced, engulfing him, engulfing each other, engulfing everything—engulfing his unfulfilled aspirations, engulfing his hopes, engulfing his soul.
Before the overwhelming regret and pain could overwhelm him, darkness had already dragged him downwards.
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Another Fate
[Past/Memory]
[Betrayal.]
Horus paused for a moment before speaking. The unfavored Primarch turned to look at Mortarion, seemingly somewhat intimidated by Mortarion's gaze, his eyes snapping away after a brief moment of eye contact.
[I have listened to Saint Gilles's words, and I have made my decision, which I believe is the right one—but, Mortalian, no offense, may I ask you again why you made this choice? I heard from Guilliman that you were the first to make this decision…]
[The Primarch who decided to make a deal with the Warp Gods.]
[Motalian] added softly, a faint smile appearing on his pale, bloodless face.
[Because our father is dragging the entire empire toward the abyss,]
The Primarch spoke slowly and clearly.
[How long has it been since he last saw us? Horus, a full ninety-six years, since his departure and return to Terra—all Astrologers can see the increasingly rampant warp storms in the solar system.]
[Saint Gilles has already emphasized this to you, so I won't repeat it. The only thing I can be certain of is that it was a warp storm unleashed by some extremely powerful and malevolent sacrificial ritual.]
He stopped to observe Horus's reaction, but Horus just looked at him, hesitant to speak.
[I know, my brother, but I mean—what are your true thoughts? I—forgive my ingratitude, Mortarion, but I once thought you were not a Primarch who cared about the future of the Imperium and humanity.]
[I initially thought it was your hatred for him that drove you to seek revenge. No, I mean, if that's your answer, I'd be willing to join your side. I don't think many Primarchs don't hate him; that hatred and resentment are enough to fuel an ambition.]
Such as knuckles in the throat.
[Motalian] paused for a moment, then blinked, his voice returning to calm.
[No, I...I care, I do hate him.]
[But compared to that hatred...]
Mortarian felt his heart pounding. Simple hatred wasn't enough for him to watch his best friend fall into the abyss. Yes, he would never let his revenge add new scars to others.
unless……
Humanity needs a future.
The Primarch said softly,
[Time is running out for us, Horus, the false emperor must step down.]
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Another Fate Line
[Past/Memory]
Barbarossa
“You went back to see him again, Mortarian.”
Hissing snake sounds rang out. Mortalian was still not quite used to Herrera's new form. Her serpentine shape always gave the Primarch goosebumps. After ascending, Herrera had become much more tactful.
The Primarch nodded.
This is the last time.
He said this was the last time he would remember the dead before the defection.
[If we fail, we perish. It's not just about eliminating the false emperor; we must find a way out for humanity once again... and also for...]
"Also, in the hope of seeing him again."
[Karas] spoke slowly, as if thick phlegm was stuck in his throat.
[As long as it succeeds—]
A fierce glint flashed in Mortarian's eyes.
[Human history will continue, not vanish... We must dethrone the Emperor from his position as ruler of humanity, or the Warp rituals will wipe out the entire human race.]
"At least……"
Herrera's tone shifted several times before she gave a helpless smile.
"At least I think either you or Guilliman is stronger than the Lord of Man."
The Primarch remained silent, only nodding.
But then it stopped again.
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Another Fate Line
【past】
The world was bathed in golden light.
The Primarch slowly opened his eyes. He felt his entire soul burning, being licked by hot, flowing gold. He felt as if he had fallen into the depths of the sun, his soul being blinded.
His armor melted and dissolved into a blaze of light; his skin was charred, curled up and turned into black ashes, blown into the distance; his flesh was burned away, like the tears dripping from a candle, until only his most solid bones and soul remained. Mortarian felt himself still running, gripping his scythe, which was no longer just a scythe, but an extension of his will and soul.
He just kept running, full of anger and determination, filled with rage and resentment, and in the end, only perseverance remained.
Everything complex has been abstracted, simplified, and annihilated.
The first rebel didn't even have time to notice that the three colors that clung to the depths of his soul had disappeared without him noticing, leaving only his last trace of existence that hadn't been completely swallowed up by this golden desert.
He just ran, hoping to deliver a scythe to his damned father, preferably right on the damned man's head.
Time flew by, and the Primarch was unaware of how long he had been running; it seemed like eternity, yet also like a fleeting moment.
Finally, something appeared in that shapeless golden light, revealing a trace, a state, like a human figure emerging from molten gold.
Then the gold became clearer and clearer, revealing limbs, torso, silk, facial features, wrinkles—the seated man appeared, majestic and awe-inspiring, surrounded by layers of golden halos like a god, his eyes shining with golden light, and a quietly flowing river of golden tears appearing on his cheeks.
At this moment, that man—no, that godlike being—was looking at [Motalian], and the entire world was looking at [Motalian].
Although there were no pupils left, Mortalian inexplicably saw sadness, madness, joy, dissatisfaction, and helplessness in that gaze.
The figure forged from adamantite trembled at the corner of its mouth, as if it wanted to speak to the Primarch.
Who cares about this or that?
【Motalian】went up and swung his scythe.
Without hesitation, Mortarian swung his scythe and struck, and sure enough, he felt his hand go empty; his last scythe was gone.
It's okay, [Motalian], it's okay.
[Motalian] decisively clenched his fist and, filled with rage and despair, swung it at the old man—then the sensation in his fist and both arms vanished.
So Mortarion jumped over and tried to kick the thing with a flying kick.
Without a doubt, his last sense of control over his legs had vanished.
He wanted to open his mouth and curse, but the Emperor anticipated it first, so Mortarion was unable to speak.
So Mortarian widened his eyes, attempting to kill his father with his gaze.
But his gaze did not anger the Emperor, or perhaps the Emperor was already furious beyond measure. Seeing that his child was finally willing to stop and listen to him, the Emperor spoke with satisfaction.
Your guess is correct, my child.
+I am also glad you arrived here. If the rebels had arrived any later, I think humanity would indeed have perished—becoming truly empty souls, extensions of my will. +
[?!]
Upon hearing the Emperor's words, Mortarion finally snapped out of his obsessive rage and insistence on "slaying that old bastard." The Primarch was astonished, utterly shocked.
Without giving Mortarian time to question or speak, the Emperor continued speaking to himself.
+I have waited too long on the golden throne; you are too late. I never expected you to be so cowardly and hesitant in such a matter. If it were me, an emperor who had not held court for twenty years, I would have already led my army into the palace—and you are even my offspring, possessing a powerful legion. +
Mortarian cursed the Emperor in his heart, but the Emperor did not hear him because he did not allow Mortarian to speak.
Okay, that's it. That's the answer.
When the Emperor laughs, it's a laugh that's inhuman and mad.
+The presence deep within my soul is expanding. The Golden Throne and my will can only temporarily suppress it. It is like a parasite in the depths of my soul, a seed buried deep in the soil. With each bite it takes, I weaken a little, and it grows a little larger—unfortunately, humanity's wishes and expectations for me only fuel its growth. +
So he sits here, on the golden throne, while a part of "him" shrieks in anticipation of his rise, while he remains steadfast, as if his legs are too weak to stand.
Influenced by "him," the Imperial Guard also developed divisions, just like his unpredictable and ever-changing emotions and thoughts. In the end, the two sides' ideas became confused, and the Emperor fell silent because he could no longer distinguish which idea came from him and which came from "him."
"He" is him, and he is also "he", but both are him, like the caterpillar and the butterfly of the same thing. Now, the pupa is wriggling, and from within the caterpillar's corpse, the butterfly struggles to break free and stir up a storm.
Therefore rebel, my child, draw your swords at me, swing your scythes at me—and nail me—and him—to the golden throne. You have found the way and the answer.
My ascension was interrupted, but I will continue to exist. I will choose a path to continue helping you—a path to help humanity.
The Emperor gave a wry smile.
+I hope you can achieve victory, my child, but you don't seem to have the right choice in managing the Empire, and Guilliman...I regret that I only saw him clearly at the last minute.+
The seated man gazed into the distance, as if his eyes had finally pierced through countless stars and seen through everything.
But at least...
A small fraction of humanity will survive, and civilization will endure.
A very soft voice faded away, as if offering self-consolation.
The Emperor looked at Mortarion again.
Live on, live on, my child. You are the most stubborn and rebellious among them. Protect humanity for me until another opportunity arrives, until another future—you and Guilliman have already touched upon a moment of truth.
+Then awaken me, Mortarion, then slay the tyrant, then burn away all that is filthy with your fire. +
As if finally relieved, Mortarian watched as the Emperor trembled, like ripples spreading outwards, his figure growing taller and larger—as he slowly rose.
As the Emperor rose, the boundless golden light began to dim, and from the farthest point, the eternal night was tinged with golden light, spreading inward in circles.
As dusk falls, the sun sets in the west.
The still-bright Emperor reached out, a flame igniting in his hand, and fell towards Mortarion. The surroundings darkened rapidly; before the golden flame could reach the Primarch, it was already consumed by the surrounding darkness.
+I cannot control Him; you still need to defeat Him. I entrust this to you, Mortarion; hide it behind the scars of your soul… until you are discovered. +
The sun set completely, and eternal night descended.
Mortarian gasped for breath, feeling himself burning. His flesh, skin, armor, and even his scythe returned to him, and he stood firmly on the ground. Before him stood the tall "Emperor," his golden armor oozing black blood.
The Emperor saw him and raised his sword.
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dark.
dark.
Utter darkness.
Mortarion felt extremely weak, as if his armor, skin, and flesh had vanished once again. All that remained around him was darkness that made him instinctively vomit. He couldn't tell where he was—was he in the underground palace of Terra, or in the real hell?
The Primarch simply lay quietly, wearily, as if dead.
"Motalian?"
With a soft sound, Mortarian, who had been seemingly dead, suddenly opened his eyes. He struggled to get up, but could not stand up no matter what.
“Ah, Mortarian,”
The familiar, yet gradually forgotten voice rang out, approaching him from afar, and then knelt down beside him.
But Mortarian could only see blackness, darkness all around him. He struggled to speak, but his body was too heavy to move.