Chapter 587 The story about the truth about scars
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A sharp blade killed a man. One man's death ultimately murders a galactic generation. But before the blade is polished into the weapon destined to commit that murder, can we distinguish from tens of millions of tons of ore every atomic particle that will make it up? No matter what method is used, prediction or calculation, what amount of sacrifices will be required as a price, or how many galaxies and generations of people will be required to devote themselves to it? Are the people who dig out the ore, select the raw materials, finally manufacture and sharpen it, and inject the possibility of destruction and killing, the accomplices of this grand murder? So, the question is, can we prevent evil that has not yet happened, or can we forgive or define something that has not yet happened? If prevention, forgiveness and remedy in advance are meaningful, does that mean that their premises must also be meaningful...
————————An essay in the corner of a page of a book found by a certain inquisitor in the Wandering Port
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Varro Tigris continued to be led safely through the abyssal turbulence of the deepest reaches of the Warp where even the most powerful and insane sorcerers could not and dare not set foot.
Here, the meaning of time and space was completely lost. When the bubble surrounding him passed far past the special intersection in the deepest part of the abyss, he took a risk and glanced there - it seemed to be a black hole in the universe, a piece of The lack of a soul, a vain hope, a beast approaching, a bottomless well or——
Darkness suddenly fell on his physical and spiritual eyes, and the voice that resembled his father's sounded in his ears, still gentle, but slightly accusing: "Curiosity will kill the cat, and it can also kill a chief think tank, but Dear Digris, don’t let me be embarrassed and disrespectful to you.”
"My eyesight..." The chief think tank raised his fingers, and the touch under his gauntlets told him that his two eyeballs were still intact in their original places in his skull, dry and still able to rotate, without pain or blood.
"Yes. This is what I call rude. I took them away temporarily before I had time to remind you." Julius's voice said, "In order to make you safer when traveling here. Here It is very convenient for us to roam, but it is too unsafe for any human beings who still have ideals but have not found final refuge.”
Although the chief think tank hesitated to use such mild words as "walk" and "travel" to describe such a dangerous place that is inhumane, he wisely chose to digest the content of this paragraph by himself at this moment rather than propose more problem.
His vision was passed to him through some kind of tendril that had just penetrated into his soul. He saw countless altars dedicated to the past, present, and future of the Ancient Four and their great demons, voluntary or involuntary sacrifices. across our throats There are countless scarlet and hideous wounds, like countless weird grins; his body, as light as a body, has gone through countless murder moments and battlefield scenes over tens of thousands of years, and there are still lives on the cut open flesh and blood. The last curl of heat.
He didn't know where he was or who he was.
One moment he was standing on the ground of red sand, watching the ragged gladiators beside him raising their crude primitive weapons and passing over him, feeding the bloodthirsty audience with their lives and meaningless deaths; the next moment He came to a desolate and huge black rock desert basin and witnessed the sight of his brothers and cousins. The most despicable atrocities of deceit and betrayal between the legions who called each other, he recognized the Emperor's Children, Iron Warriors, Night Lords, Word Bearers, Iron Hands, Death Guard from the blood of melee and killing everywhere. , Sons of Horus, Salamanders, Raven Guard, Alpha and... World Eaters...?
Just when he felt dizzy, he found himself suddenly lying on the uneven stone ground, surrounded by blood and broken limbs. His own neck was dripping with hot blood that had taken away his life. The Commander of the Emperor's Children raised the weapon in his hand proudly, fighting with the gorgeous purple power armor and the simple black armored man with iron hands.
And not far from where he fell, the purple-eyed giant with the most perfect and flawless face he had ever seen grasped a silver-white blade filled with purple mist, and just let out a grief-stricken cry, That The wet demigod's blood on the demonic sword that had just committed the crime of betrayal and murder was still dripping down, but the scar across the throat was pressed down by the owner of the frightened face with the sharp blade in his hand——
Blood splattered, followed by more revenge, vengeance and endless war——
A tall headless corpse with a pair of big silver hands rolled to the ground. Countless invisible hands and countless angry and huge powers surged out of the cavity like strong winds. The chief think tank tremblingly discovered many things that should not be treated like him. The inhuman magic observed by man, when he When he raised his gaze in horror, he saw more specific details, the tears flowing from his purple eyes, the flaming sword aimed at himself slicing his charred throat, and his abandonment and those under grief and despair. I took the opportunity to get into his things——
Is this what he should be watching? Is this something he can be shown? How could he be able to spy on this secret? And are all of this true?
A voice inside him told him that it was all real, because there was something in it that could never be imitated by anything.
But...
If so...
He is in a theater that was once magnificent and full of artistic splendor and elegance, but now it is decayed and decadent, and has been changed beyond recognition by traces of corruption and graffiti of suspicious liquids that can be seen everywhere. Where is 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 belonged to the same bloodline as his. Diglis opened his eyes wide eyes. His spiritual energy turned into lightning and was violently imprisoned around him.
"No——!!!!"
The dagger could not withstand the exquisite blow of the magic blade. The Ultramarines were dying in droves, using themselves as shields to resist the advancement of the fallen figure. Several people died just to delay for a second until the light of teleportation brightened. Since then, the heroic sacrifice has been left here, and no one will know about it ten thousand years later.
He was probably the first person besides the two people involved to know.
A huge sadness flooded him.
Then Diglis found that he had been taken away again and appeared in another scene that he had never imagined. When he thought that he could not be disturbed by anything again, he saw clearly the murder that was taking place.
This caused him to tremble all over, and if it weren't for his incorporeal form, he would have collapsed to the ground completely.
He saw Terra and Luna passing through the huge porthole that was several kilometers high. He saw the spiked hammer head of the Worldbreaker smashing down mercilessly, and the blood merged with the noble face that was ruthlessly destroyed, and turned red. The pure white wings - no, no, no more - the scene turned, and the great hammer was still being raised high, falling heavily, raised, falling, raised, falling.
He... what is this monster wearing a giant black armor with red eyeballs on his chest hitting? ! Is he smashing it? ! How dare he - how dare he - what was that? ! Who is that - no, no, no, he can't accept it, he can't see this, he can't, his anger, his psychic powers are uncontrollable and will burn him from the inside -
An eyeball connected to the optic nerve and detached from the skull, without blinking, was knocked out of the smashed remains of flesh and bone, rolled down beside the boots of the chief think tank standing there, and rolled back and forth in its original state. twice. The blood all over Diglis's body was frozen, the chief think tank's limbs were cold, his mouth was speechless, and even the tip of his little finger was numb. He couldn't even cry. He sucked in the non-existent oxygen so that he could not exist. The lungs supported his breathing, as if his lungs and heart had lost their original function at this time.
He lowered his head slowly and stiffly, and just looked at the iris of the eyeball. It was golden at first, but when it swayed, the light changed. It seemed like a green sea for an instant, and then it It turned into the darkest black like the ocean on a rainy night, glaring at him from the deep darkness of the other side of ancient time.
Dizziness rose from the depths of his throat. Diglis just wanted to rush over, grab his staff, and pour out all his power unreservedly towards the hateful leader of rebellion, even if it burned his own flesh and soul. It doesn’t matter if it’s ashes——
"Shh." Julius's voice appeared in Diglis's ears again, stopping his impulse. The tone of Julius's words sounded so calm and calm, so calm that it almost drove Diglis crazy. The ground screamed at him, who the hell are you? ! Why are you so calm when facing with your own eyes this battle that will determine the lives and fate of so many humans and Astartes ten thousand years from now? ! !
"Well... this is a gift from our Lord, but unfortunately it cannot be shared, because it first requires the gift of blood, opportunity and time." As if it could see through his wordless scream, the voice explained After a while, he continued to remind him, "Shh. Don't worry, keep reading. The stories I tell you will soon end."
Tiglis witnessed death and resurrection amid reluctance and convulsions. He saw something summoning the dead body back to the world and became another new existence. He saw the duel between two wounded gods. White and black, dotted with scarlet blood In it, entangled and almost evenly matched, he gasped nervously as his claws slit the throat of the sacred being and brought blood, he held his breath as they burned each other with the fire in their eyes, and finally, he Saw who killed whom with what.
The chief think tank now almost wants to beg Julius to cut off his sight and remove the relevant memories from his mind, because he clearly knows that what he sees now is completely shaking him every minute and every second. All the knowledge he had learned over the centuries shook his belief in the indestructibility of the empire. The cornerstone of loyalty - Julius's voice came back in time, just as he had learned a lot about being a teacher in this situation - "Think of the person you want to protect, the honorable Dick. Gris, just be loyal to the people you want to protect.”
This reminder was like a glimmer of light in the smoke, drawing his attention away from the chaos. When he gathered his shattered mind and looked around again, he found that the environment here had changed slightly.
"This is the last sacrifice..." Julius seemed to be sighing. His voice, which had always been as calm and gentle as a book of sermons, finally took on some human emotion.
The chief think tank's heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. Looking up, all the blood-stained golden bodies, large and small, had left this place. Only the gradually forgotten darkness and cold began to shroud the huge hollow corpse. In his eye sockets, the last moon wolf is still guarding his body, just like he was watching back then.
Then he saw the culprit of the thirteen dark expeditions in the next nine thousand years appearing at the door. He had not yet been swallowed up by Chaos. He rushed in with others, and then he witnessed the last time in shock. The selected sacrifices were delivered to the altar of the four gods by the agent of the ancient will. , and the priest's eloquent and gentle words spread like a poisonous snake, making the flames of ambition spread in the eyes of Ezekiel Abaddon like a ignited wildfire. This cycle of revenge was here. It ends and solidifies, becoming the echo of his crime behind his person and following him forever.
"It's over." Julius's voice said, "We should go back."
Please...you...Collect_6Ⅰ9ⅠBookⅠ(Six\\\Nine\\\Book\\\!)
"No!" At that moment across countless dimensions, the chief think tank tried his best to throw a ball of the greatest power he could muster in the direction of the hateful person. Did it hit? Or is it just like his own existence that cannot move even 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 what he had just seen of them igniting each other with the light in their eyes, so he jumped up and pressed the frost turned into spiritual energy on his face, but then he felt the biting coldness again. Feeling like that, I let go of it in a hurry.
Diglis shook off the frost that had turned into cold water on his eyelashes. The focus of his pupils slowly adjusted, and the world became clear again.
He saw "Robert Guilliman" transformed by Julius's exquisite magic, looking down at him with concern just like before.
And he himself was still sitting on the same seat, and the afternoon sunlight in Magna City slanted through the window lattice and shone on his face, indicating that it might have only been a short time since the Eldar envoys left. It was the warm sunshine that caused the scorching illusion just now.
In his Lyman ears he heard the herbs swaying and growing in the garden, tiny insects crawling through the depths of the soil, birds perched on the roofs of the houses, the fires crackling in the great kitchens, the barbecues going on. The grease dripped on it, and a team of honorary guards were stepping hard to take over at the entrance of the solemn temple - the rustling sound of countless fresh lives made him want to cry.
It's like a lifetime ago.
"I..." Diglis wriggled his lips, and it took him a while to rediscover his language center. "You..."
"Are you okay? Don't worry, it won't have any impact on your body left here. If you can't stand up now, you can sit down for a while."
Julius thoughtfully pushed a wine glass towards him. Diglis glanced at it and smelled the scent of the precious Cognac produced by Quatis. He couldn't wait to grab it and drink it in one gulp. The golden wine seemed to After additional filtration, it became purer and fresher. He felt that his soul and body were gradually joining together again, and the power that had been poured into his depths had left at some point.
The chief think tank slowly focused his gaze on the smiling Julius' neck.
That transverse scar.
Now he knew how it came to be.
— and not just from the murder of Robert Guilliman.
It embodies the painful truth of murder, revenge, sacrifice and sacrifice that has pervaded everything for thousands of years.
(End of chapter)