Chapter 481 Significance
Azhak Ahriman watched as Prospero’s soul departed in the siphon of the crossroads of the Webway.
Looking away, this passage is extremely long, and flowing in the middle are every minute and second that countless lives have had, every moment of the swing of the clock that once marked the node of life's destiny.
He heard the hourglass of Big Tizca tapping gently on the table, and the vast world opened in front of him. Does it all make sense? Or does it have a purpose?
He saw: an eleven-year-old child running in front of him under the blue sky, a bullet shattered the head of a Planetary Guard soldier, and his brain burst into blood and white flowers, and his skin was tanned. The brother and sister sat on the bench together, shaking the maracas and singing tuneless songs. They were once only seven years old and they had not yet grown up when they died under a fallen burning tree. The archaeologist lovingly brushed the The dust on the Baroque statue was lightly swept away, and the gilded ancient painting that had been restored for thirty years was burned to the ground by the flames of the flamethrower...
Is this destruction the will of God in the game of the gods, or the sacrifice of fate? Prospero shed the last drop of his blood for the Emperor, and their deaths were not even wasted. No...their death has value, their value is only in their death.
Is this a comfort to his soul, or is it a sharp, cruel and unsoothing single-molecule war blade that cuts into his heart and continues to stir ruthlessly to one side?
Azhak Ahriman has probably never been more afraid than he is now - more afraid, even resisting the existence of the empire, the existence of the emperor... It is not the stolen thing on the throne, But the true Emperor, the one who continued to claim everything they had after death.
That - the real limitless snatcher.
He saw: The thirty-nine-year-old mother began to worry that her child would never come back to see her after leaving with the fleet. She anxiously chopped up a piece of turnip with a spoon in her hand and mixed it with lemon vinegar. , waste paper with lyrics written on it fell on the road, and there were twenty footprints with traces of magnetic locks on it. People carrying pockets on the street were chased by children holding small insects that bowed after the rain. Soon...
Soon Prospero's death was also taken up. These souls were taken away by the existence at the end of the glorious path. The moments they had had were lost in painful death. All the colors were squeezed out bit by bit, and soon not even the last traces left in the world were left. exist.
And Ahriman has no right to even claim back a shred of it, for the true Emperor is demanding these cruel deaths from the universe. After he took away Magnus' life, he wanted to take away more things that humans have from this world, because...
Because of what?
Ahriman opened his mouth slightly, biting his lip to push back any more noise into his throat. His lips twisted shut, forcing an expression that might have been a smile.
Because the Emperor protects humanity, his request is absolutely correct. Because only this dedication can exchange for his awakening, he cannot refuse.
He understood all this the moment the light from the Path of Glory fell on him. The same goes for other temple lecturers.
He heard: A star is about to be born, but the condition for his birth is death. He is the giant spider in the middle of the galaxy's cobweb, the sole ruler of countless hives, and the death trill on every string will nurture his growth. There was so much information in a single beam of light, how clearly he was informed of it all, of the sustenance that the unawakened stars relentlessly demanded from them. Informed of the existence of the crossroads. Informed of Magnus's last shred of will...
Did their father, Magnus, foresee Prospero's destruction when he led the Emperor to the Cross? Will the Red King know that in the emperor's rebirth, the nourishment he demands includes Prospero, including his own home, for which he has devoted half his life? Did he expect that? Did he expect that the City of Light would be one of the true Emperor's sacrifices or even the first sacrifice?
Azhak Ahriman gasped hard, and squeezed out a roar that he tried his best but could not do anything from his lungs.
"Azhak..." He heard a voice. Ahriman looked back, turned around, his eyes searching for that voice in the torrent of his soul. He saw him, hanging on him was a scarab that was exactly like him, only different in color, his outline was similar to his, and his eyes met his.
"Ormuz," Azak said, witnessing his biological brother walking towards him from the torrent of souls. He could hear his power armor still humming, and the blood on his face faded to a cobweb. thick white gauze.
Yes, a brother, born together in the Achaemenids on Terra, who followed Magnus to the stars. They were a pair of dim stars that seldom met, and Azhak Ahriman did not say goodbye to Prospero before he left Prospero for the last time.
“I’m sorry,” Olmuz said. "My suspended animation didn't save me. I've long said that this function is not that practical."
He smiled.
Coldness surged from Ahriman's body, his shivering stopped, and he was silenced along with the panic. His hands ached with cold.
"What happened?" Ahriman asked softly, slowly holding his breath.
"Many died. The Luna Wolves were destroying Prospero." Ormuz replied, looking confused as he looked at the torrent he was in. "Is this the road to the Golden Throne? Why are you here too?"
"No, Ormuz, this leads to the crossroads. A millstone of the soul. You will lose your existence there. You leave nothing behind, Olmuz. You are the nourishment for the Emperor's resurrection."
A burst of light spreads from the distant crossroads, using every soul as a lens for its transmission. , constantly refracting at the far end of the crossroads, gradually weaving thousands of souls into its vast spider web. It spreads, stretches, pierces, tears apart everything in its path.
"What about... Prospero?" Olmuz asked, "We protected it with all our strength, Azak. Did we succeed?"
"Looking back, Olmuz, there are more and more. There are more and more dead."
Olmuz was silent for a few seconds, his calmness accompanied by the flicker of the explosion and the shattering of bricks. Splashing powder. Everything is too trivial and too vast.
"Why don't you stop Prospero from burning?" he asked.
"I'm too late." "You never say it's too late, Azhak." Olmuz said, his face was penetrated by another wandering soul, and he alternated between blur and clarity.
"You can go against the torrent of souls to find Prospero, even though it is almost... a wreck, even if there are only a thousand of you, even if your greatest reliance, psionics, is unavailable in Prospero, even if you It’s really too late, Azak. You even have a few magic tricks to reverse time. Even though it’s dangerous, it’s useless.”
Azak Ahriman looked back with Olmuz. An outpouring of souls toward the intersection of crossroads. Like a vast waterfall or a surging river, this is all proof of the existence of every life, and they hold the last cruel meaning of this life.
The Emperor has protected everything, and they want to return everything to the Emperor, willingly or unwillingly. Every penny they took had to be sent back. This is...the philosophy celebrated by the Imperium of Man. Only the Emperor is above.
"But this is not what the emperor needs, this is what mankind needs." Azak murmured to himself, his emotions gradually returning to tranquility, based on his powerlessness.
Olmuz nodded slightly: "It sounds like we are just passing the souls and existence of some people through a transfer point that has also exhausted the last trace of souls, and offering them to more people for the sake of their future. Survival. Both sides of the equation: death and survival.”
Ahriman looked at his brother and said nothing. The thoughts contained in the torrent of soul seem to become shallow, and it is difficult to distinguish one by one. Even his own existence was not as clear as usual.
His extension was expanded, almost blending into the waves of death. In the alternation between the light at the crossroads and the death of his soul, a part of him also disappeared with it, and an invisible footprint fell into the bright mist, small and far away.
Olmuz continued to speak, took off his scarab, threw it in his hand, and handed it to Azak.
"Just as we have been doing, Azak. Two hundred years ago, Achaemenid offered his son to the throne of the Empire, dedicating a portion of its possessions to the expedition and becoming human at the same time. Part of the whole. We silently remember honor, loyalty, and brotherhood. We are no longer ourselves. We have been crushed by the wheel of fate once and were reshaped into what we are now. This time, it is the turn of the world under the wheel. Perot..."
"I know"
Olmuz snorted, turned his head, and looked intently in the direction of the crossroads. "I don't want to die, Azak, and neither does our second home."
"This cannot be stopped, Ormuz." Ahriman said, clutching the scarab in his hand. "And if you want to feed the stars with years of death, that's too slow, isn't it?"
"You already understand." Olmuz replied, his expression fluctuated again, and the color became It was lighter, like the spider threads on his face were spreading, spreading to cover his whole body.
“I always understood,” Ahriman shook his head, waving away the image he had constructed of Olmuz. The scarab in his hand turned into flying sand and returned to the torrent before his eyes.
Ormuz did indeed die in Prospero's burning, Ahriman thought, otherwise the depths of his heart would have responded with resistance when he spoke to his own incarnation. The hearts of a pair of brothers must beat for each other. No, nothing, nothing.
Death is the final meaning.
Did Magnus think of this when he dedicated himself? Has the father thought about the decision that the heir he cares about most will make?
Watching what was happening at the moment continue to happen, Ahriman re-strengthened the contact with his fellow lecturers. He called out a new mantra, causing it to rise from within him, and the light spread rapidly, Follow the direction of the beam. He closed his eyes.
+Tell me, my brothers,+he said,+This is a river, a passage with a source and an end. Will we swim upstream to find Prospero's remains, or downstream to meet the real Emperor? +
+Have you given up on Prospero, Azak? + Fusistaka said, his tone was particularly complicated.
+I have no right to give it up. I'm just an Astartes, I don't own it. +Ahriman murmured.
+Where is your arrogance? +Hasolmat asked in disbelief,+Where is your pride that you swore to protect Prospero? Azak? +
+So...I didn't give up on it. But not now, Hathor...+
We are thrown to the top by fate, and then fall down the cliff. For the future of most people, we can only close our eyes and fall into the wind to welcome the destiny. A good intention brings evil results, and a set of evil actions leads to a good ending. A seemingly cruel cruel joke, a vulgar story that satirizes human existence itself.
This is the path that everyone is unintentionally promoting: The empire of mankind will be a coral reef built of layers of rock. If it is to continue in the vast sea of stars, it must be built with the bones of corpses.
It is so abhorrent in its own right. The glory of the Great Crusade glorified it, making its outlines gentle, making everything look prosperous, making millions of Astartes and many times more warriors seem to be angels of peace, making every gathering of generals the essence of Being covered up, the bloody battles and killings were obscured by expectations and dreams, and the expectations and vows in laughter covered up the destruction, occupation, domination and plunder of world after world.
It's not even a scam, a trap. It clearly places blood and war on one end of the scale, nested with the possibility of hidden disasters, but the dreamlike future on the other end of the scale is too dazzling - too dazzling. And they just forget that no one cares about the dead.
Now, the true nature is revealed. The exchange becomes even more naked. Irreversible. Maybe...maybe.
A new idea was born in Ahriman's mind. He thought of an unfinished spell, inscribed in the "Book of Magnus", a set of secret scrolls that were different from the Holy Code of Nikea and actually recorded those unknown taboo laws. He closed his lips tightly, not daring to say it. However, a decision had already been made gently.
+What does it mean not now, Azhak? +Barak asked.
+You will know. + Ahriman said, + There is always a choice, and destiny has never really written anything. But not now. As for now, go to see the emperor? +
+Prospero will hate you. + Balak looked sadly at Ahriman.
+Will it? Well that makes sense too. + Ahriman smiled. A new beacon is sent to the Radiant Light, and together they will travel to the end of the Crossroads of Radiance.
(End of this chapter)