Chapter 480 The Thief
“Honestly, I never knew what big things you were arranging, Eulanius. I’m just a latecomer, and I’m not as familiar with the whole mystery as you are. History is full of that inexplicable certainty, as if the human world would no longer function without you... I forgot that the Emperor is one of you, I retract the preface."
John Guerra. Matikus shook the leather map of limited size in his hand, not thinking about where the raw material of this rough material came from.
The road under his feet was nothing like what he described on the 11th. It was no longer a long and narrow passage filled with milky white oil mist, but the entire section was glowing with an ominous and blazing red. Light. Webway, huh? A very ordinary name, but the psychic master reminded him of the importance of this place ten thousand times.
And then, the importance of where they are going.
"Molo?" Orr stopped when he heard the term. He stared at John's back hesitantly, "Why do you want to go there?"
"You ask me?" John pointed. Referring to himself, "Was it me and not you who accompanied the Emperor to Moro thousands of years ago? I don't know, except for a Primarch who told me that Moro is the key to the whole damn universe, I got All I have is this fragment of the map, and the reward I get is the life I saved last time.”
A Primarch, Orr thought, like Alpharius? He didn't give him a good memory, he told too many lies and too little truth.
The children of Nyos are pretentious, but do they really have a will as proud as their talent? Maybe not every one.
"Who is that?" he said dullly, slowing down and following John. This deep passage sometimes made him think that he was entering the border of purgatory.
"I don't know, it probably doesn't matter anymore. I bet he's dead. I'm just the executor of a task, ready to compensate a Primarch for saving his life, and maybe the bad things I caused to mankind by serving the Illuminati. Influence.
"The mission is to find someone who roughly knows the truth and take him to Moro - 001.M31 at the end of this year. Do you know why this time is valued by you immortals? "
John said, standing still, facing the blocked passage in front of him, his face bitter. A colorless dark abyss lay in front of him, filled with darkness like residue.
< br>"Okay now, all roads are blocked. "He fanned himself with the map fragment in his hand, turned around and raised his eyebrows at Orr, "You may start to regret following me out of the Alpha Legion's flagship. Or... Or? ”
Ol Persson didn’t answer his question, momentarily immersed in the fragments of his own past, until John tapped him on the shoulder with the rolled-up map and pulled him back to the present.
"Were you possessed by a demon just now?" John asked.
“No.”
“That’s good, otherwise I may not be able to beat you.” John shrugged, “So what——”
“Now It’s the thirty-first millennium?”
“Yes, according to the current imperial calendar, I don’t know if it’s true. Don’t you ever look at the calendar? There’s no clock in the tavern? Forget it,” John sighed, “What new discoveries have you made, soldier?”
Orr's eyes slowly moved across his face, with a dazed expression of deep contemplation.
"Then this is the year," he said thoughtfully.
"Considering that we have no way to go and have plenty of time, I won't ask you why you don't finish your words at once."
Orr was silent for a moment, and his answer became smoother , the tone regained control, and his expression became more complicated.
“Not in the past, not in the era when mythology prevailed, nor at the twilight moment when the night was about to enter...it was in the thirty-first millennium,” he said, “it is now that the fire thief gets Fire.”
"Forgive me, Orr, but I'm not as knowledgeable about mythology as you are. I'm just a newcomer, and even though I see that there are only a few immortals left in the entire galaxy who are still working conscientiously - I mean, please put this sentence Translate it into something I can understand. You can’t be talking about the famous Prometheus..."
"Prometheus."
"By the way, thank you. That's the word. It's a metaphor, right? How can human history use thirty thousand years to record something that hasn't happened yet?" John laughed dryly.
Orr shook his head slightly, the cross shaking on his chest. The light in the tunnel began to flicker, flickering like the fire of a candle against the walls of the Webway. An unstable tremor was rolling along this dangerous passage.
"Part metaphor," he said, "half, perhaps, truth. I should indeed go to Moro, and if what Nios once described was true... now is the time to unravel the mystery. When he saw the answer..."
Orr looked at John Grammaticus suspiciously and stopped talking.
"Okay, Eulanius Persson, I won't pray to gain your trust anymore. It seems harder than traveling half way across the galaxy."
"Because You mentioned you knew Erda," Orr said.
"I shouldn't have mentioned to you that I worked for her once. I was wrong." John openly showed his regret for this matter. "This makes me ten thousand times more suspicious." , but I swear I didn't intend to trick you into being killed quietly somewhere, or anything else you were worried about. The only question now is, how on earth are we going to find our way to Moro, because we look like we're going nowhere... …”
Suddenly—such an astonishing and unexpected arrival—a beam of light trembled and penetrated the darkness, and time seemed to stand still... Everything became slow, the light advanced slowly, Winding between the raised hands of John Grammaticus, crossing the silver cross on the chest of Eulanius Persson...and then going away, going away, until the end of the dark roar...
< br>
That ray of light just flickered around in the long and winding network corridor, and the darkness stagnated under the penetration of this filament, slowed down, dullly rubbed against the filament of light, until an unbearable moment: the darkness The world shattered with a crash, making way for an invisible narrow passage of light.
John opened his eyes wide, and this ray of light reflected swirling lines in his eyes, like the dancing light reflected on the wall by a torch in a cave. Stolen fire? A lit fire? Sourceless fire? There is no answer.
"What happened?" he asked.
Ol Persson took a step towards the light and stretched his hand into the darkness in front of him. The path of brilliance widened following his movements, and the surrounding darkness violently collided and scratched the path. But it just screamed and shattered unwillingly under the light.
"It's him," Orr said, both sure and confused. "This is his power." "How did I hear that the Emperor was dead..." John received Orr's gaze, he raised his hands in salute and surrendered. "Okay, then we have another way to go."
——
“All death,” said Phosi Taka, “is meaningless.”
Ahriman struggled to get up from the ground, Phosi Starka pulled him and looked into the chief think tank's blue, trembling eyes. The witchfire faded away from around them, and there was no longer the cruel sound of the whip whipping the air. Magnus's red warm power returned to them, flickering crystal clear and broken on the ground.
Not far away, Tuchucha Engine gave up its attempt to break through the isolation layer of the network channel. Magnus's runes were indestructible, and Vhistaka was still shaken when he came to this conclusion.
"Did the Luna Wolves really go to destroy Prospero? Did they really do this?" Hathormat murmured, spiritual energy lingering between his fingers, blooming with bright red fire.
He stretched out his five fingers and stared at his palm prints, as if he were a beginner palmist. The next moment, he suddenly clenched his fingers, and flames danced wildly from between his fingers.
"Batusa Narek is not a liar," Ahriman stood up, his calm gradually peeling into crumbs and falling invisibly downwards. "But if we rush back quickly enough, there is still hope for us, my brothers. We can still save our homeland from senseless destruction. All is not lost."
"You believe in you Did you say that?" Hathormat asked bluntly, he lowered his head slightly, raised his eyes, and stared bitterly at Ahriman's pale cheek.
"I believe it. This is not the ending we deserve. Prospero did not deserve to be destroyed - not even the Luna Wolves were responsible for the slaughter of innocents. These deaths serve no purpose, Killing each other should not exist between the Astartes Legions. We are all warriors loyal to the Emperor... How can we die against each other? "
He said this, but his eyes were already stagnant in the distance, so dim.
“Now,” he continued, “there is a force, a being, who has stolen the fruits of mankind’s victory and seeks to destroy our future. A thief so hateful.
"We go to the top of the mountain, this is already there. We fall into a deep valley that we shouldn't have. Although, we do have to assume the possibility of the latter. At that time..."
"How? ”
“At that time we will climb up again from the bottom of the valley. said Ahriman, the light in his eyes becoming dim.
Fusistaka was about to say something when suddenly a subtle ripple rippled through his body and touched his two hearts. He shuddered, feeling a wave of lingering ash rolling, boiling, circling and swooping, rushing towards them along the long passage, but the target was at another place further away.
He looked around in confusion. The scattered dust turned into a tangible wave of light spots, calling each other and rushing forward. Those trivial murmurs became louder and louder.
"This is not fair..." a voice came, in the flow of the halo, "No, damn laser...ah, my boots, legs - what? What is this? ?...Pain, I feel so much pain...The wolf is biting us, mom, that is a wolf..."
There are thousands of names, names of dead, meaningless, undeserved deaths, With the life and power that every name is born with, with... hatred, deep and thick roaring hatred and hatred, surging, slapping and squeezing the limited minds of several Templar lecturers in the Webway.
Inigo...Sorensen...Meren...Pedros...Elijah...Beluku...
A thousand names, ten thousand names, all pouring out. Ahriman recognized some of them, familiar names he had heard from time to time around the Great Library of Tizca.
Schmitt... Rupp... Celedonio... Adel... Savas... Covan...
The soul of Prospero in these lost There was a blazing fire between the names. Ahriman gritted his teeth and squeezed out a painful, hollow groan from the gaps between his teeth. The scalding water flowed down his face, causing a burning pain on the tip of his tongue that was like the acid secreted by the Astartes.
The words he just uttered were suddenly and severely shattered by reality, and the stench of burnt flesh and blood, the noise of broken bones, the noise of shrapnel bursting out, and the noisy and complicated roars and roars were all... This struck him to the soul.
At the same time, these ferocious souls filled with resentment were tearing apart the only stranger they could find. Fusistaka roared and fell to the ground. The pain of having his soul plundered came to him as he mastered it. After taking control of the power of the warp, it had never hurt him with such intensity.
Among them, some souls with out-of-control hatred also recognized them and targeted them. "Where are you?" a child's voice shouted, "Dad said the red warriors will protect us..."
In addition, there are the voices of the warriors, the deaths of the wolf and the dust, and the last bombs of those warriors before they die, resounding in the torrent of the dead, all integrated into one - as if they are actually caused by the same Die for the same thing, sacrifice undeservedly for the same reason.
It makes no sense...
+Come here! + Ahriman immediately sent a call, or order.
A long time passed - or maybe not too long, but Ahriman felt every second as if it were an anniversary, and he was as weak as the souls themselves. The souls of the Templar Lecturers are connected to one another, forming a solid body that resists the raging river of dead souls.
Where are they going? Ahriman forced himself to stay sane and keep the psychic chains running. Where would the Prosperos go after their deaths? Don't they even get rest? Is this the ending of Sun of Thousand Dusts? Is it all worth it? Is this what they got?
Such a precious soul, two hundred years, no, thirty thousand years of hard work... Those brilliance that cannot be forgotten, the treasures that cannot be tarnished, were needlessly destroyed and turned into destruction and resentment. The ugly black embers of resentment are no longer the same as they were in life, no more...
The remaining marks of Magnus flickered in the torrent, as light as a feather, touching Aza Ahriman's palm, he no longer had the strength to react, he just accepted it. And the torrent is still spreading, filling the interior of the network channel, and being transported to an unknown end point.
So, at the end of the long passage, a bit of cold star light was lit by the soul of the deceased.
The man who stole the fire in the past is drinking the fire of the soul of the dead. This malicious, unintentional, city-burning offering was offered unintentionally.
So, it is light.
(End of this chapter)