The scene instantly became surreal. The Knights of the Night stared blankly at Konrad Curze.
Being stared at like this, the corner of Curze's mouth twitched.
"You have pledged yourselves to Chaos," Curze stated flatly. He had given them a strict, final order: never fall to Chaos.
While these Night Lords were not numerous, they were already tainted by the stench of Chaos. The ability to make the dead speak, for instance, was a form of Slaaneshi sorcery. To be fair, they were still a cut above true Chaos worshippers; their interests were purely physical, and they cared little for the soul.
But...
"Father..." the Night Lord leader began, his eyes filled with a hint of bitter resentment.
"Where have you been for the past ten thousand years?"
"..."
"Do you have any idea what we have been through?"
"Do you know how hard the brothers fought to protect your gene-seed?"
"The Imperium, Chaos... when have we ever had a place to call our own? And... the Tattooed Count has become a Daemon Prince. What were you doing then?"
"..."
The Chaos warband leader questioned the silent Curze, his tone thick with endless grievance.
"Chaos must die."
Curze looked at the Chaos Lord before him and remained silent for a moment longer. Truth be told, though seeing his wayward sons gave him a headache, it wasn't as if he felt nothing for them. And those Night Lords had shown true restraint; they had watched as their Primarch's head was taken by an assassin and still held back from retaliating. It was only later that the Callidus Assassin's greed had been her undoing.
After speaking, Curze drove his blade through the leader, annihilating him body and soul. In the next instant, shadows engulfed the entire area, and every member of the Chaos warband was slain by Curze's hand.
And then...
Curze saw his new sons behind him. They were looking at him with a strange expression. Suddenly, Curze felt a profound sense of shame, so much so that he could hardly meet their gaze.
"Father, is this our original sin?"
"No," Curze immediately shook his head. "It is mine..."
As he spoke, another matter occupied his thoughts: whether or not he should recall his old followers. But ten thousand years had passed. Those who hadn't fallen to Chaos were likely long dead. And he remembered what Zhou Ye had said: his own sons and his Gloriana-class battleship were in the hands of that scum, the Tattooed Count. If there was a pecking order of contempt among those who fell to Chaos, then Slaanesh's followers were undoubtedly at the very bottom.
"It seems I'll have to discuss this with that brother when I get back..." Konrad Curze could only think to himself with a sense of helplessness. He couldn't just leave the matter hanging. And besides... damn it all, he couldn't even face his new sons now. He felt ashamed in their presence.
"So what exactly did our father do in the past?"
"I don't know. There are always some who fall. From what I've heard from the Emperor's Children, their fallen brothers are a real piece of work."
"Yeah, and then there are the Dark Eldar. I wonder how these guys compare to them..."
"..."
Hearing his new sons casually lumping the fallen Night Lords in with the heavyweight degenerates of the Emperor's Children and the Dark Eldar—who were no better—Curze wanted to object, but found he had no grounds to do so.
In the end, the Knights of the Night saw a flash of light, and Konrad Curze vanished.
---o---
Elsewhere on the battlefield, a raging, incandescent firestorm completely enveloped a massive, twisted, and profane monster.
Not a single daemon remained in the vicinity. Now, only the most powerful of Greater Daemons could possibly approach this area. Of course, whether they had the courage to do so was another matter entirely.
BOOM!!!
With a tremendous impact, a badly wounded, serpent-like creature burst forth. Fulgrim, using his true form this time, looked like a scorched eel. He had brought significant power with him, far more than he'd had on the space hulk. He had thought his victory was assured, especially with the beast Angron at his side. He would use him slightly, then reap the rewards.
But...
You son of a bitch, were you holding back last time?
Fulgrim could clearly feel that his very essence in the Warp had been grievously wounded. The pain almost made him shatter his teeth. Just now, after his desperate pleas, the Prince of Pleasure had granted him a small blessing, allowing him to escape the searing storm.
CRACK!!!
At that moment, a sound like shattering glass came from the small black hole in the sky. This was a sound a black hole should not make.
"Angron is getting out. I don't have time to play with you anymore..."
BOOM.
Zhou Ye glanced at the black hole behind him, making one last attempt to devour as much as he could. After all, a complete Primarch contained a great deal of energy. But with Angron about to break free, things were about to get complicated. His gravity prison was incredibly tough, yet Angron was on the verge of shattering it.
"Why? Why?! WHY does Father favor you so?!"
Fulgrim was about to grind his teeth to dust. He looked at the thick blessings of the Blood God swirling around the frenzied Angron, then thought of the pathetic sliver of power he'd received from the Prince of Pleasure after so much begging.
And the man before him was even more terrifying. That sword, though not the Emperor's Sword, was surely another of the Emperor's unknown weapons. The flames that threatened to incinerate him came primarily from that blade.
(The main reason for this was a faith feedback loop between Zhou Ye and the Yellow Fiend that even Zhou Ye was unaware of. The Yellow Fiend found that Zhou Ye kept rejecting the faith, so he would repackage it and send it back, though never forcing it. He also filtered it, preventing Zhou Ye from undergoing any changes that would make him perceptible in the Warp. The Yellow Fiend knew all too well what a being completely invisible to the Warp signified. So what he gave Zhou Ye wasn't the faith that gave him headaches. But Zhou Ye kept throwing it back. Now, with his surroundings and everyone assuming his weapons came from the Emperor, some strange properties had been imbued into them.)
For example, the flames that could burn a daemon on a spiritual level could only be unleashed by Zhou Ye through this sword. He had, of course, noticed this. Much like Kevin from his old world, he didn't strictly need a weapon, but sometimes it just felt right. Now, however, it was more than just a convenience; the sword could genuinely empower him.
"The game ends here. I will use my full strength. So... Jiemie!!!"
In the next instant, Fulgrim felt the ambient temperature vanish. The flames on Zhou Ye's sword, which had seemed ready to burn the entire planet, were gone. They had not disappeared but had been completely internalized. The weapon in Zhou Ye's hand had become like a crystal, more brilliant than ever...
CLANG.
An attack even more ferocious than before struck. This time, there were no frills, just an assault infused with incomparable gravity and the fury of lightning. Although Daemon Primarchs had high damage reduction, and most of Zhou Ye's conceptual powers other than his flames were neutralized, two things were different now. First, Fulgrim was nowhere near the level of the Khorne-possessed Angron. Second, Zhou Ye's power output was sufficient; he had been conserving energy before.
This time, he had decided to go all out. The resulting attack was a complex fusion of ten-thousand-fold gravity, raging lightning, entropic decay, and more...
CLANG!!!
Fulgrim was forced to use all four of his arms and all four of his blades just to block the single strike from the golden greatsword. His body was pinned in place by the immense gravity, and thick smoke poured from his form.
"Fulgrim! Your scales are but Slaanesh's festering rash! Your fragrance, the disguise for a pustule!"
With a backhand flick, Zhou Ye sent Fulgrim's massive, profane body flying.
"YES!!!" From the distance, Guilliman couldn't help but cheer at the sight.
"You look in the mirror and call yourself a 'god,' but the mirror reflects a serpent that failed in its courtship!"
"You have tasted the flavors of the galaxy, but do you even remember the feeling of 'satisfaction'?"
"Your screams—are they of ecstasy or of begging for mercy? You can't even tell the difference yourself anymore, can you?!"
"ARGH!!!"
Faced with Zhou Ye's overwhelming assault and his eyes, now shrouded in a holy golden light, devoid of any emotion or fluctuation, Fulgrim could only roar in impotent fury. The tone was not one of bullying, but of stating a simple, insignificant fact. And no matter how Fulgrim struggled, he was like an ant.
"Your 'symphony'? Merely the gnawing of maggots on a corpse!"
"The tears you shed when you murdered Ferrus were more real than your 'art'—a pity they too were fake!"
"You!!!" Fulgrim froze, his face contorting in horror. He realized this brother seemed to know a secret known only to him and a very select few, including Fabius Bile.
He had cloned Ferrus countless times, each time trying to make him forgive him, to acknowledge him. But every time, the clone would condemn him in a rage, and he would end up killing him, just like the original. He had tried everything, but after countless attempts, he found he could not shake Ferrus's will, not even in a mere copy. He felt like a clown, and it brought him no joy. Now, his clownish behavior had been seen through, enraging him, shaming him, making him want to tear the man before him to shreds!
But...
BOOM!!!
Another heavy, artless blow slammed him to the ground. He should be thankful he no longer had legs; otherwise, he would be kneeling.
"Father, that you could see this..."
In the distance, the members of the Iron Hands watched as Zhou Ye beat Fulgrim into a near-kneeling position, and when they heard Ferrus's name spoken from his lips, tears streamed down their faces. This was a sacred moment, a scene they had dreamed of. Today, it had come to pass. A holy Primarch, beating the fallen Fulgrim to his knees and speaking the name of Ferrus... All the Iron Hands wept silently. And...
"What an honor this is!!!" they exclaimed in praise. The Primarchs of the Imperium had not forgotten their father.
"Where is the chain around your neck? Oh, that's right—Slaanesh sewed it into your soul!"
"You've fought for Slaanesh for ten thousand years. What 'gift' did you receive in return? The desire for more gifts!"
"RAAAAGH!!!"
Finally, in a state of emotional collapse, Fulgrim lunged at Zhou Ye.
"Fulgrim! You pathetic Slaaneshi spittoon! Your sword once swung for the Emperor; now it's only fit to trim a daemon's claws! Your 'perfection' is a lie, your 'art' is a joke, your 'immortality' is a punishment! Every moan you make pleases your master, every scale on your body begs for attention! Look at you— Ferrus's death was meaningless, and your life is an even greater shame! All your struggles are but the most boring page in Slaanesh's script!"
Facing the utterly enraged and panicked Fulgrim, Zhou Ye's voice remained cold. And in that instant, the two figures shot past each other.
Fulgrim's twisted, ancient head slowly separated from his body. His form collapsed, shattering into fragments before being sucked back into the Warp.
On the battlefield...
Silence.
Everyone watched as Zhou Ye stood proudly, holding Fulgrim's head, a tangible golden light radiating from his body. The Khornate Bloodletters, the Slaaneshi Daemonettes, even the Chaos Space Marines—all felt a... a tremor that originated from the very depths of their souls.
"..."
Even Guilliman was stunned. For in that fleeting moment, they all saw the phantom image of another man.
A man who had once shattered the darkness and brought liberation and salvation to humanity.
The sun that had vanished for ten millennia now shone upon the world once more.
"Praise the Golden Sun!!!"
Countless devout citizens of the Imperium wept. The Arch-Cardinal of Macragge trembled like an old man in the throes of a seizure.
"Emperor, you have finally shone upon your people again!!!"
But.
BOOM.
In the next moment, the black hole shattered. A blood-red light once again descended upon the world.