Chapter 299 Maranatha

When she first started singing, the world singer Shanadol's wordless songs were impeccable in technique, but the emotion that could trigger psychic waves was far from enough. Her singing is full of confusion, and she naturally cannot put her heart into it.

Therefore, after weighing the pros and cons, Konrad Curze let the samurai at the door avoid the idle Hexakeris, and then put Xanador indoors.

The moment she beheld the misfortune of her dark kin, a sympathetic pain arose in her heart, even though as a wild Eldar she had a deep disdain for these damned fallen cousins.

The World Singer hummed softly, as if he had never felt the aura of evil and decay lingering here. He approached the crystal frozen layer of Nefertari, the natural disaster, and reached out to touch the black crystal.

The pure psychic field occupies more space. Unlike the common offensive or chilling psychic properties, there is only pure sadness and compassion in the songs of the Daughters of Isa. It is difficult to imagine an Eldar. To be able to sing such a song.

This made Konrad Coates feel a rare sense of relaxation. Since there were no seats in the room, he leaned against the wall, moved his center of gravity backwards, and listened calmly to the melodious song sung by this pure heart.

Miraculously, the World Singer did gradually suppress the deterioration of Nefertari's condition under the influence of the Corruptor's aura. But containment alone is obviously not enough.

"You feel sad for her," Conrad Coates said slowly. "Why? Think about it without answering."

Because she was hurt. Shanadore thought to herself, staring at Scourge's wounds through the black crystal. But it's more than that.

Gradually, her eyes moved towards Nefertari's face. It was a face she knew well, and not because she had met Nefertari. She had seen this face in the fields cultivated by the wild Eldar exiles, in the prayer place outside the World Temple, while playing in the streams, and when picking wild fruits from the trees.

This face is of the same blood. This is also the descendant created by the goddess Isha.

Suddenly, a tear slipped from Shanadore's face and dripped on the surface of the black glass.

At this moment, her singing no longer just belonged to her. There was a more distant and more sentimental singing coming from her throat. Her spirit rose higher, crying with someone who seemed to be far away in the high blue sky. of great spiritual communion.

She awakened her, and their hearts resonated in a world beyond.

In the dripping tears, the corruption is washed away by the true source of life and fades away bit by bit. The plague was driven away and turned into nothing.

Conrad Coates listened thoughtfully to the second song reverberating in the air, and suddenly realized something. He looked across the room to a distant pole.

The whereabouts of Isa, the Eldar goddess of life, are unknown, but her surviving song seems to have brought more than just the healing to the world, Nefertari, the messenger of natural disasters.

He lowered his eyes and said nothing. Soon after, he threw a scalpel he took out of the tool bag and shattered Nefertari's black crystal. Shanadol caught her and laid her down on her soft arms. Bend.

"She is there," Shanador whispered in a sleepy tone. "She is in the garden. She is crying. She is crying day and night."

"Okay, I understand." Xuehou said, "Also, you can sing to the queen. Remember to find a nice hat to cover your ears."

——

Fulgrim is always fighting. Morse felt that this was not what the Emperor expected.

The human master of the galaxy did not expect that the will of the proud purple-robed phoenix would not only remain unwavering, but would even become more determined and indestructible. It was like a sourceless fire that had found fuel to burn and continued to radiate light.

After all, although the emperor's expression changed slightly, it did show a touch of relief.

"When will you be well?" Morse spoke to the Emperor.

He sat on the ground, channeling the Emperor's psychic power, integrating part of it into the barrier he built, to support a piece of supreme mist that was enough to temporarily offset the vicious gaze of the thirsty lady from time to time - this is what he started from A mission received from the Emperor.

In addition, he carefully wrapped the surface of Olympia with another set of barriers to prevent the corruptive power from seeping into the ground. Unless something unlucky catches the plague inside the barrier, nothing will happen to Olympia.

Different from his free will when teasing Magnus, facing an ancient god who was not unaware but had consciously laid out a premeditated plan, Morse decided to hand over the rescue process to the truly powerful.

The confrontation between the Emperor and the Lord of Decay has already consumed enough energy. If it attracts the attention of the second enemy, Fulgrim may not be able to escape intact.

"He is approaching," the Emperor said. "Prepare to open the gates."

"I suggest you do it, Emperor. I guess you don't want to fail at the last minute because I terminate the mission early?"

The emperor nodded slightly: "Okay."

He stretched out his hand, and the rough fingertips showed a pressing state, as if pressing against the light-colored milky white network wall in the distance.

At first, nothing much changed. Then, with a loud rumbling sound that sounded directly within the soul, the smooth mirror-like space barrier began to slowly separate, gradually separating to both sides in the semi-reality gap, until the gap was wide enough.

In the middle of the tunnel cracks on both sides, a layer of light golden mist swirled and surged, forming an invisible door and blocking the direct connection between the interior of the webway and the real universe.

Webway Gate.

Soon, the rolling speed of the fog increased, and a sharp and huge shadow appeared in it, about to enter the door.

"This had better work." Morse said.

——

Akulduna followed the flickering light and stumbled forward in the rotten jungle.

He felt that his skin must be as bumpy as if he had a disease, and his dirty hair was also occasionally hooked away by the rotten dead branches pressing down from above his head in the stagnant world.

Since the light appeared, he felt better for a long time. At least now he even has the ability to think about it here.

Something hit his back, and the touch reminded him that his back armor had been corroded cleanly, leaving only the sticky skin. He turned around suddenly, threw the unknown thing to the ground, and then groaned, pounced forward, and stabbed the sword into the stomachs of several monsters approaching him, nailing those things to death in the mud.

Then, before this group of annoying things gathered again, Akurduna seized the time and continued to chase the golden light in front.

There was a chaotic sound in the distance, which seemed to be the sound of birds breaking through the forest, rustling. Akurduna looked out of the corner of his eye and saw the burning leaves and sparks rolling up to the sky at dusk, flashing extremely bright light.

Fire is not a living thing, but its performance seems to be the closest to life and the most dynamic thing Akurduna has seen so far. The fire took the initiative to pounce on the sky, like an immortal giant bird, licking, scratching, releasing all its wildness, tearing off the fragments of dusk, and throwing them on the gray and black ground covered with embers.

After this strange phenomenon appeared, Akurduna felt a little relieved. His thoughts became clearer, close to the state he should have been in.

The pain that was once paralyzed and blocked also returned to his wounds one by one. Compared with the low consciousness state when he was seriously ill and didn't know the world, he still liked the moment when he could clearly control his own state, even if he regained endless pain and fatigue.

Akurduna bent down and lowered his body to avoid a pool of mucus flying overhead. Then, he rushed forward, raised his sword and swept and stirred the bushes in front of him. After a soft and sticky oozing sound and a cracking sound like a branch breaking, a pool of pus and blood belonging to an unknown evil thing oozed out of the bushes.

Akurduna shook his head, bypassed the pool of things, and left from the outside.

The light spot continued to swim at the intersection of the dense forest, leading Akurduna to the depths of the dense forest, or maybe it was not the real depths of the corrupt jungle, but its edge.

The growth of various green corrupt things alone was decreasing, replaced by the background color of the Emperor's Children ship itself.

Silvery iron, gorgeous sculptures and paintings that are the crystallization of the wisdom and creativity of countless artists, soft gold-embroidered carpets on the ground... The mold of corruption covering the real world was peeled off, and the basic, skeletal outline of reality was re-drawn.

Akurduna began to recognize the rooms he passed through and judge where he was at the moment. It seemed that since he entered the jungle from Fabius Bile's laboratory, he had passed through a lot of hard hull structures in an unnatural way and stepped directly into the other side of the several-kilometer-long ship.

At the same time, he also judged where the light spot was leading him. It was the control room that controlled the direction of the ship, and the steering wheel that determined which direction the Emperor's Children would go.

After moving forward for a distance, Akurduna was not sure whether it was the effect of adrenaline or his personal will that pushed his current body forward. His legs hurt beyond the limit, almost like an eternal brand, curled up permanently in his bones, burning his nerves.

Both of his swords had rusted in different ways, Timur's horse head was broken and missing, and Athena's blade was stuck in the bone gap of some evil creature before. As for the armor, it seemed that few pieces were still connected to his neural interface.

Behind him, the flames like wings of flames illuminated the back of his head in a way beyond the understanding of reality, gently pushing him, supporting him, and helping him to move forward.

Finally, Akurduna saw the door, covered with thick vines, the mud was crusted, and it became dirty and smelly, emitting the same unpleasant smell as Akurduna himself. The golden light stopped at the door for a while, waiting for him to arrive, and then drilled into the door at once.

The swordsman ignored the yellow and white insects crawling around, patted his sword to comfort it, and then pushed a sword into the place where the door should theoretically be, using some clever strength.

Dust fell, rocks, tree roots and other things fell down with a snap, and then, after a slight snap, his sword broke into two pieces, and some broken iron slag hit his skin.

Akurduna followed the sword and groped for a small crack in the iron door, stuck his fingers in, and tried to pull the door open little by little. This was too difficult for Astartes. Even Akurduna in full condition could hardly pry open the hatch of the bridge cabin with his bare hands after the machinery stopped working.

His finger bones gave him a painful warning, part of the bone was pulled out of place, and part was broken.

After a while, a distant song drifted back and forth, bringing a wonderful turn of events. In just a few seconds, Akurduna's body suddenly became full of strength. He seized the opportunity, pulled open the hatch, and then fell to the ground. Because of the imbalance of inertia and fatigue, he fell into the mud, hitting his knees and elbows on the ground, and was unfortunately cut by the sword in the process, cutting a gasp on his leg.

Akurduna turned over, took a breath, and then staggered to his feet again. The light spot was resting on the steering console, emitting a cold light.

He wiped the remaining sword in his hand and comforted it gently, as if facing their prosthetic steel hand.

Then, he used this sword that had killed countless enemies to diligently start to remove the thick mud, blood, pus and other things on the console.

"It's time to tell me what I'm supposed to do," he whispered, startled by his own voice, and continued to use his sword to cut and peel away the dirt covering the control console. "Where do you want me to take the ship to?"

The light floated upward, directing Akurduna's gaze to the wide curved cabin window. His eyes lit up at what he saw.

Beyond the rotting garden, as far as the eye could see, the pure black universe had been replaced by a misty gate that suddenly appeared and swam with golden lightning. It flickered softly, and seemed to be limited in height, and seemed to be extending to the infinite distance around it, as if there were endless mysteries and mysteries, welcoming the ship to go deeper.

Akulduna threw the spent sword aside, found the correct handles and buttons, and operated them in order. Soon, the ship, which was stationary, began to move towards the door.

——

Fulgrim heard thunder.

The golden lightning exploded in his ears, and the lightning and the rage on the flaming sword ignited each other, giving birth to a huge power. It was like a trigger, helping him find the direction to release his true power. He didn't know where this seemingly endless energy came from, but it was part of him that would never go out.

The heat of the hilt was transmitted to his palm, and sweat flowed down his chest and back, evaporating before it hit the ground. Instead, what really fell was fire, and the golden flame fell on the surface of the ashes, and immediately flashed into brilliant flowers of fire.

Filth, cleanliness, evil, brightness, shame, honor, fear, self-confidence, arrogance, humility, sin, righteousness, flaws, perfection... none of these mattered anymore.

The only thing that mattered was fire, only fire. The only thing that was beautiful was burning, from the time humans lit the first bonfire at night to the extinguishing of the last torch in the endless future, the only thing that was beautiful enough was always burning.

Fulgrim had never seen anything more brilliant than it, it was his wings, his ankles, his ribs and cheeks, the source of his life.

He saw himself in the flames, his bright red robes, his golden sword, his translucent body. Then he saw Chemos, the bright factory windows at midnight, the long dry river, the plains that had been squeezed clean, the skinny faces, his imperfect planet. The world he first set foot on, the imperfections of everything he once had.

The flames continued to burn, and he saw more, the birds flying in the firelight, the fish in the clean water, the beasts covered with fur; the armor of the enemies who fell under the sword, the brief moment when he led the purple and gold legions to swing the sword forward, the moment when he announced a solemn oath, the raging flames in the furnace when he first met Ferrus on Terra, and all the good things he once had.

Finally, there was the Emperor, covered in golden armor, with the head and wings of the eagle on his shoulders, and the blue fire in his claws. That ancient face was so noble and resolute, and the eyes shining with golden light carried endless promises and unattainable beliefs for the future.

The Emperor stared at him and stretched out a hand to him.

Fulgrim smiled back, and the cloak of fire from the ashes of the dead changed form and attached itself to the flaming sword. Dedicated to the flames, to the eternal life of the dead.

"For the Emperor's children," said the Phoenix, slicing the flaming sword into one of its own hearts.

The flames on the sword grew stronger, and in the blink of an eye began to expand destructively, using Fulgrim himself as a carrier to burn to the ground. This time the burning was more vigorous than any previous one. The crackling sound of pure fire was like the world turning into shattered glass, as if it was going to burn the whole world, to the end of space and the end of time.

Under the great fire and the storm flames burning the sky, the screams and wails of the demons were buried and ignored, along with the dead branches, rubble, plants, and mud that could not make a sound, as the least worth mentioning part of the magnificent scene of the fire, with decaying lives, buried for the flames of the Third Legion.

Some things began to flee, crawling darkly in the soft mud deep in the ground, rustling and running in panic.

They were very fast, desperately trying to get away from the Phoenix that stood proudly in the ash field, but they found that they were suddenly blocked by a white barrier that swept from all dimensions. The edge that once belonged to the garden was cut off by this white wall, and the rotten soil disappeared, turning into a steep edge directly cut off by white light, extending into the void. Red gold runes mixed with powerful golden psychic energy, attached to the milky white tunnel wall, firmly resisting external prying.

The ship has entered the channel built to Olympia.

Here, a corner of the garden was cut out from the subspace, directly sealed in a fixed space, and completely isolated from the colorful vast ocean.

In the center of the garden, the Corrupter sighed in its black house.

Using Magnus's Thutmons rune as the basis for cutting off the internal and external psychic energy, combined with the Emperor's powerful cold psychic energy used to maintain the balance of internal and external pressures, and combined with Morse's spell system, through the physical position change of real space, the corner of the garden attached to the ship inside the webway was forcibly isolated, and the energy of chaos was imprisoned within the webway.

Then it was burned.

The Phoenix fire from the inside out, and the sun flames from the outside in of the human emperor, ignited from the flaming sword ignited by the Phoenix's heart blood, and also from the Emperor's long sword pointing to the ship from afar, like a torrent of glowing artillery fire, rushed to the polluted cremation ground.

In the contrast between reality and surrealism, the double flames swept into a purifying storm that collapsed the sky and cracked the earth, causing the dazzling white light to burst out from every crack in the ship, and in an instant gathered into straight beams of light, shining in multiple directions at the same time.

The enemies of the fire had nowhere to escape. They quickly disappeared and retreated, fading from the purple-gold ship, returning the truth to the ship that was thoroughly purified by fire.

Akurduna knew that his duty was done, and he fell in the cabin, looking at the pure fire from afar, quietly lost in thought. The other warriors who had fought were unconscious on the ground, waiting for a widespread rescue and healing. In general, most of the thousands of crew members in the ship did not survive the corruption of Chaos, and the survivors knelt beside their companions washed by the fire and shed tears.

After the burning, the Emperor slowly put down his sword.

Mors put away the barrier and wiped off several runes on the ground, making the magic circle ineffective. The remaining Primarchs also returned to where the Emperor was and followed behind him.

The flames went out. They set foot on the road to the webway. The Emperor strode forward, unwavering. The time and space within the webway have special properties beyond human knowledge, and soon they arrived at the deck of the ship.

Fulgrim knelt in the ashes, naked, his purple robes burned to black ash, his silver hair half burned, and his left face and left hand completely reduced to ash. He closed his eyes, his right hand tightly grasping the deformed hilt of the flaming sword, the long sword piercing his slightly heaving chest, still emitting a low-temperature burning red light.

The Emperor raised his hand, then put it down again. Mors knew that he was going to bathe Fulgrim in golden light, but then he found that the phoenix in the ashes did not need additional purification.

His soul was pure as a newborn.

Magnus hurried forward, leaned over, held out his hands, and carefully observed Fulgrim to see if he needed help. He frowned anxiously and looked at the Emperor, not knowing how to deal with Fulgrim's piercing sword.

Perturabo looked at Fulgrim's left hand. If Fulgrim needed it, he could make a prosthesis for him.

Angron was the most calm person. He smiled as he heard the silence in Fulgrim's heart.

The Emperor stepped forward, bowed his head, and placed a hand on Fulgrim's head.

+Do you believe what you are about to do? + He asked psychically, for the Phoenix could not speak at this time.

+ Father, I do. +

The Emperor's hand grasped the hilt of Fulgrim's sword, and Fulgrim's fingers, which had been clenched until they turned white, finally slipped away.

+ According to your letter, you can do it for yourself. +

He drew the sword. No blood. No wounds. Just white skin, unharmed.

Amid the ashes, the heart of the Phoenix began to beat again in its chest.