Chapter 162

Angels, too, have secrets, Mephiston thought.

He walked through the secret dungeon, holding high a torch blazing fiercely, descending deeper into its hidden recesses.

Drops of water fell from the arched ceiling, causing pale steam to rise from the flickering torch.

Mephiston watched silently; Baal was as dry as ash, yet this liquid might have come from another time.

Even the Blood Angels themselves did not know who had built the secret dungeon.

This ancient underground structure was the oldest part of Angel's Keep, and some believed these secret tunnels existed even before Angel's Keep was constructed.

These tunnels possessed many strange properties; once, a curious Librarian dug a pit where the tunnels should have been in the desert, but found only sand—no trace of the tunnels remained.

Mephiston was certain this dungeon brimmed with potent psychic energy, resonating with warp entities and amplifying the Librarians' power.

But the dungeon's true purpose was to contain the most dangerous relics of the Chapter.

Ancient technologies from the Old Night, the preserved remains of Necron Lords bound in stasis fields, the blasphemous bones of xenos, countless cursed weapons, and the tattered banners of the fallen—along with far worse things—were buried deep within this dungeon.

What Mephiston sought was one of the most blasphemous and dangerous among them.

He passed through capillary-like corridors until he reached a massive door; before he could act, the rough, heavy iron gate opened on its own.

A mechanical hum sounded, and a square-shaped figure emerged behind the door.

It was a Librarian Dreadnought—a dead ancient warrior.

"Greetings, Mephiston," came the mechanical synthesized voice; the Dreadnought seemed to be gazing at him: "You have not come here in a long time."

"Lord Mareste," Mephiston gave a slight nod to the Librarian Dreadnought; this ancient warrior had once been the Chief Librarian, older even than Dante.

Now, he was the guardian of the Chapter's secrets and this dark dungeon, preserving its most terrifying relics.

"I hoped I would never need to come here," Mephiston shook his head.

"Have you come to view the scrolls? Hoping to gain new knowledge from our Master's prophecies?" the Dreadnought asked.

The Scrolls of Sanguinius, upon which were recorded the visions Sanguinius saw during his lifetime,

but Mephiston knew the prophecy contained nothing he sought.

"No," Mephiston set down the extinguished torch: "I must go deeper."

Lights burned here, for the energy of the star Adalia was remotely transmitted to bind these terrible things.

"You seek knowledge? You have come to visit the Eight-Faced Horror?" the Dreadnought's body hummed.

Mephiston gave a slight nod; the Dreadnought stepped aside to let him pass.

"Your rank is the key; you have the right to enter any cell," the ancient Librarian Dreadnought said: "But beware—do not carry the darkness here out with you."

Mephiston raised his hand in salute, then stepped into a deeper cell.

The creature imprisoned within was not human.

It was an alien with six limbs, loose skin, and grotesque ribs clearly visible.

The alien slowly raised its eight heads—eight small, strange faces, each with six eyes and a slender tubular mouth, coiled with venomous tentacles.

The Eight-Faced Horror had not fed in three thousand years; it should have died long ago, yet it did not.

Three thousand years ago, the Librarians tried to kill it—every attempt failed.

Chaos had twisted it, Mephiston thought.

This alien was from some psychic race that had touched the power of the Empyrean and been forever warped.

It once corrupted the inhabitants of three Imperial worlds; the Blood Angels paid a terrible price to imprison it here.

Mephiston made a gesture, tearing a tiny slit in the psychic veil binding its mind.

A torrent of complex, blasphemous thoughts surged toward Mephiston; it instantly knew his identity.

Its many eyes flickered as it stared at him; the two communicated on a psychic level.

"I revealed to your people the truth of the material universe, showed them the power of the Warp—and you slaughtered and enslaved them."

The Eight-Faced Horror lowered its heads, speaking in a seductive voice to Mephiston:

"You call me the Eight-Faced Horror, yet you are the true monster—you crave the blood of your own kind. I see it."

"I know the origin of this gift, how to remove or strengthen it, Black Angel. Do you wish to know?"

Mephiston ignored the Horror's words; he silently gathered his strength.

"A deep darkness approaches Baal—the void in the Sea of Souls—the Eternal Dragon, endless hunger, is coming."

The Horror's eyes continued to glow, tempting Mephiston: "The Tyranids—you chose a cruder name for him. I prefer to call him the Great Devourer."

Mephiston remained unmoved; his eyes slowly ignited with psychic flame.

"The Unliving Kabanha draws near," the Horror continued: "He seeks to crush your skulls, merge your souls into the Blood God's realm, and make you destroy the Empire you pretend to love."

"I can help you—free me," the Horror's voice grew more seductive: "I shall aid you with the power of the Dark Lords."

"Black Angel, you—" The Horror's voice cut off as it felt a terrible force surge into its mind, attempting to subdue its spirit.

Mephiston raised his arm, psychic flame burning in his eyes.

He had no patience for this blasphemous alien's riddles and temptations—he would use its power by dominating its consciousness.

When strong, it was a terrifyingly precise seer, bound tightly to the Empyrean, holding countless forbidden truths; Mephiston would tame it like a wild steed.

The Eight-Faced Horror shrieked, each of its eyes flashing with the blasphemous radiance and possibilities of the Warp.

Mephiston's eyes likewise reflected billions of complex, chaotic visions.

He quickly found what he needed—a Lycanthrope standing atop a desert, Genestealers kneeling before it. Found one.

Mephiston thought calmly, then began searching the Horror's mind for even more forbidden knowledge.

Names began appearing before Mephiston—complex, chaotic; he exerted immense effort to arrange them into readable text: knowledge of the Eight Realms of the Warp.

Mephiston dared not look at the occupied positions, but turned his gaze to the four vacant ones.

!. Read

Greed dissolves the Eternal Dragon, the Great Devourer, the Outsider. Doraemon

Malicious Art. Omnissiah Vashir. Void Laa Meng

Doraemon? Mephiston paused slightly; surely, this was the "saint" worshipped by the denizens of the Mingfuxingxi.

He was one of the candidates for a Warp Realm—but Mephiston had not expected him to occupy two.

Suddenly, Mephiston saw something he had not wished to see among the countless knowledge fragments.

Corruption and Destruction: The Dark King, the Emperor

The Eight-Faced Horror deliberately presented this information to Mephiston.

"What?!" Mephiston cried out in disbelief.

The Horror erupted in mocking laughter, sneering at Mephiston's ignorance, then seized the moment of his shock and roared, slamming its psychic power back onto Mephiston.

Mephiston could not withstand it.

"Yes! He is too! That cursed one!"

The Horror shrieked:

"He is one of them—he will destroy you all. He will condemn you to eternal suffering. This is the inevitable end. This is the truth!"

"He is the sole candidate for that position—he is nearly there already. If he wishes, if he rises—he can—hmm?"

The Horror suddenly froze.

After "Corruption and Destruction: The Dark King, the Emperor," another name appeared.

Corruption and Destruction: The Dark King, the Emperor, Doraemon.

"Who is Doraemon?" the Horror blurted out.

Mephiston felt the Horror searching the Warp for information on "Doraemon."

On Baal II, Zhou Yun stood outside the small chapel.

The chapel was one of the few buildings in the town that could be called tidy; its walls were built of large stone blocks, and the front bore intricate stone carvings.

The carvings depicted Doraemon's round figure, and others showed Zhou Yun with the faces of Leman Russ, Roboute Guilliman, or Sanguinius performing deeds in Asford.

Zhou Yun's face twitched slightly, especially upon seeing the carving of Leman Russ's face.

If the Dark Angels saw these, it would be quite entertaining.

"What's wrong, Brother Huang Daxiong?" Danton asked, noticing Zhou Yun standing frozen outside the chapel.

Zhou Yun shook his head, signaling he was fine.

He and Danton entered the chapel, passing through a simple arch into the prayer hall. The hall had no windows; the crimson light of Baal's sun could not enter, only flickering phycium lamps emitted alternating blue and red glows, illuminating the entire chamber.

Beneath the phycium lamps sat rows of metal benches, facing a rounded altar where a statue of Doraemon, taller than two men, was worshipped.

The statue raised one hand holding gears and machinery, while the other seemed to pull something into its pocket.

The chapel was now packed with people, yet Zhou Yun and Danton still found seats and waited for the priest to arrive.

"Who is Doraemon?"

As Zhou Yun waited, a strange, faint voice buzzed in his ear like a mosquito.

"Your dad," Zhou Yun answered instinctively, then swatted toward the source of the voice.

CRASH!!

Mephiston stared blankly as the Eight-Faced Horror's eight heads exploded simultaneously, blasphemous alien blood splattering the floor.

All he saw was a faint blue silhouette streaking through the Warp.

Suddenly remembered—the prize winners haven't all been collected. If Zhou Tian doesn't contact me, I'll redraw.

BA blind box winners: Shang Shan Ruoshui 5573, Lonely Dragon Miao, hugonishemsl, BookFriend20190525234111134, Cangtian Dadao ~ Devourer, Kruegeragain, Zizai Fushengguo, Dying Arcanist

Dante: Jian Jie Yuan _ Yu Jie Yuan

(End of Chapter)