Chapter 202: I Ultimately Became the Dark King

Zhou Yun stood beside this ancient river, gazing at the silent boy before him.

The boy said nothing, only staring at the pale bone rod in his hands, then, as if remembering something, drew a small knife from his waist.

He carefully carved the bone with the knife; the bone took shape, resembling a ship, a vessel.

Zhou Yun faintly recognized it as an Imperial-style starship.

The boy gently lifted the toy he had carved, raised it high, and hurled it into the sky.

The toy boat pierced the heavens, and before it could fall, it transformed into a starship racing across the galaxy, countless macrocannons and light lances roaring in unison, lighting up the entire world like stars.

The boy watched this scene with sorrow, seeing countless beings among the stars die because of the starship he had carved, countless worlds destroyed by his creation.

"I thought I would bring prosperity and order to humanity," the boy whispered.

Then the scene before Zhou Yun shifted, transporting him to a village.

The village consisted of crude mud huts of various sizes, nestled beside golden wheat fields beneath the twilight; children played within, adults laughed and conversed.

Occasionally, two or three dogs chased each other; a gentle breeze brushed the small trees of the village.

The boy arrived carrying his father's skull.

He molded clay onto the skull to recreate his father's woolly hair, and filled the eye sockets with shells traded from fishermen.

The boy traced the rough cracks on his father's skull—he could see everything.

In the swaying wheat field, one human killed another.

The boy, barefoot, carried his father's skull and walked straight toward his uncle's hut.

The dogs racing through the village seemed to sense something; they let out a low whine.

Crows landed on the eaves, turning their heads to stare at this moment.

Carrion flies buzzed, waiting for their meal.

A snake from autumn's depths poked its head from its burrow.

The boy's uncle sat outside his door—a man aged and darkened by years of labor, like a thin, elongated shadow seated beside the mud hut, stringing beads into a necklace for his daughter.

The boy's uncle lifted his head slightly and called out the boy's name, but Zhou Yun could not hear it.

The boy simply raised his father's skull high, staring at his uncle without anger or pity.

Everything happened in an instant—the moment his uncle's gaze fell upon his brother's skull.

The uncle collapsed, clutching his chest filled with deceit, his weathered face twisted in grotesque agony; the necklace in his hand fell to the ground, shattered into beads.

Terrified screams and wails echoed through the ancient village; they cried out in some primitive Indo-European tongue.

The boy merely stood still, watching his uncle die from sudden cardiac arrest.

His uncle opened his mouth in pain—but what emerged was not a cry, but a chilling whisper.

"The Dark King awaits you, Your Majesty," his uncle murmured before death.

Zhou Yun stood silently beside, observing the scene with keen interest.

It seemed the Emperor's uncle killing the Emperor's father was far more complex than imagined—he knew of the Dark King's existence.

Presumably, upon hearing that name, the Emperor had remained vigilant against the Dark King for the next forty thousand years—yet he never expected.

"I thought I would bring prosperity and order to humanity."

The boy spoke again:

"But I have become the Dark King, the destroyer of worlds."

"Who the hell understands you saying that?"

Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow and said:

"Or are you Krsna or Oppenheimer?"

The boy said nothing, only stared at Zhou Yun.

"What's your point in showing me this? I'm not interested in ancient family dramas. I'd rather know—did you ever sell your ass?"

As a transmigrator in the Warhammer universe, and given the earlier words of the winged figure in Bai Guang, Zhou Yun could only question, question again—no one knew what scheme the boy was playing.

"Return to Terra, our homeland."

The boy spoke softly:

"I await you in the Imperial Palace."

Zhou Yun clutched his head, struggling to rise from the crystal ground of Ba'al Heart.

His head throbbed; the images he had just seen still echoed in his mind.

The Emperor's youthful figure suddenly appeared in his thoughts, as if imparting something, then urging Zhou Yun to go to the Imperial Palace on Terra.

Zhou Yun frowned—was this yellow-skinned bastard setting a trap for him?

He glanced at the winged figure in Bai Guang's corner.

His power still hadn't recovered enough to pierce the barrier between reality and the Warp; Zhou Yun still couldn't hear what he was saying.

Regardless, he had to wait until the Emperor was resurrected before considering a journey to Terra—who knew what scheme the Emperor was hatching, or whether the current Emperor even retained a sane mind.

The Emperor Zhou Yun had seen in the vision seemed somewhat dim-witted.

Suddenly, Zhou Yun noticed something new in his fourth-dimensional pocket.

He looked closely: within it, a hazy figure curled up, neither fully real nor fully illusory.

"Parenting Program: Juvenile Behavioral Correction and Reeducation Progress: 88%"

"No additional parenting materials available."

The figure was bulky, wearing an orange-and-yellow striped shirt and brown pants—looked like Pigpen?

And Zhou Yun faintly sensed a Kabanha aura emanating from the Pigpen-like figure, as if

The fourth-dimensional pocket had reshaped Kabanha into a new Greater Daemon—his own Greater Daemon.

Zhou Yun's expression turned peculiar. Was it true, as Mephiston and the winged figure in Bai Guang had said—that he was fundamentally a Warp deity? Otherwise, how did he even have a Greater Daemon?

Zhou Yun's attention fixed on the "Pigpen" in his pocket. Instantly, his consciousness merged with it—as if the figure were an extension of his soul and mind, a part of his very being—and Zhou Yun felt the impulses surging through this body forged from Warp energy:

Rage, from Kabanha, from the Blood God's domain;

Simple justice, from the Emperor, from the fragment the Emperor had cast toward Zhou Yun;

Greedy plunder, from Zhou Yun himself, from the domain of Greed's Dissolution;

But now, he lacked just a little—needed a song.

Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow—should he go capture another Slaanesh daemon and shove it in?

Was Pigpen composed of Khorne as base, then added the Emperor, Greed's Dissolution, and Slaanesh?

Had his cheat system evolved? Could it now produce Greater Daemons?

Or had his Warp essence, as the winged figure claimed, awakened further? Or was even his fourth-dimensional pocket itself an outward manifestation of his Warp nature?

Zhou Yun frowned. No matter how he thought about it, the fourth-dimensional pocket didn't seem like a creation of this universe—yet it could interact with the Warp. He felt something was deeply odd.

But he wasn't a Warp expert—he could only suppress his doubts for now, planning to ask the resurrected Sanguinius later.

Zhou Yun nodded to Mephiston, who stood nearby, then pulled out a Doorway from his fourth-dimensional pocket and whispered to it:

"Angels' Fortress."

Seth stood atop the tower of Angels' Fortress, his face grim as he surveyed the scene before him.

A dozen Flesh Tearers warriors he had carefully selected stood beside him.

A violet void shield roared to life, layers of light enveloping Angels' Fortress like a shimmering bubble.

Outside the bubble, a silver-gray mist rose from the moat, as if evaporated from thirsty water.

Seth recalled a theory once told to him by Skarbrand, Chief Librarian of the Flesh Tearers: that Thirsting Water was, in essence, nanomachines from the Dark Age of Technology, which, after losing control, retained only the instinct to absorb water and replicate.

Now, these ancient nanomachines seemed awakened, swirling above the moat, forming a silver-gray storm.

A faint trembling sound arose—as if the nanomachines whispered, uttering their first roar in ten thousand years.

The silver-gray storm began to move, spreading like mist across the moat, like a dark cloud descending upon the fortress.

ZZZZZZZZ!!!

The ZZZZZZZZ echoed through the air—the silver-gray storm howled, devouring the Tyranid swarms; Tyranid creatures touched by the mist rapidly dehydrated, their bodies shriveling and collapsing onto the sand.

Instantly, the entire perimeter of Angels' Fortress was swallowed by the storm; Tyranid shrieks echoed from within.

No matter how terrifying the beast, the moment it touched the silver-gray storm, it became a desiccated corpse; the storm expanded by siphoning moisture.

From Seth's viewpoint, Angels' Fortress now appeared wrapped in a layer of silver-gray mist.

After fifteen minutes, the silver-gray storm suddenly halted midair, then dissolved into countless raindrops, settling back into Thirsting Water, blanketing the desert beyond Angels' Fortress with silver pools and countless desiccated Tyranid corpses.

Ancient machines, dormant for tens of thousands of years, had briefly reactivated—Seth watched this, frowning slightly.

He remembered Dante's mission.

"Was it Saint Dora's help?" Seth's frown deepened. "Could it truly be some Warp Dark God? Such terrifying power?"

Seth gripped his chainsword tighter.

He calculated the time, then nodded to the dozen Flesh Tearers behind him.

They followed Seth down to the tower's base, into the depths of Angels' Fortress.

A door of pink-tinged wood appeared before them.

The door slowly opened; Zhou Yun and Mephiston stepped out, followed by several remaining Librarians.

"Seth?" Zhou Yun's lips curled into a faint smile. "So Dante sent you with us?"

(End of Chapter)