Chapter 313: The Little Widow Isa Sips Her Rich Soup

Belisarius Caul, the Great Sage, moved through the Black Library, searching for the data he needed.

The Great Prime Mover, who refused to acknowledge Himself as a god, had opened to him the gates of this crystallization of Eldar wisdom.

Here lay the Eldar's own accumulated knowledge, as well as wisdom stolen from countless races—including humanity's.

Belisarius Caul devoted his primary focus to the Emerald Tablet the Great Prime Mover had given him.

The origin of human alchemical biology was recorded in this secret scripture written by the Emperor.

Belisarius Caul managed to decipher part of its mysteries—and was shaken by the Emperor's wisdom, by Omnissiah's intellect.

Had he obtained this book sooner, perhaps the Primaris technology could have reached a higher level.

Belisarius Caul searched for texts that might aid his understanding of the Emperor's techniques; his gaze fell upon a volume inscribed in alien script. Hmm, this script bore the style of the Necrons, yet differed slightly.

Yet Belisarius Caul could still faintly discern that it was a record of ancient Eldar anatomy.

Belisarius Caul despised those abominations—every machine was an extension of the Machine God, every technology an expression of Omnissiah's wisdom, every power drawn from the Prime Mover.

He extended a mechanical hand, attempting to pull the book free—

Fire erupted along the shelf, forming a barrier; an Eldar glyph depicting wings, flame, a bird's head, a single eye, and a crown flashed briefly in midair, halting his hand.

"This is the barrier woven by Asuryan, separating mortals from the gods—and thus also shielding the Black Library from knowledge too deeply entangled with divinity."

"My dear Isa knows how to bypass this, but she's currently lounging at the Plague God's palace, sipping rich soup."

Highchic's chuckling echoed from above—he stood with the Great Prime Mover atop the Black Library, discussing something unknown.

Belisarius Caul bowed to the Great Prime Mover, then resumed his search within the Black Library.

"Asuryan's barrier? It's still here?" Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow, slightly curious.

He knew its origin: long before the Eldar's fall, when the Pantheon was still whole, the young Eldar goddess Lillith made a prophecy.

The Eldar god of murder, Kain, would be slain by the Eldar.

How should Zhou Yun describe Kain?

Kain was a pure god, a god who had abandoned higher pursuits, a god who discarded thought, a god harmful to both the material and the Warp.

As the god of murder, Kain had but one method for every complex problem in existence: kill.

There was no problem kill could not solve—if it could not, then you simply hadn't killed enough.

The prophecy that he would be slain by the Eldar? Others might have doubted or hesitated—but Kain did not.

If the Eldar would kill him in the future, then he would simply kill all the Eldar now.

Thus, Kain—the Eldar's own race god—manifested directly in the material universe and began a relentless slaughter of the entire Eldar species.

As for questions like what would become of him as a race god once his people were extinct—hard to say whether Kain's mind ever entertained such thoughts.

But the other Eldar gods clearly could not endure Kain's abstract brutality. Eventually, Asuryan, Lord of the Eldar Pantheon, wove a barrier.

This barrier would permanently sever the Eldar from the gods, preventing any direct communication or contact between them.

Eventually, Slaanesh was born; the gods were devoured; Kain was shattered by Slaanesh, the Eldar's own excess incarnate—in a sense, fulfilling Lillith's prophecy.

But in Zhou Yun's view, had Lillith not made that reckless prophecy, Kain would never have slaughtered the Eldar, Asuryan would never have severed the gods from them, the Eldar might never have indulged in excess, the tragedy of Slaanesh's birth might never have occurred, and Kain would never have been shattered.

It could only be called a story very much in the Eldar style.

"So you know the origin of this barrier?" Highchic grinned. "This barrier comes directly from Asuryan—the true Lord of the Pantheon. In other words, from the Eldar Pantheon itself."

"As long as the Pantheon has not been utterly destroyed, this barrier will endure—though it weakens as the Pantheon decays."

"To break this thing, you'd have to kill all my brothers inside Slaanesh's belly, crush Kain utterly, strangle Inard, then kill both Isa and me."

"The Eldar Pantheon still exists?" Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow.

"Of course!" Highchic waved his hand sharply.

The Black Library before Zhou Yun rippled like water; the scene before him shimmered, revealing what lay beneath.

There stood a temple—magnificent and exquisitely detailed, carved with countless intricate patterns and motifs; slender arched bridges wove through the dome like a dense net.

Beneath the dome lay countless thrones.

Some burned with flame, suspended with scales and phoenixes, standing at the highest point.

Others hung a severed hand, a small pouch, as if threads of fate flowed across them.

Others bore a traveler's cloak, tools and tents of the exiled, like a vagrant's dwelling.

Some held hammers and anvils; some displayed girls' ornaments; some hung dead dogs.

Yet most of these thrones were shattered, leaving only a few intact.

Upon a throne burning with blood and fire, hanging ninety-nine blood swords, sat a fragmented god-image.

A throne adorned with living branches and blooming white flowers stood whole but empty, faint mold creeping across its surface.

A throne cluttered with magical trinkets and cruel jokes was unremarkable—yet upon it sat a laughing jester, wearing a crown upon his head.

There was also a newly carved throne, upon which sat a cold, lifeless figure.

Beyond these, Zhou Yun, with cautious reverence, lifted his eyes to the dome above—faint purple light dripped down from its heights.

"See? The Pantheon is here. Too bad only a few gods still sit upon their thrones."

Highchic still grinned.

Zhou Yun was slightly startled—he hadn't realized the Eldar Pantheon was hidden beneath the Black Library. No—he should say it could only be hidden beneath the Black Library.

It was precisely the combined power of the Black Library and the Pantheon that allowed the Jester God to hide within, evading Slaanesh's pursuit.

"Actually, a new cycle has formed within the Pantheon," Highchic said, waving his hand to conceal the Pantheon once more beneath the Black Library.

"You, Inard, and Isa?" Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow.

As the goddess of life, Isa; as the god of death, Inard; and the jester in between—this did indeed resemble a cycle.

"No," Highchic shrugged. "It's Kain, Inard, and me. Isa is absent."

"If Kain weren't shattered, he'd immediately begin slaughtering the Eldar again."

Zhou Yun's mouth twitched involuntarily.

"Kain kills all the Eldar, Inard is born after they're gone, and you do nothing… that's a cycle?"

"How did you even come up with this?"

"Given our situation, having anything at all is better than nothing. I'm just trying to make do," Highchic said, looking resigned.

Then he grinned. "Or perhaps you could go into Nurgal's garden and fetch Isa back."

"Then Kain kills, Isa saves, and I just stand by cheering them on."

"Perfect! Isa's a little widow, and our Emperor's a little widow too—they could make a pair," Zhou Yun grinned, joking.

"Giggling—" Highchic's laughter cut off abruptly; he lifted his head, gazing beyond the Black Library.

Darkness—deep, cold, and oppressive—was spreading through the Webway, heavy with death pressing upon this Eldar treasury of wisdom.

All the jesters felt a bone-deep chill, as if their souls had lost the shelter of flesh and were fully exposed to icy winds.

Something twisted, immense, invisible to mortal eyes, was squeezing itself into the Webway.

The jesters instinctively understood.

But Zhou Yun saw more clearly.

He saw—in the faint, indistinct darkness—countless looping circuits swirling, intersecting, flowing through the void.

Within these loops were countless Eldar souls, trapped in endless cycles, spinning like ghosts in a maze.

All emotions, wills, and spirits converged within this spiral, forming an intense yearning.

A yearning for true death, for vengeance against Slaanesh, for the annihilation of all things.

These wills twisted together, ten thousand million faces screaming the same hatred and pain, coalescing into an indescribable monster.

That was Inard, the Eldar god of death.

"So they dragged the original here," Highchic frowned slightly.

Inard's true form lay hidden deep within the Eldar infinite loop—just as Highchic rarely left the Black Library, Inard almost never allowed his incomplete original form to exit the infinite loop.

Normally, the one who carried Inard's will was…

The death monster named Inard writhed; its soul-composed, brilliant flame coalesced into a chilling figure.

The figure had hair as white as death itself, a face blue and cold, insubstantial and ethereal, tall and androgynous, one hand gripping the old woman's sword "Soul-Eater Vrithzal," the other cradling the pure gold symbol of the god of death.

The initial manifestation of Inard—the avatar of death, Incarni.

(End of Chapter)