Chapter 354: Ahriman and Carlos: Fuck!

"Jiamuxi"

Ahriman stared at the scene before him, his tongue tied as he watched the Thousand Sons warrior held in the grasp of Fatty the Great Demon.

He recognized that warrior—even after ten thousand years, Ahriman still recognized him, even though the warrior had never been important within the Thousand Sons Legion.

That Thousand Sons warrior had been one of Ahriman's students when he served as a Lecturer of the Black Raven Schola ten thousand years ago—mediocre in talent, slow-witted, but diligent and obedient.

"Master Ahriman, what should I do?!"

"Have I been captured?! Do not hesitate on my account!"

"Are these… Ultramarines and Blood Angels? Is the Emperor still hunting us?!"

The warrior's voice carried despair as he turned his head, his gaze piercing through his power armor toward Ahriman in silent plea.

This was not a plea for rescue—it was a plea for guidance.

Ahriman's head spun; he raised his staff slightly, aiming to point at the Death Lord who had resurrected the Red Letter warrior, but his arm refused to lift.

"Surrender, Ahriman. I will help you undo your mistake."

Zhou Yun's lips curled slightly as he watched Ahriman tremble.

The Chosen of the Four Gods could be divided into two tiers.

The lesser tier were Tiphon and Lu Xiusi—average in power, but shameless and relentless.

The higher tier were Khaen and Ahriman—immensely powerful, yet both burdened by psychological flaws.

Khaen's flaw was Ang'grath's death and his hatred for Erebus.

Ahriman's flaw was that he had unleashed the Red Letter and destroyed his entire Legion, becoming the head of humanity's thirtieth millennium.

Zhou Yun narrowed his eyes, observing Ahriman.

Ahriman gasped heavily twice, his trembling hands filled with sorrow, excitement, and doubt all at once.

He instantly realized: if he could truly resurrect his brothers, surrendering to this being might not be unacceptable.

Ahriman was not bound by iron loyalty to Magnus or Abaddon, nor did he care for persecuting the Human Empire.

As long as he could bring back his old brothers, as long as the Thousand Sons could once again walk the streets of Prospero, freely, openly, and courteously exchanging knowledge, jointly studying ancient wisdom scattered through the texts—he would do anything.

Though Ahriman longed to return to a land like Prospero and plant grapes after that day came, if he could resurrect his brothers, offering his loyalty was entirely worth it.

"After you surrender, I'll let you go to Baer to plant grapes and make wine," Zhou Yun said, as if reading Ahriman's thoughts, smiling.

Of course, he wouldn't let Ahriman slack off—if Ahriman truly surrendered, Zhou Yun would indeed send him to Baer, but to work under Dante's brutal overtime schedule, for the Dark Imperium was desperately short-staffed.

Letting you plant grapes and make wine doesn't mean you won't work overtime.

Still, Zhou Yun didn't hold much hope—Ahriman's mind wasn't entirely his own.

Hearing he could go to Baer to plant grapes and make wine after joining, Ahriman grew even more tempted.

He had come here only to resurrect the Red Letter—to capture this Death Lord and drain his power to revive his brothers, or to surrender and ask him to resurrect the Red Letter.

The latter seemed more likely to succeed, with lower risk, didn't it?

Though this Death Lord's personality was a bit of a beast, a bit cruel…

Gegegegege ————————

【32】 Gegegegege ————————

Just as Ahriman was about to speak the words of loyalty to Zhou Yun, a faint, piercing birdcall brushed past his ear, barely audible.

The lingering doubt within him exploded, widening like a torn seam—suspicion, mistrust, and distrust poured from the crack, twisting his will.

He remembered how Euphratie had deceived him with the same words—and Euphratie was this Death Lord's Chosen.

Centered on this memory, doubt rapidly overwhelmed reason.

"My Lord! Do not! How can you believe the words of a god?"

"Yes, my Lord! Have you forgotten how the gods manipulated us last time?"

"While he's bound in this fragile physical body, seize him—we can study how to extract his power."

The Eight Sorcerers simultaneously urged Ahriman, their voices laced with faint birdcalls.

Ahriman's expression grew dazed.

"I refuse," Ahriman rasped to Zhou Yun. "I prefer to drain your power for myself."

But to Ahriman's surprise, Zhou Yun's gaze held no anger at the rejection—only deep pity.

He looked at Ahriman as if at a puppet dancing to unseen strings.

"Is that your own thought—or is it Khorne making you think it?" Zhou Yun asked softly.

"Do you think I'm like those fools—like Abaddon, like Fabius? Blind to their own corruption, unaware that the tide of Chaos flows beneath their feet, that they've become puppets of the gods?"

Ahriman gritted his teeth, retorting fiercely:

"I have never yielded to the schemes of the Changer of Ways! I have never been His puppet! I am not His pawn! I have not submitted to His will!"

"How admirable," Zhou Yun nodded gently, his pity for Ahriman deepening.

Khorne did often allow Ahriman to act freely—but that didn't mean Ahriman had escaped Khorne's influence. His will, his freedom, his actions remained under Khorne's control. To make Ahriman surrender to Zhou Yun, one must first sever Khorne's hold on him.

But on this battlefield, there may be no chance for that.

"What a pity."

Zhou Yun sighed.

The Fatty Great Demon beside him casually tossed the newly resurrected Thousand Sons warrior into the nearby Warp current.

"Go save him," Zhou Yun pointed at the Warp.

Ahriman froze.

"You—! You *Prospero curse*! *Space Wolf spawn*!"

Ahriman roared, then without hesitation launched himself from his flying disc, breaking through the psychic barrier, charging recklessly toward the warrior being dragged into the Warp current.

"Fire!" Zhou Yun grinned, shouting to the Astartes beside him.

His own Longinus Spear locked onto Ahriman.

"Most foolish child of the Emperor!"

!

"Most wise child of the Emperor!"

"I am the Voice of the Changer of Ways, I am the Weaver of Fates—Carlos, the Demon Lord who watches both past and future!"

"I bring you the Changer of Ways' enlightenment!" "I bring you the Changer of Ways' deceit!"

"You shall bow to the Changer of Ways' grand design!" "You shall meet the most wretched death!"

A shrill, cackling laugh erupted from the blue creature with two bird heads—its two skulls spoke contradictory, conflicting words, as if arguing with itself.

The Greater Daemon flapped his wings—blue, purple, and ninety-nine other colors—churning the aetheric currents, making the air around them grow heavy.

Seven other Changer of Ways Lords stood behind Carlos, hurling blasphemous mockery and lies at Guilliman, Mephiston, and Leina before them.

Carlos, the Chief Greater Daemon of Khorne, swung his Staff of Tomorrow—a surge of twisting blue-green sorcerous flame surged like a tidal wave toward the three.

But Mephiston unleashed the power within his flesh, becoming a hazy afterimage as he collided with the sorcerous tide; intense, shadow-like psychic energy twisted and writhed, hardening into a barrier that blocked the blasphemous spell.

Leina's approach was blunt and brutal—wearing her portable pyramid, she unleashed her full psychic potential; an inhuman scream, laced with uncontrolled psychic energy, burst from her lips as she raised her hand and stirred the Warp tides, summoning torrents of Ascendant energy that fell like firestorms upon Carlos.

Carlos raised his staff a moment before Leina summoned the Ascendant energy—suddenly, the firestorms shattered into fireworks midair.

Then one of Carlos's heads saw the future—he saw Leina's technique.

"Stay still!!!!!" Leina roared, her psychic energy condensing into the words and lashing out toward Carlos.

But Carlos had already prepared his defense against the Whispering Voice—he wove a spell from blasphemous knowledge, embedding it in his mind: a wall to shield against Leina's will, or a weapon to corrupt her.

"Gaaah!!!" Both of Carlos's heads felt sudden dizziness.

This—this is the Whispering Voice?! THIS is the Whispering Voice?!

For a moment, Carlos doubted his own foresight.

The Whispering Voice uses weak psychic energy to wrap one's will, slipping silently into another's mind to manipulate their actions.

He had specifically designed his defense to counter the Whispering Voice—using knowledge to oppose will, ready to counterattack and corrupt Leina.

But Leina's attack wasn't even the Whispering Voice!

Who the hell uses a Whispering Voice this crude and ugly? How can you slip silently into someone's mind when you're dumping so much psychic energy?

This is just hitting someone in the back of the head with a psychic club!

"Fuck the Changer of Ways' ass! Have you even studied psychic theory?!"

"Are you wasting the Ascendant's gift?! You're not even worthy to call yourself a psyker!"

As a Great Sorcerer, Carlos could not endure such a crude psyker—both his heads screamed curses.

(End of Chapter)