Chapter 496: What Slave? That

"Aeribas."

Aeribas answered the lock's question, stating his name.

Then

"Incorrect answer."

A bolt of thunder descended from the sky, piercing through Aeribas's crown and running through his entire body; the searing pain caused him to shriek in agony.

Incorrect answer?

How could this be?!

Aeribas froze for a moment, then suddenly remembered.

"Aeribas" was not his real name.

He remembered.

In his homeland, on the scorching, dust-choked world of Kochis, in the small village where he was born, there had once been a devout, kind, and gifted child.

That child had inscribed scriptures onto his face and smooth scalp, worked piously, and prayed to the gods—he was the model and example of that dusty, fly-infested town.

Even the lazy, bloated, and ridiculous woman he had once called mother would complain: "Why can't you be like Aeribas?" "Why can't you become Aeribas?"

He remembered his mother's teachings: "Why can't you become Aeribas?"—those were the only words of value ever spoken from her foul mouth.

So he strangled that devout, hardworking child, watching his eyeballs burst, his face turn ashen, as he saw the child's sweet, beautiful soul die beneath his own hands.

Then he dragged the corpse into an alley, donned the dead boy's robe, copied the scriptures from the corpse's face and shaved skull onto his own face and bare head, left his birthplace behind, and vanished—stealing the child's name.

That devout, hardworking child was the true Aeribas; his name and identity had always been stolen.

And his real name.

Aeribas's eyes filled with confusion and bewilderment.

He could not recall it—his true name, the one given to him by his fat, lazy mother, the name that represented his true identity.

How could this be?

When had he forgotten it? Why had he forgotten it?

Who else knew his true name?

Aeribas stared at the lock's question, trembling, his face pale.

He realized one thing:

The gods—only the Chaos Gods knew his true name.

True names held unique power; a name itself carried strength.

To utter a demon's true name could severely weaken it; to know the Emperor's true name might even grant the chance to murder Him.

Likewise, a true name held immense significance for Aeribas.

Especially after ten thousand years of wearing a false name and false identity, everything he had ever gained resting upon that lie.

Cold sweat broke across Aeribas's scalp—the gods knowing his true name was like a noose wrapped around his neck.

If the Four Gods wished, they could expose his false identity, speak his true name, and strangle him outright.

Aeribas had always been, from start to finish, the gods' complete slave—more enslaved than the Daemon Primarchs, more enslaved than Belak.

Now he felt overwhelming fear, suddenly realizing he had always been toyed with by the gods.

"No, there's still a chance," Aeribas whispered softly. "If I can help Saint Doraemon ascend, open the ascension path blocked by the Emperor, I can become one of the gods myself and break free from their control."

In an instant, Aeribas's passion surged again; his earlier fear slipped effortlessly from his mind.

Faint mocking voices and bird calls drifted into his ears, but Aeribas instinctively ignored them.

Within the crystal labyrinth of the Warp, Tzeentch, while refining and digesting the domains forcibly shoved into him by Slaanesh and Khorne, gently curled a finger—on his fingertip hung a chain stitched from Aeribas's true name, through which he manipulated Aeribas's fate and thoughts.

Through constant refinement, Tzeentch had digested over eighty percent of the new domains and reclaimed some of those previously lost; his condition had improved enough to make minor interferences in the material universe.

He manipulated the fates of Aeribas and Belak.

Perhaps other gods called Aeribas a slave—but "slave" is such a crude term. Tzeentch preferred to call him the Chosen of the Gods.

A slave at least knows he is enslaved; he may resist, refuse, or slack off. But the Chosen are far better—they believe they possess free will, believe every action they take is their own choice, never consider rebellion, and wholeheartedly serve Tzeentch's plans with fervent enthusiasm.

Ahriman was like this. Belak was like this. Aeribas was like this.

Belak swung his Blade of Shadows, suppressing Titus.

His body bore wounds carved by chainsaws, but they were not severe.

Titus's power armor, however, was cracked in horrifying lines.

Had he been the man he once was, he would have fallen already.

But the power granted by Konrad Kors was accumulating within him; that cold Warp energy made his body tougher than before.

"I simply cannot understand how the Blood God chose you!"

Jealousy festered in Belak as he mocked Titus, who relied solely on his precognitive abilities to defend passively:

"Coward. A little brat who only knows how to dodge."

Titus ignored Belak's taunts entirely. His cold gaze fixed on Belak; his lidless black eyes continuously reflected visions of the future.

Belak, enraged by Titus's indifference, swung his Blade of Shadows with even greater speed toward Titus.

But perhaps because of the force of his motion, Belak's abdomen convulsed violently—a pain too unbearable to endure.

His movement froze mid-swing; his face twisted into a look of grotesque discomfort.

Titus seized that fleeting instant. His black eyes locked onto Belak's head; the psychic energy he had been gathering since the battle's start erupted—his will solidified into a freezing sphere of lightning that exploded over Belak's skull.

Twisting bolts of electricity pierced Belak's eyeballs, shattered his flesh; the agony drove him staggering backward, collapsing onto the ground with a piercing scream.

"You bastard!!!!"

Belak shrieked, his skull half-blown open, blood gushing, his face hideous and grotesque.

Titus, too, looked exhausted—his massive psychic expenditure had rendered his body stiff and immobile.

Belak, seething with hatred, raised his Blade of Shadows to kill Titus—

BOOM!!!!

In the moment Belak's mind was consumed by rage, distracted by Titus, the mournful cry of the Ravens suddenly rang out.

"Belak, I need you to open the door!" At that same instant, Aeribas's voice echoed from behind the Veil of Shadows.

(End of Chapter)