Chapter 503: Bacteria That Awakens Sleepers for One Hour

"The offspring of Saint Guilliman are no better." Prince of Demons Maboth sneered, swinging his twisted Caliban greatsword in a brutal slash toward Ceth.

Ceth crossed his chainsword, Bloodthirster, horizontally, blocking Maboth's blow with brute force.

The chainsword trembled; Ceth's palms burned with pain, yet he did not retreat a single step.

He slightly opened his bloodied mouth, revealing sharp fangs pressed against his lower lip, releasing a portion of the crimson hunger pent up within him to gain greater strength.

But it was not enough.

The Flesh Tearers differed from Blood Angels; Blood Angels suffered such extreme Crimson Hunger that their flesh mutated, granting them unparalleled power from their bloodlust.

The Flesh Tearers' bloodlust was not severe—what truly plagued them was Black Fury.

Black Fury had consumed countless Flesh Tearers over ten thousand years, leaving them perpetually unable to muster more than four companies, yet burdened with countless Death Companies.

Ceth had long relied on his own will to resist Black Fury, to resist the black flame, preventing himself from succumbing to it.

Even after Saint Guilliman's return, when Black Fury changed, Ceth still instinctively resisted it, bound by habits forged over centuries.

But now, to confront this demon prince who mocked the name of Saint Guilliman, he began to awaken the fury hidden within his blood and flesh, flowing through his soul.

Ceth felt that fury stirring from a distant past, clearer than ever—born at the instant Saint Guilliman died, spreading along time into past, present, and future.

In Ceth's eyes surfaced that moment of profound sorrow: he saw the figure of Horus.

Horus Lupercal roared, his claws gripping Saint Guilliman's throat, crimson angelic blood streaming down his arms.

Saint Guilliman gazed gently at his brother, at the body consumed by Chaotic corruption, and saw the profane Four Gods watching from the shadows.

The Blood God laughed in slaughter, the Changeless One chuckled at the arrival of fate's hour, the Loving Father sighed softly as life ebbed away, and the Dark Prince reveled in the beauty of the angel's dying moment.

Saint Guilliman sensed their presence, heard their whispered seductions.

They said: Blood for the Blood God, skull for the Skull Throne.

They said: Only Saint Slaanesh, do not be bound.

They said: All things decay, all beings endure.

They said: You will sleep with me.

The gods tempted Saint Guilliman, offering him one final chance.

If he willingly served them, they would save him; otherwise, they would devour his soul and feast upon his flesh.

Saint Guilliman felt the crushing weight of their presence, the unmatched power they wielded.

A single whispered word, and they would grant him what they had granted Horus.

But Saint Guilliman's answer was only rage—fiery rage, golden rage, human rage.

He showed them the defiance of humanity—until death.

In the past, when facing this moment, Ceth felt only dark rage—boundless hatred, irrational fury, the collective curse of countless souls over this instant.

But now, Ceth felt his soul merging with Saint Guilliman's, feeling the rage of that moment.

That noble rage—the rage against the gods, against fate, against the curses borne by his sons and humanity.

Yet within that rage, Saint Guilliman held hope: he believed that even if he died, his sons and humanity would not be swallowed by darkness and chaos.

Saint Guilliman knew his fate—he had relived this execution countless times in prophecy.

Yet he came anyway, because of rage.

Rage's essence is defiance—defiance against fate and chaos, faith that humanity will one day triumph over the gods, contempt for the Dark Gods' might.

The Archangel came in fury, embraced death willingly, yet feared nothing.

In Ceth's eyes flashed that golden rage; the demon prince before him merged with Horus, merged with the Dark Gods.

"Horus!! Face me!!" Ceth roared.

A searing rage surged from him; Bloodthirster swung wildly, forcing Maboth to struggle, nearly wrenching the Caliban greatsword from his grasp.

At that moment, a golden angelic silhouette faintly overlapped Ceth's form, angelic wings gently enfolding him.

But this angel had not come to bless or grant grace.

He came to make the enemies of humanity feel rage.

Maboth, in a daze, believed he faced Saint Guilliman himself, frozen in place.

At that instant, another force surged from the Warp—colder, darker, utterly unlike Saint Guilliman's power.

If Saint Guilliman's force was a blazing, pure desert, this force was a cold, shadowed forest.

Maboth stood utterly still. Ceth's Saint Guilliman-derived power had startled him; this force filled him with terror.

He instinctively turned his head behind him.

And there, Zabrul stood behind Maboth, unseen until now.

SSSHHHHH!!

The air grew cold and heavy; a faint trickle of water echoed in the ears. The lightless forest and the ship's cabin merged, seeping into this world from beneath reality.

A massive boulder blocked the path between Erebus and the bridge door.

Merely a stone—it should not have stopped Erebus. Yet Erebus stood rigid, not daring to take a single step forward.

For upon the boulder, clad in emerald power armor, the King of the Woods slept in deep slumber.

The coincidence was too perfect—Erebus's mind had completely burned out, unable to comprehend what he saw.

Even Bilar, locked in combat with Doraemon, paused, uttering a confused cry: "Huh?"

But Lu Se had forgotten everything else. He abandoned Bilar, his ally, and Doraemon, his enemy, trembling as he took two or three steps toward the boulder.

"Lion. My brother, my child, my Primarch."

Lu Se's face crumbled; madness glinted in his eyes. Chaotic corruption surged uncontrollably from him, twisting into four writhing, clawed shadows.

These were the Chaotic blessings already dwelling within Lu Se—previously suppressed by ancient Caliban knowledge and his own will. But at the sight of that figure, his sanity shattered. Endless regret, guilt, and madness flooded his soul; the gods' gifts spiraled completely out of control.

"Lion, I repent—forgive me," Lu Se croaked.

Lying upon the boulder was the Primarch of the First Legion, the Dark Angels, the Emperor's first son, Lion El'Jonson.

"Ahh!!" Erebus screamed in terror, finally snapping out of his stupor.

He raised his hands to shield his head, shrieking: "Is my head still there?! Is my head intact?!"

Erebus feared that Lion El'Jonson on the boulder would rise and smash his skull with a single punch.

But after a brief moment, Erebus realized Lion El'Jonson had not risen, had not crushed his head.

He slowly, timidly lifted his head, half-muddled, half-fearful.

Then Erebus noticed: Lion El'Jonson's eyes remained tightly shut, seemingly unaware of all around him.

He slept—deeply, eternally—his body bearing a horrific wound, slowly healing.

Erebus froze, then understood the situation.

Lion was gravely wounded, near death, slumbering as his body slowly healed—yet he had not recovered.

This contradicted what Erebus knew!

Lu Se said he hadn't killed Lion!

That wound on Lion's body was clearly meant to kill him!

Lu Se noticed too—he recoiled as if struck by lightning, staring at his own hands.

In his own memory, he hadn't killed Lion—he hadn't inflicted such a wound!

Had he, without knowing, been controlled by Chaos and harmed Lion?!

But for Erebus, this was incredible good fortune.

A slumbering, powerless Primarch—wasn't that a gift delivered straight to his door?!

Clearly, fate still favored him!!

Erebus gripped his ritual dagger, leapt onto the boulder, and raised the blade to corrupt Lion.

The ritual dagger could corrupt even the greatest heroes—he believed he could corrupt Lion, just as he had once corrupted Horus.

Erebus scrambled onto the boulder, seeing Lion's furrowed brow, his aged face.

Even a Primarch could not escape time's decay—this was the price of rejecting the gods' gifts, of refusing to merge with Chaos.

But it did not matter. The Hand of Fate now offered the gods another Primarch—let Lion join the great tide of Chaos.

Erebus's ritual dagger plunged downward—

CRACK!!

A petri dish flew from Doraemon's hand, shooting between Lion and Erebus's dagger.

The ritual dagger struck the petri dish—shattering it into glass shards, releasing the bacteria within.

The bacteria splashed onto Lion's face.

The bacteria merged into Lion's body; a sudden, icy killing intent surged from him.

Erebus screamed in terror, tumbling off Lion's body, crashing to the ground.

"Ding-ding-ding-ding! 'Bacteria That Awakens Sleepers for One Hour!'" Doraemon shouted.

(End of Chapter)