Chapter 506: Loyalty Needs No Reward! Loyalty Needs No Reason!

The Changer was banished back into the waves of the Warp, cursing as he went; he should have returned directly to Tzeentch's domain,

but for some reason, the Crystal Labyrinth had sealed itself off from reality, and this isolation stemmed from the power of the Lord of Change himself,

causing the Changer to crash headfirst, reforming his body in the Warp far from the Crystal Labyrinth, near the Lion's psychic world,

"I was planning to rest for a while—how could the Lion awaken so soon?!"

The Changer said, weary and pained:

"And how did Konrad Curze, that madman from Baal, suddenly appear?!"

Though the mission to block the Lion's resurrection had failed, the Changer was not overly concerned about Tzeentch's wrath,

first because Tzeentch's true self was clearly occupied with something far more important—otherwise he would not have sealed his domain and locked himself within the Crystal Labyrinth,

second because the mission's failure was expected from the start; the Changer's task was merely to delay the Lion's full recovery, and no one truly believed he could stop the Lion,

he was the Changer, the embodiment of Tzeentch's deceit and trickery, not Tzeentch himself,

and besides, Konrad Curze had suddenly appeared—facing two Primarchs at once, the Changer's failure was entirely acceptable,

the Changer stared at the sealed Crystal Labyrinth, pondering what he might do during this window of time?

Swap Ferrus's skull for the brain of a Warboss?

Pose as a diplomat from a newborn civilization and trick the Tau into negotiating with the Tyranids?

Or slip a dose of blight pathogen into Fabius Bile's bio-pools?

Ugh, so hard to choose—how many delights does this galaxy offer to stir up?

The Changer felt melancholy and conflicted, unable to resist smacking his lips—

Huh?

The Changer's body stiffened; he shifted his gaze in confusion and saw a golden fishhook dangling from his own lip, connected to a thread of blazing light, like solidified sunlight, stretching upward into the highest reaches of the Warp.

The Changer trembled slightly as he lifted his head toward the direction of the line's descent,

a battered wooden boat floated upon the surface, its occupant a hunched, grievously wounded old man wearing a tattered golden crown, fishing—

his crimson blood stained the sky of the Warp, and the "fish" he was reeling in was the Changer himself,

the Changer's face twisted in terror—he suddenly remembered: this old man had always been within Leman Russ's psychic world, always watching the Changer in silence, yet the Changer had ignored him.

The old man's spilled blood gradually oxidized and blackened, swirling above to form a vast black sun, beginning to burn with searing heat,

the Changer saw—the Cursed One seated upon the Golden Throne, gazing at him.

"My Lord!! Save me!!" the Changer cried out toward the Crystal Labyrinth,

but no sound came from within, no response at all,

Tzeentch had fully sealed the Crystal Labyrinth, focusing his attention on dealing with Nurgle and Slaanesh's opportunistic attacks, while the Cursed One's scorching psychic energy now isolated this patch of Warp—Tzeentch had no awareness of the Changer's plight, and even if he had, he could do nothing.

The fishing line tightened abruptly; the Changer was helplessly yanked toward the black sun in the sky,

his nimble mind raced desperately, searching for an escape—but no solution came to him, not one—

"Your Majesty!! Spare me!!"

the Changer shouted toward the black sun above:

"Please, I've sweated for humanity, I've bled for the Imperium, I've worked overtime for the Neiwu Force!"

"I've shouldered five star sectors, a million worlds for the Imperium. I—I am your loyal subject! You cannot kill me!!"

"I can be loyal too!! I can serve humanity and the Imperium!"

"I ask for nothing—only the pure desire to contribute to humanity!"

"I don't want rewards—loyalty itself is the reward!"

The Changer drained every ounce of his intellect, yet the fishing line tightened further, dragging him straight into the black sun,

blood poured from Ma'las's back; the demon prince stared in horror and disbelief at Zabriel behind him,

he did not understand—why had this fallen angel, once a prince without a crown, suddenly betrayed him?

Not only Zabriel—some fallen angels had quietly slipped behind the others and suddenly turned on their own comrades, forming a pincer with the Space Wolves and the Flesh Tearers.

Those traitorous fallen angels were all veterans, weathered and hardened, once the backbone of the Fallen Angels. "Why?" Ma'las shrieked.

"Why?"

Zabriel tilted his head, as if baffled that Ma'las could ask such a foolish question:

"We do not know whether Leman Russ or Lu Se is the traitor."

"We do not know why the Fall of Caliban truly happened."

"Nor do we know what Lu Se is scheming now."

"But we know one thing: before we were the Dark Angels, we were the Emperor's uncrowned princes, His first Death Angels."

"Traitor, I ask you: does loyalty need a reason?"

"When did you all gather? Why didn't I notice anything?" Ma'las wailed.

"Are you even truly one of the Dark Angels? Isn't secret cabals your specialty?"

Zabriel said matter-of-factly:

"Lu Se may have sensed it, but I think he doesn't care."

Ma'las roared in fury, struggling to fight back,

but Zabriel displayed martial skill far beyond what he had shown moments before, effortlessly severing Ma'las's head with a single swing of his blade,

the demon prince was banished back into the Warp, dissolving into the air.

"Why do you use the secret hand signs of the Blood Angels?" Gabriel Seth, wreathed in chilling blood aura, glared at Zabriel.

"Your signs?" Zabriel laughed aloud: "Those were designed during the time we were still called the uncrowned princes."

"We were the original of all Legions—many of your tactics, codes, and organizational structures were first developed and refined by us, then passed on to the other Legions."

"But later, people forgot—forgot who first paved the path you now walk."

Zabriel fixed his gaze on Seth:

"I lived on the forward outpost world of the Crimson Crescent Chapter—I know you still use these signs."

Seth snorted, offering no comment on Zabriel's words.

Zabriel looked puzzled: "Still, I'm confused—you accepted cooperating with me so smoothly. I thought you were rigid and inflexible."

At this, Seth's expression twisted slightly; he opened his mouth to reply—when the light portal from the previous compartment shuddered, and a figure nearly demonic emerged from it,

the demon was drenched in blood, his limbs grotesquely mutated, his power armor fused into chitinous plates upon his body, his bare arms gripping a monstrous chainsaw axe,

the demon paid no heed to the battle within the compartment, vanishing at speeds too swift to follow into the light portal leading to the next compartment,

Zabriel stared, dumbfounded.

"We've been cooperating with that thing," Seth said, voice tinged with despair: "What's left that we can't cooperate with?"

(End of Chapter)