Chapter 576

The Red Angel stared up at the massive blue metal buttocks hovering in midair, frozen in place like a demon turned to stone.

This was the boundary between the Warp and reality, a space known as the Repository of Consciousness.

In this dimension, will was everything—will was power, will was mass, volume, density.

Such a colossal buttock, such a colossal form, meant the entity descending possessed an unparalleled will.

Merely looking up, the Red Angel felt that fierce will strengthening the will of everyone present, dragging all into its tide of thought.

It was a cold, harsh, cruel, precise will, tinged with numbness—a flawless, unyielding order forcing everything within sight onto the path it had laid out.

This will resembled the Emperor's; whenever demons gazed upon that cold, deep black sun in the Warp, they felt the Emperor's terrifying will.

But the Emperor's will was laced with countless contingencies, options, and balances.

The will descending now had none of that—it left but one path for this galaxy and itself.

And that path was not imagined—it had been forged over countless trials, countless years, hardened into something stubborn and terrifying.

If that blue metallic figure lost control, died, or became fully a Warp entity, his will would summon a horrific Warp storm, shattering the barrier between reality and the Warp, birthing a monstrous Warp being.

The veil between reality and the Warp let out a piercing wail as the blue metallic figure slowly moved.

His face descended from the heights of the Warp, emerging from the chaotic torrent of the Highest Heaven.

It was a round, lynx-like face, its crimson nose brighter than a blazing star, its oval eyes gazing down at the Red Angel.

Laven and Apothecary Melos shared a psychic link due to their gene-seed, and Melos's body had been occupied by the Red Angel—their wills were thus bound together.

Zhou Yun directly used the Dream Cloud Ladder, entering the Red Angel's will through Laven's dream.

The Red Angel's will could not match Zhou Yun's—he was merely a demon born ten thousand years ago, a tool forged by the Blood God to control the fury of the Sons of Sanguinius.

His will, compared to Zhou Yun's accumulated through twenty-two thousand dreams and countless attempts over tens of millions of years, was negligible.

Not to mention Zhou Yun also drew upon the devout faith of countless humans across the galaxy—faith itself was a will converging around him.

In the Warp, will was largely everything—this will could transcend the limits of time, space, and causality.

Even when Zhou Yun was still a trash-picker in Asford, he possessed a vast Warp essence, partly for this reason.

Facing Zhou Yun's will, the Red Angel could not even summon the thought of resistance—he was instantly crushed into a state of stupor.

Zhou Yun slowly extended his hand toward the Red Angel; only then did the Red Angel barely snap out of his stupor.

He let out a terrified wail, a shrill, piercing roar, instinctively trying to flee.

But where could he flee to?

This was his own will—he could retreat into his physical body, but that path was blocked by Melos's lingering will; before he could break through Melos's seal, Zhou Yun's round hand would seize him and instantly consume him.

He could flee into Laven's will and possess Laven's body, but Zhou Yun was already entrenched in Laven's dream—this would be suicide.

He could try seizing Sanguinius's body, but that too was suicide.

The Red Angel had nowhere to run—he shrank into the corner of his own will as Zhou Yun reached out his round hand.

The moment it nearly touched him, the Red Angel's shell, existence, and will shattered under Zhou Yun's assault—everything peeled away layer by layer, exposing the most primal, chaotic Warp tide of rage.

That was the crimson fury of Sanguinius's sons—not the Black Rage, but rage born of hunger, born of ghoul, born of mutation, finally reflected in the Warp.

The crimson storm swirled in Zhou Yun's round hand; a Blood Angel would be utterly consumed by its fury, even Sanguinius himself might be affected.

But this storm stirred not a single emotion in Zhou Yun's heart.

He had endured too many similar things—aside from a handful of events, little in the galaxy could truly stir strong emotion in him anymore.

So he casually tossed the crimson storm toward Sanguinius, then climbed the Dream Cloud Ladder back to reality.

Sanguinius bore the ten-thousand-year rage sparked by bloodlust; a flicker of fury crossed his face, but his gaze eventually grew complex as he glanced toward where Zhou Yun had departed.

Finally, Sanguinius shook his head and gently flew toward his son, Apothecary Melos.

"My son."

Sanguinius's voice, clear and soft, settled before Melos's nearly shattered soul:

"You have borne too much on my behalf."

As he spoke, Sanguinius gently extended his hand—a golden-red radiance enveloped Melos.

Slowly, on the back of this apothecary who had endured for ten thousand years, a pair of pure white wings grew—nearly identical to Sanguinius's.

The Red Angel's body suddenly exploded in midair, blood, bone, and flesh turning to ash and scattering everywhere.