Chapter 625

A loud crash rang out as Zelas’s metallic head was cleaved in two by twin blades like raven wings, clattering to the ground, rolling incessantly over the smooth surface until it came to rest at Sol’s feet.

A Space Marine clad in jet-black power armor, wearing a helmet resembling a common raven’s head, appeared soundlessly within Zelas’s headless body.

Zelas’s heavy metallic frame slammed heavily onto the ground.

The Death Raven Saragin had been hiding among them since entering the World Engine, using the Blind Spot Star to remain undetected, waiting for the perfect moment to strike—and he had severed Zelas’s life in one blow, giving Zelas no chance to act.

But this was not the end; Zelas was a Necron, and within the World Engine he possessed a Resurrection Protocol that would soon allow him to reconstruct his body.

“Have you found Zelas’s Resurrection Protocol?” Zandrik asked Tarasin.

Tarasin’s eyes, glowing with green light, flickered rapidly, as if calculating, searching for something.

His will surged continuously through the core of the World Engine, scouring the data flood for Zelas’s Resurrection Protocol.

But slowly, Tarasin’s expression grew increasingly odd.

In the instant Zelas died, Tarasin’s will had forcibly overridden Zelas’s and infiltrated the World Engine—this was one of Tarasin’s specialties; his will penetrated everywhere, and not only could he seize control of the World Engine, he often took over the bodies of other Necrons without warning.

It was thanks to this ability that Tarasin moved freely through the tomb worlds of every dynasty, protecting the helpless, ownerless relics.

But now, no matter how deeply Tarasin probed the World Engine, he could not locate Zelas’s Resurrection Protocol—even now, Zelas’s will had not reappeared within the World Engine to contest control, as if Zelas had truly died.

“Could his Resurrection Protocol be outside? Did he abandon the World Engine and flee?”

Tarasin’s face darkened; he realized a grim possibility.

“Found it.”

Tarasin located a fragment of Zelas’s Resurrection Protocol in a discarded data conduit.

Zelas’s Resurrection Protocol had been destroyed long ago—even before the battle in the Soul-Draining Deadlands began.

Zelas’s will had nearly vanished entirely, leaving only a shattered remnant of obsession still lingering.

“.I. Ascend”

“.The Deceiver.”

The Deceiver.

Crack—

A crisp cracking sound suddenly echoed; Zelas’s head at Sol’s feet twisted of its own accord, lifting its gaze toward those present.

On Zelas’s head appeared an expression of sudden realization, followed by a mocking smile curling at his lips.

“Eh!”

“I never imagined I was the Star God, the Deceiver!!”

A piercing, wild laugh rang out; brilliant golden light erupted from Zelas’s head, and beneath its radiance, the mountains of corpses and seas of blood instantly transformed.

The corpses tortured to death by Zelas rose one by one, their mouths twisted into ecstatic grins, piling atop one another, their broken limbs spasming erratically, as if welcoming a great actor to the stage.

“Damn it!” Tarasin growled, realizing he had fallen into a cognitive blind spot.

Saint Dora had warned them that the Deceiver might be among them—the Two Saints beside the Silent King, the Silent King himself, Immatek, Zelas, even many Imperial Sovereigns could be the Deceiver, who might randomly possess or replace any one of them—but most had been eliminated, and Orykan’s final report confirmed the Deceiver was Luminous Hapsalaster.

Yet after entering the World Engine, Tarasin’s mind had been obstructed, automatically dismissing one possibility: that there might be more than one fragment of the Deceiver active within the Soul-Draining Deadlands.

Radiant light, as hot as a star, burst forth; a golden, lithe figure slowly materialized within the pocket dimension, its body like gilded marble, gently opening its arms and bowing slightly to the crowd before it, as if welcoming their arrival.

“Thank you for your visit—if not for your arrival, poor old Deceiver would still be working overtime!”

“To reward you for uncovering my ruse, I grant you nine seconds to flee.”

“One.”