Chapter 89: Chaos: Gah??

A dark blue cross hovered in the air, glowing with a pale blue light.

The cross meant Zhou Yun’s previous question was wrong.

“Ah? Aah?? Ah???” The winged figure within the white light opened its mouth wide, as if stunned.

Zhou Yun blinked, equally confused.

If his eyes hadn’t deceived him,

that had been a cross just now.

The winged figure in the white light was not Saint Guilliman himself!

“You trickster demon! Chaos demon!”

Zhou Yun glared at the winged figure in the white light and roared:

“I was almost convinced by you—yet you’re an impostor!”

“Wait!”

The winged figure in the white light seemed bewildered:

“If I’m not Saint Guilliman, then who am I?”

“Who am I? Why am I on Baal? What is the connection between me and the Blood Angels?”

“This… this doesn’t make sense.”

The winged figure’s tone was full of confusion—he clearly hadn’t anticipated this turn.

“Could it be… could I really be a creation of the Lord of Change, meant to deceive you, and I myself don’t even know it?”

The air fell into deathly silence.

The winged figure in the white light and Zhou Yun stared at each other across the narrow room.

“Zhou Yun, I haven’t lied to you… at least not subjectively.”

“I truly regarded you as a friend. Over the past ten thousand years, I’ve mostly existed alone within the Warp.”

The winged figure’s voice carried a faint sorrow:

“I sense the relentless prayers of humans in the material universe directed toward me, yet I struggle to respond or converse with them.”

“Helplessness is the most agonizing thing—yet even my most gifted offspring can hear my voice only rarely.”

“But you are different. You do not seem entirely material—you can speak with me without being affected by Warp energies.”

“No matter who I am, I possess humanity—and I speak with you as a human—”

“Shut up. Don’t speak.” Before the winged figure could finish, Zhou Yun cut him off: “Don’t talk. I’m thinking!”

“Huh?” A question mark appeared above the winged figure’s head.

Who is he? Zhou Yun stared at him, his mind racing:

Lord of Change? Mad Horus? A Warp entity born of human faith? The Emperor’s new creation?

Zhou Yun looked at the truth-or-false divination device on the table.

One question remained.

Setting aside everything else, what was the one question Zhou Yun should ask now? The one that pointed to the most essential truth.

The question Zhou Yun must ask, no matter who the winged figure in the white light truly was.

Zhou Yun took a deep breath, carefully formulating his next question:

“I should trust the winged figure in the white light and follow his guidance to Baal to resurrect Saint Guilliman—this is the option most beneficial to me.”

The air fell into deathly silence.

Zhou Yun and the winged figure in the white light both fixed their eyes on the truth-or-false divination device.

A red ring leapt into the air and flickered several times.

“What the hell does this mean?” Zhou Yun and the winged figure in the white light spoke simultaneously.

The winged figure in the white light is not Saint Guilliman,

but he can be trusted, and following his guidance will indeed resurrect Saint Guilliman,

and this remains the option most beneficial to Zhou Yun.

Zhou Yun lowered his head, frowning deeply.

The winged figure in the white light is not Saint Guilliman—that is a clear fact. Even unlike the Emperor, the truth-or-false divination device showed no reaction to the Emperor, indicating the Emperor exists in an ambiguous state.

Yet if Zhou Yun follows the winged figure’s guidance, he truly can resurrect Saint Guilliman.

Could it be… that the winged figure in the white light is not yet Saint Guilliman, but will become him upon resurrection?

Zhou Yun frowned tightly.

Though many doubts remain, the truth-or-false divination device has confirmed that the winged figure in the white light is trustworthy,

and following his guidance will indeed resurrect Saint Guilliman.

“What do you think?” Zhou Yun asked the winged figure in the white light.

“Whether or not I am Saint Guilliman, whether or not the one who returns is truly me—”

The winged figure’s voice held no hesitation:

“As long as Saint Guilliman returns to the material universe, that is enough.”

“The citizens of the Imperium who pray to me… they need a glimmer of hope.”

In the Warp, deep within the Lord of Change’s crystal labyrinth,

ninety-nine million riddles whispered upon nine gates, nine hundred ninety-nine great demons danced beyond the thresholds,

and within the nine gates, the Lord of Change’s piercing laughter echoed.

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Each time He laughed, an uncontrollable change occurred among the stars.

He twisted His form—sometimes like a white serpent, sometimes like a flying eagle, sometimes like a celestial immortal, sometimes like an astrologer.

Ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine transformations unfolded upon Him; each shift wove a new fate.

He sought to make the wise commit folly, and the fools speak only truth.

He sought to cast Viceroys into the Underhive, and mutants onto thrones.

He sought to make the rich poor, and the poor rich.

He sought to make noble ladies base, and prostitutes noble.

He sought to make all things possible, to make the future unpredictable and dazzling.

The Lord of Change gazed upon His creation with delight—

a tangle of threads, each thread branching into countless more.

These threads symbolized the future of the galaxy—each one a possible future.

“Gah?”

The Lord of Change suddenly noticed the threads moving without His control.

The threads began converging, one by one, weaving into strands, and finally coalescing into a single thick thread at one point in time.

“Gah????” The Lord of Change stared, dumbfounded.

This meant all possibilities had collapsed into one.

It meant a segment of the future had been fixed, with no other possibilities remaining.

The fixed segment of the future spanned roughly one or two months in the material universe.

Not long—but undeniably fixed. For that one or two months, only one future existed.

The Lord of Change grew angry.

Even a one- or two-month segment of the future—he would not permit it to remain unchanged.

He reached out, attempting to manipulate the fixed future.

But every time He cultivated a new possibility, it instantly collapsed and merged back into the unchanging thread.

The Lord of Change’s laughter ceased.

A future that could not be altered, forcibly fixed.

Every essence, every existence, every power of the Lord of Change screamed its revulsion.

He trembled, his voice shrill as an eagle’s cry:

“Who?”

“WHO!!!”

(End of Chapter)