Chapter 397: The Uniqueness of Good, the Obscurity of the Good

The Crimson Angel is a title belonging to the Primarch of the World Eaters; though somewhat unsuited to him, the Lord of Red Sand is indeed known by that name.

But seeking guidance from Angron, a tool for Angron to guide the future, is perhaps a bit too abstract?

Angron is now in a state where his left brain attacks his right, with the Butcher's Nails replacing thought; the whole person cannot even speak clearly. Is seeking guidance from him any different than seeking guidance from an Ogryn?

"My prophecy will not be wrong; it will eventually come to pass, though I am not certain in what form it will appear."

"Just as I foresaw the Great Heresy would occur, yet could not determine which Primarchs would rebel."

The brown-haired youth spoke softly.

"Perhaps Angron himself still retains some wisdom."

"Perhaps you can cure the Butcher's Nails, returning Angron to the form I originally expected."

"Perhaps you must travel back through a time machine, or use a If-Phone Booth to reach a world where Angron's mind is normal."

"Perhaps an item obtained by selling Angron could help us find our direction."

"Or perhaps, in the process of seeking Angron, we will gain something."

Isn't this equivalent to saying nothing? Zhou Yun could not help but frown tightly.

However, seeking Angron is indeed much simpler.

Khorne's attitude toward Angron is completely different from the attitude of the other three Gods toward their own Daemon Primarchs.

Tzeentch views Magnus as a useful tool; Tzeentch actually views everyone as a tool.

Slaanesh views Fulgrim as a favorite concubine and a courtier to please himself.

Nurgle regards Mortarion as family and a child with a bad temper.

And Khorne... Khorne treats Angron as some sort of large bomb to be used.

Since the Great Rift opened, Angron has frequently appeared in the Materium; each time after being banished, he will resurrect eight days, eight nights, and eight hours later, re-entering the Materium to wreak havoc, repeating this cycle endlessly.

Compared to the other three Primarchs who are dead shut-ins in the Witch Star, the Nurgle Garden, and the Slaanesh Palace, Angron is no different from a wild dog kicked out of Khorne's house to bite indiscriminately.

Finding Angron is not difficult; the problem is what to do after finding Angron?

Cure Angron, pull the nails out of his brain?

But what meaning does that have? Even if pulled out, Angron would still be a Khorne Daemon Prince.

Zhou Yun had no thoughts in his mind at the moment, planning to discuss it later with Sanguinius and Guilliman.

"Can you prophesy more content? What should I do after finding Angron?"

"Or other more information?"

Zhou Yun raised his eyes and looked at the brown-haired youth, asking.

The brown-haired youth responded with silence, then began to shuffle the cards in his hand again.

Under the brown-haired youth's shuffling, the cards fell onto the table one by one.

Until exactly four had fallen, the brown-haired youth stopped shuffling and fixed his gaze upon the four cards.

The first card depicts a man kneeling before an altar, his body covered in whip marks, his face bearing guilt, seemingly in devout repentance.

"The Penitent; he repents for the errors he committed, yet because of the repentance itself, he walks the wrong path."

The brown-haired youth spoke softly, then turned over the second card.

The second card shows a figure shrouded in shadow, his face bearing jealousy, staring at other blessed people with envious eyes.

"The Jealous One; he cannot enjoy more blessings himself, cannot attain a higher status, and thus envies those who are progressing."

Then the third card was also turned over by the brown-haired youth.

It depicts a man with a hypocritical smile, outwardly polite, yet his eyes hold the most primal and pure malice.

"The Arch-Evil; no one is more evil than he; the meaning of his existence is to carry out the utter disorder and malice of the Primordial Destroyers."

Finally, the fourth card was turned over in the brown-haired youth's hand.

That card shows a man bathed in blood, his eyes filled with bone-chilling hatred, embracing the corpse of a friend.

"The Avenger; his heart and blood flow with bone-chilling hatred; if he can take revenge, he is willing to give up everything else."

Four cards, four types of people, were placed before Zhou Yun, causing Zhou Yun to frown slightly.

"Fate is vague; many things I cannot see clearly anymore."

The brown-haired youth spread his hands, pointing at the four cards on the table and saying:

"But in that near future, these four will be the nodes of fate."

"Then who do you think these four are?" Zhou Yun stared at the four cards and asked.

"I am not certain about the other three."

"The Penitent... there are too many guilty people in this galaxy, and many who commit more sins in the name of atonement."

"The Jealous One... almost every follower of Slaanesh fits this trait; Daemon Princes often harbor jealousy as well."

"The Avenger... who in this galaxy has no hatred in their heart? Whose hands bear no blood feud?"

"But the Arch-Evil..." The brown-haired youth shrugged his shoulders, as if it went without saying who the Arch-Evil was.

"No one is more evil than he; I guessed who that is without you saying it," Zhou Yun twitched the corner of his mouth and said.

A black ritual dagger, reforged from the broken blade of Horus's arch-enemy, tore through the void and pierced the corpse of the last person.

Blood twisted and flowed downward; a million lives slipped away under his hands, sacrificed in the ritual he wove.

The crimson sky twisted constantly; four brilliant lights of red, blue, purple, and green writhed in the black-misted firmament, weaving bizarre symbols that covered the entire planet.

The souls of a million lives emitted shrill wails; a million human bodies burned in the flames of Chaos.

Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice.

The Word Bearers and the mortal followers of Chaos shouted the words of sacrifice loudly.

He also pulled the black ritual dagger from the corpse, watching blood drip from the blade, chanting blasphemous incantations.

He offered these sacrifices to the Dark Gods, to Chaos itself, and accepted Chaos's will and blessings bestowed upon him.

How many people hated him? How many people cursed him? How many people hated him to the bone,

Simply for all he had ever done? Simply because he was the originator of it all?

They raged and cursed him, calling him vile, calling him fallen, calling him a traitor, calling him cowardly,

But he knew these were all prejudices against himself.

He was not the true originator; he was merely a tool of those wills.

He was blessed by those wills from birth, and cursed by those wills from birth.

He was not vile; his goodness was simply unique.

He was not fallen; he was simply born this way.

He had never betrayed, for his loyalty was always to Chaos.

He was never cowardly; all his survival was merely to better serve Chaos.

Some cursed him as a lackey, a lackey of the Four Gods,

But they were wrong; he was never loyal to any specific deity.

As for Loka, he held him in even greater contempt.

His loyalty was only to Chaos, only to the ever-crazing tendency of the Warp itself.

To spread the will and power of Chaos further, to let the Warp completely overwhelm reality—this was his goal.

If someone asked him why he was so loyal to the will of Chaos, why he served Chaos so madly,

Then he could only answer: because he was thoroughly and utterly vile.

He was greedy for pleasure, he seized by force, he was full of malice, he willingly fell, he glorified violence, just like Chaos itself, ever more chaotic within the tide of all beings' thoughts.

Yet the material universe had limits; his malice-filled thoughts were constrained by matter, unable to be unleashed to their full extent.

Only the Warp, only Chaos, only there was malice real. In Chaos, will was everything; will was all.

Only Chaos could completely overwhelm reality, so that his endless evil thoughts could be fully released, completely free.

He was perfectly aligned with Chaos; he was the Son of Chaos.

From Chaos's perspective, he was a good person, just not obviously so.

Some devoted themselves entirely to doing good, wanting to create a rational, luminous world, so they sought to cut off Chaos.

And he devoted himself entirely to doing evil, wanting to create a world full of malice and chaos, so he worshipped Chaos. It was that simple; there was no other reason.

Nor was there any fallen or complex psychological transformation; he was simply born this way.

In this regard, he was the destined enemy of the Lord of Mankind.

Once this thought arose, he couldn't help but feel somewhat proud.

What excited him even more was that a new, great entity had appeared in Chaos.

Doraemon, that magnificent metal-blue great tanuki-like entity.

How great He was! Simultaneously occupying three points of Chaos's eight-pointed star, a candidate for three positions.

If this one could complete ascension, or even merely become a lesser entity, stuck at the final moment before ascension, it would still cause Chaos's power to rise on a massive scale.

The only thing that made him angry was that this noble entity had been corrupted by the Lord of Mankind.

Preaching "I am not a god," refusing to acknowledge his Warp nature, dwelling in a fragile mortal body, pretending to be mortal, and even standing on the side of the material universe.

How evil! The Lord of Mankind, born evil, had corrupted the great Doraemon.

Doraemon must be made to recognize his true nature; Doraemon must be made to accept Chaos's disorder and madness.

Doraemon must be made to abandon all reason; Doraemon must be made to sever his connection to the material universe.

"Great Doraemon, Lord, I shall grant you liberation."

He murmured to himself, believing he could certainly do it.

Not only because he had gained two allies, but also because of himself.

He had once completed the magnificent work of the Horus Heresy; how could he not complete the work of Doraemon's ascension?

After all, he was the Son of Chaos, the Hand of Fate, the great Erebus.

(End of this chapter)