Chapter 493

The Night Haunter's human-skin cloak rolled up shadows, shielding himself and Titus from the wind, sand, and scorching sun, and shielding them from the Blood God's gaze.

This man, pale as a ghost, had madness in his eyes, lowered his head, and stared fixedly at Titus.

Intense malice, cruel indifference, disappointment in humanity, extreme thirst for justice—a series of fragmented emotions surged into Titus's head; millions of terrifying pasts, presents, and futures were presented before his eyes.

If he had even a shred of fear in his heart, he would have been driven mad by those scenes.

If he had committed even a trace of sin, he would have had his head cut off by those lightning claws.

But Titus was neither afraid nor sinful.

He looked straight into the eyes of this mad Primarch before him, looking at his light-colored pupils.

In an instant, Titus perceived the mind of this Night Haunter.

When Titus first saw him, when he saw the hazy shadow he projected into the material universe, the Night Haunter had chosen him and marked him.

The Night Haunter was dead; ten thousand years ago, he had voluntarily accepted death, accepted punishment, accepted execution.

But although his material body had died, his Warp essence had not.

Extreme, primitive, instinctive thirst for and extreme yearning for simple justice—this was him, the Night Haunter.

The Night Haunter instinctively longed to continue punishing sinners and promoting justice, but he had lost his material body.

He needed a new body, a representative, a host to bear part of his power.

He needed someone to become the Night Haunter's Chosen.

This person must be sinless; only sinless people could withstand the Night Haunter's judgment.

This person must be fearless, not to be drowned and driven mad by the fear brought by the Night Haunter.

Titus was a suitable choice; he could carry a very small part of the Night Haunter's power, become the Night Haunter's Chosen, and act on the Night Haunter's will.

But the Night Haunter didn't need Titus's worship, didn't need Titus to follow his orders, didn't need Titus's loyalty.

The Night Haunter didn't want anything; the Night Haunter only wanted justice, only wanted Titus to punish evil and execute sinners on his behalf.

As long as Titus agreed, Titus could share the Night Haunter's power, sneak in the midnight like the Night Haunter, avoid the Blood God's gaze, and escape this desert.

As long as Titus was willing to accept the Night Haunter's power, become the Night Haunter's chosen, and become the blade of justice.

Titus stared at this pale, mad midnight ghost before him.

He would give Titus the midnight; from then on, the midnight would be Titus's cloak, and no one could catch him in the night.

He would give Titus eyes; from then on, the future would emerge before Titus's eyes, and no one could escape his hunt.

He would give Titus terror; from then on, fear would be his synonym, and sinners would tremble before him.

But if Titus were one day unable to bear all this, the Night Haunter would only give Titus fear, madness, and self-destruction. Titus closed his eyes slightly; he was not a pedantic person, and he also knew from Saint Doraemon that the Night Haunter was on their side now.

He could accept the Night Haunter's power and carry out the Night Haunter's requirement to punish sinners, as long as he could fight for the Emperor and for humanity.

As for the future described by the Night Haunter, that destiny...

"I know no fear." Titus said to the Night Haunter.

Thus, the deep midnight surged into Titus's body.

The Warp, the deepest part of the Sixth Ring, within Slaanesh's Palace of Pleasure,

Obscene sounds echoed continuously in the palace, and hungry pleas came out from billions of mirror surfaces.

This was Slaanesh's Twisted Mirror Palace, where strange and magnificent mirrors stood, reflecting and mirroring each other.

The worlds reflected in every mirror were completely different, and the palaces in every mirror were more magnificent than the last.

Whether it was a mortal, a demon, or an Astartes, as long as they stared at one of the mirrors, they would see themselves reflected repeatedly in the mirror.

Every time they reflected their own figure, it would be more beautiful, more perfect, more flawless, until after countless iterations, the person looking in the mirror would eventually turn into a magnificent phantom trapped in the mirror, decorating Slaanesh's sanctuary.

But now, there was a figure that was not beautiful, even arguably pale, ugly, and hunched, strolling in the Mirror Palace, yet not a single one of the billions of mirrors in the Mirror Palace could reflect his figure.

He was like a ghost, an ethereal thing, a thing that could only be infinitely approached but never seen or touched.

Not only the mirror surface, but even the owner of this palace, the Lord of Hunger, could not see his figure.

Because he was the yearning of all living beings for absolute justice, and absolute justice was a thing hidden behind the Veil of Ignorance, which could only be approached continuously but never reached.

Even the gods could not discard their prejudices and positions, could not reach out to touch absolute justice, could not use their eyes to see the form of absolute justice, so even the gods could not step behind the Veil of Ignorance and could not see him.

It was precisely by relying on this ability that he successfully snatched food from the Blood God's mouth and transformed the Chosen craved by the Blood God into his own Chosen.

However, this ability of his was not without flaws; when he hid behind the Veil of Ignorance, he could naturally deceive all gazes, including the gods.

But when he stepped out of the Veil of Ignorance and began to act, he would become discoverable.

This was also the reason why he had been wandering in Slaanesh's palace but had been slow to take action.

The Night Haunter looked at his distorted brother.

Every time he looked up at that body full of sinful aura, the Night Haunter felt that the only thing he had done right ten thousand years ago was not completely turning to the Chaos Gods.

Fulgrim curled his body and lay on the velvet bed, his tail, resembling both a snake and a slug, coiled into a ball, covered in sweat exuding the lingering fragrance of revelry.

The Crone Sword, that weapon turned from the finger bone of the Aeldari Crone God, was inserted into his cloaca.

This weapon was already inhabited by the power of the Aeldari Death God and was Slaanesh's nemesis, the enemy of ecstatic perception; without anyone holding the sword, the Crone Sword itself would attack and scorch Slaanesh demons.

At this moment, the Crone Sword was also diligently fighting against Slaanesh demons driven by Aeldari hatred.

It vibrated and trembled continuously, the sword body was scorching hot, and from time to time, a few electric sparks flashed out.

Fulgrim's huge body trembled due to the Crone Sword's attack, enjoying extreme sensory stimulation.

Konrad Curze watched this scene silently.

The Night Haunter prided himself on having seen a lot with his precognition ability.

But he really hadn't seen such a scene.

And more importantly...

The Crone Sword is hidden in that kind of position, how the f*** is he supposed to steal it out!!!

(End of chapter)