Chapter 699: The pocket in the Well of Eternity

A pitch-black sun rose from Ahriman's neck. Inside that armor, there was no flesh body left, only a screaming void, a pitch-black star, and a wisp of dust.

Threads condensed from ashes spread outward with Ahriman as the center, extending to every Thousand Son sorcerer, every Scarab Occult, every Rubric Marine, weaving into a massive psychic network.

Ashes, ashes, ashes.

The same emotion rose in the hearts of every Thousand Son. Even those Rubric Marines confined in their armor issued similar wails.

Those mutations that engulfed their bodies, the trial at the Council of Nikaea, the sharp discrimination, the rampaging wild wolves, the Burning of Prospero, the twisted flames of the Planet of the Sorcerers, the roar of the Rubric spell, the failure of the second Rubric...

Ashes, dust, destruction.

They were the sorcerers of Prospero, people cursed by fate. Fate had outlined the most miserable ending for them, turning into ashes and dust in bloodshed.

"No."

Ahriman's voice reached the ears of every Thousand Son along the Rubric network.

"Enduring one's fate is noble, but I would rather resist it."

The wails turned into roars, and the sadness turned into hatred. The ashes that could no longer burn burned again, and the dust turned into sparks splashing.

The psychic power of all Thousand Sons, from the past to the future, from the edge of the galaxy to the depths of the Warp, from ancient times to the present, from all directions, all gathered and burned toward Ahriman.

The pitch-black star used hatred as the fire source and the most extreme changes of fate as fuel, burning out destructive ashes. It was so bright, so dazzling, so terrifying.

With Ahriman as the center, a circle of pitch-black fire began to spread. Wherever the fire burned, crystals shattered, demons disintegrated, storms dissipated, and psychic power collapsed, leaving only scorched earth.

The Soul Butcher, Aetaos'rau'keres, issued a manic scream. It extended its arms burning with blue and red flames, pressing toward Ahriman.

But the moment its fingers touched the circle of fire beside Ahriman, its fingers were ignited by the pitch-black bright flames, instantly turning into ashes and dissipating.

Keres retreated in horror, but before it could retreat a few steps, its body turned into ashes and dissipated in the air under the scouring of the pitch-black light released from beside Ahriman.

The demons wailed in horror. They had already sensed that what Aetaos'rau'keres had just welcomed was complete death. It had been burned to nothingness, as if killed by the flames of the cursed.

The Warp was surging with waves, and a minor godhood of the Warp had already appeared on Ahriman.

Ahriman raised his burning pitch-black sun head at this time, looking at the high place of the Crystal Labyrinth, looking at the Changer of Ways.

"Do I only need to jump into this?" Ma Genusi looked at the deep, dark well before him and asked Tzeentch, who was entrenched behind him.

The Changer of Ways smiled and nodded.

The Well of Eternity was a part cut out by Tzeentch, but Tzeentch Himself could not take it back.

Tzeentch's domain was change. Change was an exceptionally vast domain, vaster than war, vaster than corruption, vaster than depravity, vaster than craft. Only the destruction represented by the Dark King could contend with it.

But change resides within contradiction; contradiction is one of Tzeentch's intrinsic essences. His realm itself exists in infinite self-subdivision and infinite self-contradiction, and he himself has experienced multiple splits and weakenings.

Whether it was the shattering of the staff back then or the Well of Eternity being cut out, they were all the result of Tzeentch's self-splitting.

In order to utilize these authorities that He had split out, Tzeentch had to create or utilize some individuals to carry His partially split power.

The Blue Scribes carried the "magic" represented by the broken staff, Kairos carried the "fate" represented by the Well of Eternity, and the Soul Butcher Aetaos'rau'keres carried "madness."

But these individuals were mostly too weak, only able to carry a very small bit of power.

But Ma Genusi was different. As long as he entered the Well of Eternity, he would inevitably be able to bring out a massive amount of power, becoming the host of the Well of Eternity.

"Hmm?" The Changer of Ways, who was debugging the waves in the Well of Eternity, suddenly looked back at His domain. He sensed something being born, something rising.

He turned his head, and his pupils reflected that pitch-black star—bright, scorching, dead silent.

Ahriman turned his body slightly, and the pitch-black star replacing his head reflected the faces, souls, and roars of one Thousand Son after another.

Tzeentch's body leaned backward abruptly, and a sharp wail issued from His mouth, echoing in the entire Warp.

Whether it was the gods or those minor existences, they were all attracted by this wail, casting their gazes toward the domain of the Changer of Ways.

The blinding light of the pitch-black star burst out from one of Tzeentch's 90,000,000 eyes. Ahriman's shadow became very long under the illumination of the pitch-black star's light, like a pitch-black awl stabbing into Tzeentch's eye, piercing through Tzeentch's body.

In the reality universe, many of Tzeentch's followers screamed and covered one of their eyes.

The ability to peek into the future granted to them by the Changer of Ways was shattered at this moment. There were no scenes of the future in their eyes, only a burning pitch-black star, a world full of dust, and a shattered fate.

The scorching star burned Tzeentch's existence itself, and ashes spilled from the Changer of Ways' body. Even the future before the Changer of Ways became blurred, chaotic, and incomplete.

The Thousand Sons' strong self-destructive impulse cast the hatred for the injustice of fate, pushing Ahriman and the minor godhood he was about to ascend to toward Tzeentch, tearing a crack in Tzeentch's existence. And behind Ahriman, the power of the Erosion and Destruction domain was faintly jumping.

But after a wail, Tzeentch issued a manic laugh.

Within His body, twisted crystals stabbed out beside Ahriman, refracting Ahriman's figure. Each one corresponded to every moment of Ahriman from childhood to adulthood. All his past, future, and present fears and arrogance, pain and hope, dreams and demons, reality and fantasy, madness and confusion were reflected within them.

It was as if Ahriman's existence had been dismantled, torn apart, and sealed in different crystals.

The Raven body cackled strangely. Every Ahriman reflected in the crystals seemed to have become a living thing, living his own life in the crystal. Each one leaned toward a happy or painful fate. Ahriman felt himself being pulled very long, very long, very long. His sense of time became disordered, his thoughts spiraled and twisted, and his body was difficult to move.

Tzeentch was capturing Ahriman with His body. He was ecstatic, not expecting to have such a major harvest today.

The minor godhood Ahriman stepped onto was between Erosion and Destruction and the Hell Storm, symbolizing the cruelest side of fate.

All that is possessed will inevitably be lost, all that is good will inevitably turn bad, all tall buildings will inevitably collapse, all greatness will inevitably turn into dust.

This was the darkest change, this was the ending that fate would inevitably lean toward.

Tzeentch had been trying to plot this godhood to expand His domain. Ahriman was the tool He selected to plot this godhood.

Among all Astartes, only Fabius and Ahriman had the talent to become minor existences in the Warp, having the talent to catch up to the Primarchs' realm.

A single mortal naturally could not bear the power of a Warp godhood.

Fabius relied on his creations. Those so-called New Men of His connected into one through faith, lifting Him up to become the Pater Mutatis symbolizing the distortion and mutation of body and mind. That was a minor position between vicious craft and greedy dissolution.

Ahriman relied on the Rubric network. All Thousand Sons, regardless of past, present, or future, took Ahriman as the core, with the Rubric as the link, turning into a network. The destruction, hatred, self-destructive tendencies, and contempt for fate of all Thousand Sons were mixed together, lifting Ahriman to ascend to that godhood.

Whether it was the tragedy of Ahriman's own fate or the tragedy of the Thousand Sons, they were all pushed by Tzeentch behind the scenes, just to let Ahriman complete the ascension with all Thousand Sons as sacrifices, but it had never succeeded.

Unexpectedly, at this very moment, it suddenly achieved results. Ahriman had actually stepped onto the path of ascension by himself without Tzeentch's control.

The godhood He had obtained was named Ahriman. In the more ancient myths of humanity, this godhood was also called Angra Mainyu, the god of two springs and ten winters, the god opposite to the concept of happiness. He made the beautiful ugly, the healthy sick, the living dead, the water salty, the fire dim, and eventually even He Himself was destined to fall into endless darkness. ===== CHAPTER 700 =====