Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 466: Crimson King (End)

Darkness enveloped the throne. There was nothing there, as if everything had been annihilated in the fate of the end before it came into existence. All sounds and smells turned into a wisp of meaningless dust in the vacuum of nothingness, and the dust itself had never existed for a moment.

This is the dark ruins that remain millions of years after the end has come, the destined end of the void that time is accelerating towards, and after crossing the end, it returns to the beginning which is also not yet in the light, swallowing up the cradle before the birth of the world.

Magnus placed his palm on the blocking curtain wall, and soon he lost the perception of his palm. This slight trembling and spasming deprivation spread through his body, erasing his brain's mapping of the world bit by bit, and his tool for understanding the outside world was taken away by darkness.

He slid lightly along the curtain wall into the void that held him up. The feeling of his body touching a solid object was gone, and only the suggestion of eternal falling remained in the inertia of his consciousness—the mind of a demigod was unable to cope with the bone-deep void beneath the Dark Lord's throne.

He kept falling, falling deeper and deeper. His nonexistent face was screaming and shouting, his insensitive stomach was throbbing with pain. He stretched out his hands and grasped blindly, like a blind man touching the Braille of a heavenly book in mid-air.

Stop, he shouted to himself, the imaginary voice degenerating into a thin scream, Stop, Magnus! What else can you do!
The Crimson King continued to fall, his normal thoughts simulating the acceleration brought by the fall, his neck ached so much that it was on the verge of breaking, his breathing had already stopped centuries ago, ended. He was already a pile of numb and uncontrolled flesh and blood, falling into the silent abyss, strangling his spirit and dragging him down...

Emperor...

He forced himself to imagine the faint golden light of the Emperor. Before the darkness completely deprived him of his soul, he had to ascend to a higher state of mind where consciousness resided, temporarily escaping from the horror of the flesh...

If he wants to see the Emperor, he must reopen the Thuthmons Rune, so that the source of darkness can be imprisoned in the galactic world again, and thereby break through the blockade of the formation and truly touch the remaining light of the Emperor... Then what happens after that? The Dark Lord can still use the destruction and death in the world as nourishment, and grow infinitely forever, making up for the missing part that is still missing after the death of half of the Primarch...

Ten thousand lives, a hundred thousand, a million. The more they tried to hunt the darkness, the stronger it grew. It was an irreparable festering cyst, a greedy gestating baby that was fed with potions and blood.

The vortex of despair threw Magnus back to the bottom of the mental environment. If he wavered again, he would fall with his body in endless terror. The darkness was ready to swallow his legs, and then his abdomen and chest. The illusion of tearing his head open and making him fall would echo forever after the end...

Perhaps the Emperor's plan was not perfect enough, and perhaps the Lord of Mankind had only touched the level of opening the cage. Humanity's exploration of the Warp was still limited, and until the last moment, they faced their fears. Perhaps the Emperor could not accurately perceive that even if the Dark Lord had not yet been born and had not yet cried out to tear the galaxy apart, he would still be enough to destroy the entire Tianchuan Galaxy.

So, is this the end? Magnus saw the future, and the future does not exist. The Emperor's gamble has brought the game between humanity and Chaos to a life-or-death situation. If one wrong move is made, the entire human race will be doomed.

Unless - the end and death have another destination, a destination that is not the entity of the Dark Lord... and who in the galaxy has an equal essence?
It is still the Emperor. The Emperor is the core of the human race, nothing else. And the Emperor is indeed the enemy of the Dark Lord. Whether it is two sides of the same coin, or the one who breeds and the one who is bred, the one who sustenance and the one who is sustenance, in any relationship, the Emperor can separate from the Dark Lord's half.

Magnus staggered up to a slightly higher level of meditation environment, leaving the feeling of his body falling out of control behind.

A new problem arose. All time was speeding up and flowing around the Dark Throne of Terra. How could he, an ordinary Primarch, a demigod who was no more than a grain of sand compared to the New God of the Universe, compete with it? Where was the other end of time?
Millions of locations lit up like stars in his mind, and their weak flames quickly went out one by one, representing the elimination of a method. No... He knew all these places, no, he had verified the environmental conditions of all the special locations in the universe he knew, and none of them could become a fortress to compete with the new gods.

He is doomed, Magnus thought. The thought died beneath his limited power. A hollow tide of water covered his mouth and nose.

Do not--

Magnus struggled against the despair that was weighing down his body, the only Primarch to see the truth of what was happening. No, no, no...

Where else is worth a chip? Where else is worth a bet? Where else is there that he has imagined but never had the time to explore? A crossroads of time, another endpoint that was born before the beginning of the world, a special place that is special enough to fight against the end of time because of its failure of time sequence?
It would be best if it was located in the webway, so that he could calculate the changes to Thutmons from now on, and assist the power brought by the end and death to turn to that end. It would be best if it was old and mysterious enough to become a powerful enough celestial aid when human power was limited. It would be best if it was indestructible, and it would be best if it was a unique singularity that existed almost naturally in the universe, an incredible and mysterious place.

Wigberach.

The crossroads where time stops flowing, the end point where the glorious paths intersect.

Magnus continued to float up in the ocean of consciousness. He became light and tiny, like a falling leaf or a quietly broken hair. Unhindered by the pain of his body, he reached the upper realm of his mind.

In Wigberach, time is inert, even upstream. It is an unexplored fantasy destination, like a strange point that the hand of creation has not yet reached. All things are ten thousand under the throne of darkness, and they can also be one in Wigberach.

and……

A new possibility emerged in Magnus' mind. Since Vigberach was originally located in the Webway, could it be the destination of the souls in the Webway? In other words...

After the Primarchs lost their bodies and essences, could their souls gather in Vigberach?

Magnus' spirit gradually lifted up in his exhaustion, like the last burst of bright flames before a candle burns out. In front of him, the light of the Emperor reappeared, which meant that he was no longer constrained by his body and began to perceive the world from a pure spiritual perspective.

All that is needed for the Thirteen Nodes of Thutmons is the material shell and warp essence of the Primarch. The intelligence of the Emperor's children is a superfluous element when the Emperor created them, and is also a superfluous component that is not needed to maintain the final blockade.

These spiritual intelligences can also have a final destination...

And if the Emperor is reborn in Vigberach, at least the Emperor will definitely be able to extend them forever at this special end of time; even if these rootless and ethereal spirits lose their support and cannot leave the mysterious place...

The answer is clear. Magnus thought, what to do next has become simple. Unprecedented excitement has almost become his disease at this moment, making his will burn in excitement.

Oh Emperor, he thought, Oh Emperor, and he took a step forward, stepping on darkness and silence, and stretched out his hands high up, until the scorching stars flowed against his melting palms into his burning veins.

That's what he's trying to do - is he right? Is there anything he hasn't taken into account?

No, there was no chance anymore. Even if he pondered in the darkness for a thousand years, he would only get the same answer.

Emperor, will you forgive me? For my mistake in killing Omegan? For the sin I am about to commit?

The light illuminated him.

The runes of the webpath formation burned his fingers. His consciousness expanded to infinite size, touching every line in the darkness like a blind man.

He interpreted them, quickly and firmly rewriting the lines that had to be modified for the new gamble. His invisible eyes were sore and swollen, and his fingers were in great pain. He trembled, standing alone in the darkness, feeling that everything that made up himself was dissipating in the output of energy.

Any puppet strings that could control him and any springs that could assist him did not exist. He made this crazy decision and he would not hesitate any longer because time was almost up. If all this was destroyed in his hands, then the world would be a felony that he could not afford. But his decision must be executed, otherwise this would be the end of everything. If he did this, then whether he succeeded or not, he would be destroying everything he had created with his own hands, because his tampering with the Tuthmons barrier would inevitably lead to fundamental changes and no one could give him a single word of guidance. He was setting out to destroy his achievements just to gamble on a new ending and he was about to become the biggest criminal of the entire human race...

The light becomes increasingly subtle.

He did not have the Emperor's support because he could not hear the Emperor's voice. All he could believe in was the existence of this beam of light. Countless runes were burned and then reborn in his palm. He completed this irrational cause alone. But could he really succeed? Would he die before completing all this, leaving behind only an abandoned and damaged realm? At that time, all the remaining people would have enough power to accuse him of being the sinner who destroyed the entire glorious dream, and he would have to plead guilty and there would be no escape. His name would die forever...

How many runes did he rewrite? One hundred. One million. One hundred million. The rune barrier trembled on the edge of collapse several times, but finally fixed in a new form - the core was no longer the throne of Terra, but pointed directly to the crossroads of Vigberach, waiting for that intersection to be lit up by a powerful enough signpost.

Time begins to fork and flow again from the crossroads, intersecting and becoming more complex.

The Emperor's light is always there, albeit faint, barely visible...

One more step, Magnus thought. Then he raised his arms. O Emperor, he thought calmly. O Emperor.

He reached his hand upwards and grasped further. A dome was breached, and somewhere in the distance a blockade was shattered. Millions of pieces of dust gleaming with golden light scattered around him. The first lock was broken, and Thutmunds trembled.

I don't know when he stopped being afraid. The fear in his heart disappeared in the pure work. He was still breathing, but his mind was clear and stable, as if he had been elevated by some kind of illumination and injected with a new and infinite energy. His heart was so peaceful.

Maybe he has returned to the Father. Maybe he has returned to death.

He broke the second blockade, and he had no way of seeing whether the ray of golden light in the darkness was getting closer.

The Webway trembled under his destruction, telling him with all clarity that he was destroying everything he had created.

He was destroying the Webway. If his plan failed, the imbalance of power in the Webway would lead to the destruction of the entire network system. The glory he gained from the construction of the Webway was discarded by himself.

I should rest for a while, he thought. My strength is running out. My bones and blood were filled in the destruction of Tuthmons.

Then he broke the next lock, because there was no time.

By the time the last few locks had become as brittle as rotten bones, Magnus consciously killed the last of Tuthmons' vitality, and there was no way back.

Perhaps outside this darkness, the turmoil brought about by the half-destruction of the Webway magic circle has already been unparalleled. Perhaps the entire galaxy knows that someone is cruelly destroying the last hope of mankind hidden in the box.

But here, the world is still so quiet that any slightest sound can completely explode and tear apart this dying moment.

Magnus wanted nothing, he just reached out his hand.

His two fingers were touched.

The ray of light wrapped around his fingers and then fell into his arms, like a light feather, held in his arms.

Some kind of noble thought flowed out from it, illuminating Magnus's mind.

He faintly felt the sound coming from this invisible light. It was the sound of dawn that transcended language, the midday sun and the sacred fire of love, but also the confused distress, the harsh and lonely night after dusk, the evil stones and the low night, a body that needed sleep, and a spirit that needed to rest in the dark.

He cried out, suffered, wept, wept, defended himself, was fervent, indignant, and condemned. He had been fighting against darkness for a long time.

He once revealed the light to the nations, but now only this remnant of his soul remains, surviving alone in pain.

He was in his arms, and he placed his last soul in his hands.

Magnus felt a little helpless, which was not the right thing to do under such a tight deadline. He looked up, opened his eyes, and thought, "Let's go, Magnus, let's go to Vigberach, to the place where the sun can be reborn as a star."

The only light was in his arms, and there was no light anywhere he looked. He had to find his way to Vigberach, and he needed a path to light.

Magnus imagined a carving knife, thin enough and sharp enough.

Then, he continued to hold the beam of light with his left hand, reached into the void with his right hand, took out the carving needle, opened his right eye, trembled slightly, and then meticulously and steadily engraved the rune pointing to Vigberach on the surface of his eyeball.

After completing this task, he took out the eyeball that had been transformed into invisible candlelight from the eye socket and held it in his palm. A layer of faint guiding path emerged again in the darkness in front of him. This was the price he had to pay to leave the Dark Throne.

He began to move in the direction indicated by the eyeball, and the last remaining restraints of the Emperor on the Dark Lord finally broke under the weight.

The darkness behind him finally reacted, surging and chasing his back. The silence formed into suffocating sickles and tendrils, hooking through his body and pulling him back again and again, but it did not dare to go directly into the inside of Tuthmons.

Magnus stumbled like a stumbling stone, and ran with difficulty holding the beam of light.

How far was the darkness from him? Was he about to be overtaken?

Magnus staggered, took steps forward, and moved forward in the convulsing dark world. Sometimes he felt like a small boat about to be overturned by the wind and waves, and sometimes he felt like he was falling a thousand meters from a height and smashed on the boulders below. He climbed up, roaring in pain, and ran non-stop, while protecting the light in his arms.

What is he doing, Magnus? It sounds like a complete escape from justice... He has just tampered with the energy flow of Thutmose, he has even blasted all the blockades, and now he is running for his life in the dark with the Emperor like an idiot, or like some weird, awkward insect, twitching and jumping.

Or maybe he had died a long time ago, and the world now was just an infinitely prolonged fantasy of the moment before his death. He actually had nothing left. After he destroyed Tuthmons, which he had worked so hard on, with his own hands, he was completely dead... Is that so? Maybe so.

But he didn't want this, he also hated destruction, disliked darkness, hated hopeless gambles, hoped that he could always live in the company of others, hoped that he could eat Prospero's dessert under the bright and glorious sun, and turn the emerald feather pen in his hand...

Two hundred years ago, he lived a carefree life like this, with the only worry being the topic of tomorrow's research. He grew up freely under the protection of the sages of Tizca, soaring in the ocean of fantasy with the Emperor at night, immersed in the piles of books with the fragrance of paper, and lived a happy and pure life listening to the voice of his heart. He felt that this was all he needed.

Sometimes he also knew that a person always had to grow up, and that responsibilities would fall on his shoulders as he grew up, as a deferred reward for the happiness in his childhood that he had asked for in advance, but he didn't want to bear the pain alone, nor did he want to face the expectant eyes of others, because they were too hot and hurtful. During the day, he enjoyed everyone's admiration, and at night he was worried that he would be unworthy of the expectations of the people he cared about. Occasionally, when he lay under the starry sky and looked at the stars of Tizca, he would also worry whether he was not good enough, and whether his evasion and avoidance were not worthy of others' admiration. He hoped that he could live alone in a pure white tower, looking up at the sky and no one else's gaze around him.

Soon Prospero was turned upside down. So many of his teachers and friends died, and he still missed the laughter they had when they grabbed the same book and competed to be the first to read it. He missed the cookies from the market that Amon brought him, which he missed. He missed the shining shell of the Great Library and the warm sun in the sky.

But all this happened two hundred years ago.

In this way, he kept running in the darkness. His eyes had taken him through many curved branches, some of which were folded up and down, and some of the horizontal and vertical convergence lines were difficult to distinguish, and he was already very tired. He was too tired, and his strength was no longer enough to support his consumption.

His heart was pounding, the world was spinning. Was he really still running? Had he stopped?

Were all his efforts in the pure dark annihilation just illusions and fantasies?

For a moment he felt as if he were back in Prospero, floating over the puddles of rainwater and wandering about in the bright sunshine.

Oh, the faces of those people whom he almost bumped into recklessly, flashed past him one by one, forming the fragments of his life... How much he loved his life, how much he liked the world he once had, instead of this dead darkness that brought him endless pain and repeated despair.

His body was still falling far below, sinking without stopping, burying him in the suffocating graveyard...

Tell me, anyone, tell me, am I doing the right thing?
Since when, the surrounding environment seemed to have changed. In the darkness, a complex perception emerged, colorful and full of malice, swirling and surging eagerly... The thick fog was whistling and rushing around, filling and surging, more turbulent than ever, madly scratching the outer wall of the webway - and Magnus had already reinforced everything he could while reshaping Thutmons. He hoped that this would really come in handy.

For a moment, the pure darkness of terror gripped his neck fiercely. He was knocked to the ground indirectly by some vicious force, pressed into the thick fog in the netway. His eyeball flew out of his hand.

The Emperor's Light in his arms flickered for a moment, and Magnus murmured in a trembling voice, "It's okay, father, don't worry..."

He groped blindly with one hand, his shaking arm carefully sweeping every inch of the rough road around him, until his little finger touched the rune-protected sphere. The lights came on again.

He struggled to his feet, tried three or four times, his whole body twitching uncontrollably, he was shaking so violently, his breath was dark and cold, and his strength was trembling from his will like fading vapor.

"Never mind those things, Father," he said, "I'll get you out of here..."

He seemed to see the emperor's back, the robe swaying slightly, the candles, and the stars waiting for him to look up...

He listened, and he could still hear the Emperor's steady footsteps, right beside him, and the waves of the Warp that were dispersed by the Emperor's hand. He followed his steps, watching every flickering color around him - now there was only one candle left, burning in his own palm.

Magnus took a deep breath and stood up. Did the light in his arms gently tap the inside of his arm?

His cheeks were wet.

After leaving Prospero he had assumed the role of leader, leading his warriors and scholars to fight for humanity, just as he was doing now, squeezing out some of his remaining strength to hold up a thin shield to resist the wind and waves brought by Chaos hitting the Webway.

Sometimes he was at the front of the battle formation, sometimes he was in command of a ship high in the sky. When thousands or even tens of thousands of psykers united as one, pouring dangerous power beyond reality into the same battle, he was the final ruler and guide who held up the shield with them. He repeated the duties he had performed in the war with millions of soldiers, but now he was fighting alone.

Nearly two hundred years ago, he was no longer a child or a teenager. He had grown up and became a leader. Most of the time, he was respected and even feared. Especially when accepting the annual research results, even Ahriman avoided him. He waved his weapon, pointed the direction, looked into the distance in the vast Milky Way, put the stars into his bag, and then presented them to the glory of the empire.

Countless decisions were made by him, and countless orders were signed by the Scarlet King at the bottom of the parchment scroll. He was sanctified as the supreme monarch and demigod by some planets, regarded as a ruthless overlord who played magic in some places, and some mortals called him a killer under the divine glory.

He accepted these ominous names and accusations with pleasure, even if he occasionally felt resentful and wronged. He never neglected his duties, he dared to swear on Prospero.

He is a beacon to others, and his figure is also a signpost for his warriors to identify the road. Tens of thousands of Thousand Dust Suns, as well as countless auxiliary troops and crew members... They shine brightly...

"It will be all right, Father," Magnus whispered, and the sound was like an endless stream of air, filled with strange fear and an unconcealable confusion. "We will succeed, and everything will be all right."

He moved forward in the darkness awkwardly, one foot deep and one foot shallow. The hand embracing the light was too cold to be felt, like a mist hanging on his shoulders. A sob mixed with his heartbeat came out of his throat. The road ahead was fragmented, and sometimes the cold air slammed him against the wall, and he tore apart like a torn canvas.

Even without actual access to the Webway, the power of Chaos was still enough to destroy a Primarch who had nearly burned everything.

He bled dry for the calculations, for the murder of his brother, for the destruction of the Webway, for the grasping of the Emperor's hand. He became a jagged piece of wood, split by a great axe, thrown into water and roasted in fire.

He was so tired. He was so exhausted. His strength was gone.

Then Magnus trotted, in a lifeless way, and he could hear the sound of crackling in his body, the power of the Dark Gods and the Fifth God fighting near him. He could feel the destructive force hitting his body, passing through his skin and into his blood vessels and bone marrow.

He suddenly thought of the Tower of Astarte across from the Observatory, and for no reason, the vision of white marble swayed before his eyes. It was bright, white, and gleaming, with a gleaming light.

"That's it," Magnus muttered. "Father, I swore to you there. Alas, I was not afraid at all. I was tired, or something. I did run a little slowly, after all, I am not the most athletic Primarch..."

His footsteps echoed in the webway. No, it was still dark and silent. His footsteps echoed in his own heart. Again and again.

"It's almost there, it must be almost there." He whispered, the light in his arms flickering quietly, becoming increasingly dim. "Hurry up, Magnus..."

Without noticing, time around him seemed to slow down, twisting toward the horizontal.

The energy of the crossroads where time was stagnant gathered together, pushing other forces back. At this time, Magnus realized that Vigberach was now resisting himself - until the Emperor's spirit stagnated in Vigberach, all the glorious paths could be illuminated, and the power of death could reach the beginning of time along the path of enlightenment under the leadership of the Emperor.

The resistance is still increasing, and the unyielding and ruthless force has an end...

Magnus fell, his arm hitting the ground, his head banging hard, the pain rolling through his mind, drifting away from the leaky body. The body he built with his will was dissipating, and the impact of the pain was still spreading, starting from his calves and shoulders, gradually evaporating his will form. Blood and tears covered his face, forming a cold mask of despair.

He failed.

He could not get up again, his last bit of strength burned out as he realized the situation at the crossroads. The eyeball fell near his cheek, and the flickering light went out. His tiny consciousness cried in despair, he was close enough, but the last obstacle was something he had no chance of breaking through. His hope exploded painfully in his chest, exploding a huge and unparalleled cavity.

He failed.

In a kind of ineffective ferocity, he trembled and cursed Chaos, cursed Lorgar Aurelion, cursed the Illuminati, cursed them to fall into greater failure, cursed them to enter the end. Then he began to blame himself, blamed his own failures and shortcomings, regretted the many things he had not done well in his life... There were so many hidden opportunities, so many details he missed...

He was completely defeated.

His death throes were futile, his solitary march through the darkness a joke. No one knew where Magnus had vanished to, but now that Thutmunds had been destroyed, the imbalance of power would accumulate, the Webway Project would collapse, and the Crimson King would take his sins with him to the end of time.

His body and soul burned away, the light of the Emperor hovering around the last of his consciousness, slowly fading as the power of the Dark Lord drew closer.

The Dark Lord could not gain any power from Magnus's remains, as he had devoted everything to the Webway and Vigberach, but no one could stop the coming of the Fifth God.

From the first cry of the Dark Lord, mankind will be annihilated in the depths of eternal chaos and evil, all reality will no longer make sense, all the past will come to an end. Chaos will sweep the world. There will no longer be a galaxy, only the lifeless Pandemonium.

Whoever it is, don't forgive me.

The tide of darkness was rolling around him, its power was at hand. This immense force that was once restricted by the Emperor had now seized upon his icy power and was about to exact revenge a thousandfold on this hateful and cruel world.

It was over. He had heard the echo of destruction, rumbling on the dark side of the world, tearing and rubbing the surface of reality, twisting it into a fragile paper ball that was not worth mentioning, and then turning into fragments, falling endlessly into the abyss.

This was once the power of the Emperor...

No. There is still one chance.

There is one more chance... Yes, yes, Magnus, stand up, do not give up, think quickly... Since that was the power of the Emperor, then, perhaps, it is worth trying once, one last time. Magnus, one last time.

He stood up.

He is no longer an entity existing in the world, but has become a separate perspective, an empty eye.

He looked down at the last ray of light that was suspended on the ground, then he floated up and let himself fall backwards into endless darkness.

His vision transcended reality, floating on a torrent of pure energy, calmly passing through the endless horror of darkness, sinking deeper and deeper.

The world passed him by as he fell, gazing calmly at the sky, at the last glimmer of the Emperor's light. He was nothing, nothing. A crimson trail trailed the path of his falling existence, like a dangling spider's thread.

Until he reached the depth he desired.

The Cursed City of God.

In the deepest darkness, this realm that once belonged to the Emperor still exists, and the souls in it are bound by the directionless darkness and have nowhere to go.

And Magnus sensed their presence - stubbornly protected by a lucid consciousness equal to that of his former primarch, working together to resist the encroachment of darkness.

They will rise.

He landed on the edge of the City of God, and a crimson thread connected the dark and lonely city with the outside world.

Gradually, he saw some light rising upwards, following the thread, finding a path through darkness and despair... Thousands of angels flapped their wings, and a tide of light surged past him, and no soul noticed the fall of an imperceptible crimson stardust. So bright, so glorious...

They climbed upward until the light disappeared into the darkness as far as he could see.

The darkness returned to the silence of death, the void covered everything again, and the crimson line gradually dissipated, disappearing without a trace.

Magnus calmly awaited the final verdict.

He watched the light fade away, and continued to fall into darkness. His self had long since burned up, but he still persisted in some form he couldn't explain. The last part of him continued to stare at the end of the darkness. He would not be alive to witness that decisive moment, but he still watched.

After an unknown amount of time, a flash of light suddenly appeared in the distance.

A star suddenly broke through the darkness at the far end of time, emitting a wonderful light.

…Look, the angel brought the Emperor into Vigberach. Whether it was a sense of destiny or an instinctive feeling, he won the gamble…

The Emperor ascends to the crossroads of the Paths of Glory. The flow of all paths is gradually reversing, and the altered order of his will is taking effect, so that from now on the supply of death and the end will return to the stars.

One day, one day, that star will once again become the sun of the human race.

Oh, if only he could share his joy with anyone. If only he could talk to someone, ask them if they were doing their duty.

He really wanted to hear praise or encouragement from others. He wanted someone to tell him that he had made up for his mistakes. He did a great job. Just like two hundred years ago...

The sun was so warm at that time that the pyramids of Prospero in the distance were bathed in clear light. There was no sign of destruction on anything, as if this tranquility would last forever.

(End of this chapter)