The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Soshjan was well aware that even now, many Eldar still couldn't accept a human becoming the Phoenix King. Despite Doral's extensive promotion of Soshjan's bloodline, there were still those in the streets and in the council who sneered at Soshjan's identity.

Actually, he himself didn't care much about this, but if he wanted to reorganize the War Court's armed forces, he had to convince everyone—especially the War-Seers and Autarchs. Soshjan could feel that although these people accepted his command, they resisted it from the bottom of their hearts, they were unwilling.

But when it really came to the moment, Soshjan felt a sense of—

Absurdity.

Who would have thought that he, an Astartes Chapter Master, would now be standing in an alien temple, about to witness a miracle of an alien god?

Probably even the Warp couldn't come up with such a joke, right?

For some reason, his mind was a bit chaotic, and many things flashed through his head.

Would the Emperor know about these things?

Would the Deceiver know?

Would people like Malcador know?

Would Master Shii's know?

What exactly made him walk to where he is today step by step?

Does he look like a ridiculous clown now?

Is this also within Asuryan's plan?

Lost in his thoughts, he felt the spiritbone steps beneath his feet were as light as cotton, until he was almost touching the brazier, he realized he had arrived.

Wearing his armor, he held the Grail and paused for a moment, then turned around. At this moment, he could look down at all the Eldar, who were all looking up at him slightly. Whether they were soldiers, civilians, seers, or scholars, their expressions were strange and yet strikingly similar, either expectant, contemptuous, hopeful, or mocking.

Could just a flame change them?

Soshjan looked down at the Grail in his hand, and suddenly he remembered something. It seemed that Xerxes' homeworld also had a faith that worshiped fire, and this should have some connection, right?

Actually, Soshjan didn't quite understand how to use this thing, and he hadn't even looked at it carefully a few times, but he could feel the temperature of his palm spreading on the Grail.

Asuryan, Asuryan—

Suddenly, he heard a faint sound in his ear, as if thousands of voices were intertwined.

First Phoenix, Original Phoenix, Father of Creation, Father of Souls—

The voice became closer, and Soshjan could feel the Grail becoming hotter, and the temperature fed back into his palm.

Asuryan! Asuryan!

The voice gradually changed from a whisper to a roar, to the roar of millions of people.

Suddenly, he realized that the voice was not far away, he saw the gazes below, those contemptuous, those mocking, all turned into heat, all the Eldar were calling out, they were so eager for their father god—

Soshjan couldn't quite understand, but when he thought of the Emperor, and the scene of countless people flocking to the cathedral, he understood again.

The next second, platinum flames rose from the Grail.

Eternal Father, Asuryan—

Doral was the first to cheer, and the other Eldar then let out a tsunami-like roar. Their intense psychic power even formed a huge phoenix in the swirling smoke, and slowly soared around the pyramid, as if the fallen god had once again been reborn from the ashes and returned to his children.

Soshjan pursed his lips, suppressing his complex emotions, then turned around. He didn't know how to light the brazier, so he subconsciously tilted the Grail like pouring wine, as if to pour the flames inside into the brazier.

But this directly caused a sudden result.

Amidst the exclamations of the crowd, the sacred fire of Asuryan that fell into the brazier suddenly soared, rising tens of meters high, and then sprinkled towards the pyramid.

Soshjan didn't react for a moment. By the time he realized that something was wrong, he was already surrounded by steaming flames, but although surrounded by flames, he only felt a slight heat, as if being caressed by the spring sun.

But the dazzling fire blurred his vision, and everything in front of him seemed to be distorted, as if he had fallen into an unconscious dream.

When he covered his eyes with his hand, trying to see what was happening, he found himself standing on a warm stone surface. The rock was illuminated by the light, still appearing gray-black like charcoal, and not far in front of him, a huge ball of fire like the sun was burning fiercely and quietly.

Looking inside, he could find that in the center of the flame, there remained a drop of pure transparency.

It looked so far away, yet so close at hand.

Soshjan twitched his slightly sore eyelids and reached out towards the fireball and the transparent crystal within it.

Hot—Scalding—Scorching—

Soon the light disappeared, and Soshjan found himself standing on a crimson path, yet it felt like he was experiencing the feeling of falling into the flames again. On both sides of the path, rivers of flames flowed, and statues of Eldar rose and fell in the river, but they would not burn with the fire, as if they were elves floating in the sea of fire.

Soshjan started walking, enduring the dryness and heat forward. Although the path under his feet slowly turned into a gray stone road, the raging fire on both sides also turned into dying sparks and flying ashes.

Further forward, what he walked on became a black stone road, and the heat and decay were finally able to die forever, becoming cold and ruthless black stone chains and long bridges erected by the chains. The water of the ring lake under the bridge had long dried up into black and dark red magma, and not even a shiny lava bubble would bulge, like the completely extinguished Asuryan fire.

Soon, he reached the end of this black stone road, a semi-circular black stone judgment platform, on which was a huge statue, wearing gorgeous armor, which made Soshjan feel familiar.

Then he realized that this was his appearance, at this time he was kneeling on one knee, reaching out his right hand forward, and there was a ball of platinum flame in the palm of his open hand, and the flame was constantly flowing around.

In front of the statue, stood a slender figure, which made Soshjan even more surprised—

It was Veronica, her hair was tightly tied with spiritbone pins, and red tear stains hung on her pale cheeks, wearing a plain white robe, which was the color of death and mourning.

"Veronica"

Soshjan walked over cautiously, the other party's mourning dress made him feel a little strange and palpitating, as if it represented a bad omen.

Before Soshjan could get close, the other party's black-painted lips trembled slightly, and she uttered a sentence.

"Don't trust the path they have arranged for you."

Soshjan frowned, before he could open his mouth, various images flooded into his mind when she stared at him, and various pictures emerged from his subconscious.