How can a retired savior be considered retired if he drops to 40,000?

It took him some time to realize that something was wrong with him, and some time to realize that something was wrong with everyone. It took him a long time to realize both things. A very long time - maybe hours. Even for a mortal, taking that long to realize something so obvious would be called "slow."

But what must also be taken into consideration is that, under the same conditions, it is impossible for a mortal to realize that something is wrong here.

Alita was still beside him, holding her ration can, and Old Hank was farther away, curled up on his blue-gray-sick limbs, sitting casually on the steps.

What were they originally doing?

In order to think about this problem, Sevatar unconsciously spent more than ten minutes. They were originally packing the luggage they were going to carry when they returned to the fourth district, and he even made up his mind once again to be down-to-earth and face his own destiny - if he could still think normally, looking back now, he would definitely laugh at himself for what a ridiculous ambition he had at that time.

But he can't, so his thinking only goes as far as his own goals.

Sevatar's sluggish thinking was still running slowly, but it was also much faster than before. In other circumstances, this was certainly not something to be praised, but at the moment, he was already better than most people on this planet: at least he could still think.

He didn't know that he had been immersed in a large-scale Chaos ritual at the planetary level for a long time, and didn't realize that he had been exposed to trace amounts of warp radiation in the ten Terran years, or nine local years, since he came to this planet. Like the 60 million humans living on this planet, he was unable to realize that this was the last nine years of the ninety-nine local years required by the ritual under the influence of Chaos energy. The planet's land, water, and even the vegetation that grew on it had rapidly undergone their final mutations in these nine years close to the harvest, and naturally he could not realize that he, who relied on these to survive, had also been permeated by a similar curse.

But he is still thinking about it now.

Under such unfavorable circumstances, there are two factors that still act as a thread to hold Sevatar back from sliding into hell: one is the biological alchemy from the Emperor. The Astartes transformation surgery did take something away from them, but it obviously gave these warriors who were destined to be extraordinary people more. The second is his innate psychic talent.

One thing that's easily overlooked is that Yago Sevitarion is a psyker.

He didn't like his gift, since he was strong enough without psychic powers. In his early years, before he was transformed and set foot on the sea of ​​stars, he had heard the whispers of the dead too often because of this gift. When he became an Astartes, he even tried to seal this gift during his service in the Eighth Legion, hoping that it would disappear on its own. Unfortunately, this was obviously a wishful thinking. This power that he never understood and never successfully controlled only grew stronger under the seal. If it weren't for the help of a noble person, he would probably have been killed by his own gift.

Even though he had reluctantly learned how to control and use this ability from the little astropath Otani who worked for the Dark Angels on their warships, he still didn't like this gift. It made him see many things he didn't really want to see and hear many things he didn't really want to hear. During the ten Terran years he lived in Jestal, he gradually understood how his gene father was driven crazy by uncontrollable prophecies - fortunately, most of the foreseeable future on this remote planet was stable and peaceful enough, so he was not in danger of going insane.

But this very talent, which he did not like and which almost killed him, was now saving him.

The Astartes transformation surgery made him tougher than ordinary people both physically and mentally, giving him the basic conditions to break free from the web that would trap and kill ordinary people; and his own psychic energy finally realized that those subtle "transformations" would deprive him of the ability to think independently, so driven by Sevatar's survival instinct, it began to flow, wanting to take back what originally belonged to him.

He didn't realize it, but his thinking was definitely getting faster.

It took him five minutes to realize that he was not too far away from the scene in his last memory: he was now standing in the open space outside the freight terminal building; two minutes later, he realized that almost all the people who were temporarily staying in the freight terminal like him were also gathered here; after another thirty seconds, he realized that the "blue-gray syndrome" of almost everyone around him had worsened to varying degrees.

Sevatar was active in the 30th millennium. He was more familiar with the "Imperial Truth" propaganda, but he had also seen some of his more... fanatical cousins ​​do some weird things after the Great Heresy. Therefore, he was not very clear about what was happening, how to get out of trouble, and how to stop this thing from continuing to develop in a direction he didn't want to see. Fortunately, he was sure that what was happening was supernatural and could not be explained by common sense and logic.

Then, he naturally thought that this might be dealt with by supernatural psychic powers that could not be explained by common sense and logic.

When he thought of this, he did not realize that while he was being saved by this supernatural power, he was also being killed by it at the same time.

He seems to be normal in the real world, but his spiritual energy, which only follows his instinct and lacks basic protection, unknowingly lights up his soul.To the creatures behind the curtain, this is like a candlelight in the dark, a bit of food in the sand. They seem to be without threat or defense, and will only make the insects rush to bite them.And Sevatar, who has always lacked a true understanding of psychic power, may not have any means to resist the unborn.

The only thing standing between them was the veil between the Warp and reality. However, after the Great Rift had opened, and under the influence of nearly a hundred years of Chaos rituals, that veil had already become as thin as a cicada's wing and was in danger of breaking.

In fact, before the official starting gun was fired, they had already started looking for suitable targets to feast on.

Sevatar's affected thinking was so slow that he failed to discover how this incident started.After he tried his best to return to normal as much as possible, he turned around and saw old Hank who had become less human.

I think that for the demons waiting to divide the spoils behind the curtain, the bodies that are more deeply infected by chaos are easier to seize, and old Hank, who has a history of "blue-gray disease" for more than 40 years, is naturally the first to bear the brunt. This slick, leisurely old man who always finds loopholes to intercept a little bit of supplies to make wine groans, feathers protruding from his skin that has long turned blue-gray, and the bone structure of his limbs quickly becomes more similar to birds in the teeth-grinding friction and fracture sounds. He waved his arms in pain, perhaps wanting to ask for help, or perhaps just wanting to grab something, but his rapidly alienated vocal structure no longer supports him to speak like a human.

Sevatar therefore had no way of knowing what Old Hank wanted to express at the end of his consciousness. After the eyes that had become cloudy early due to age and hard work closed, when they opened again, they were already flashing with a disgusting, joyful and evil light with inhuman wisdom. Therefore, no relevant knowledge was needed, even those who rigidly regarded the Imperial Truth as their criterion could immediately be sure when they saw such a look: Old Hank was dead.

Now occupying this body in the material realm is something else.

This kind of thing didn't just happen once. Old Hank might be the first to bear the brunt, but how many people working on this planet haven't been infected with "blue-gray disease" under the infiltration of the Chaos Ritual? And even those who don't show corresponding symptoms on the surface of their bodies, can they be said to be safe?

As an Astartes, after living on this planet for ten Terran years, Sevatar could barely hold on. What about the ordinary mortals who were born and raised here?

He heard the sound of a small can falling to the ground. Without having a keen sense of hearing, anyone could easily tell from the sound that the lid of the loosely sealed tin can that had been used for ten years had fallen off when it collided with the ground, and the round wheat inside was scattered all over the ground. In his sight, there were many people who had worked with him, had only spoken a few words to him, barely knew him, or didn't know him at all, twitching and wailing, but Sevatar didn't care much about them. He just desperately pushed his rusty neck to look in Alita's direction.

He didn't know what he could do when he couldn't save himself, and he also vaguely knew that he might be unable to do anything. But he still turned his head, thinking that he had to at least confirm Alita's condition.

His eyes slid across the ground, and round wheat grains bounced and rolled past his eyes. Sevata suddenly realized that round wheat should not be like this - it is indeed a full and round grain after being shelled, but it is definitely not this round, and it is definitely not so much like a shrunken eyeball, and it will not roll on the ground by itself, even chasing each other, while mumbling cheerful and blasphemous whispers.

...Has the food produced in Jestal always been like this?

Just when his attention was unconsciously attracted by the round wheat running all over the ground, Alita's trembling hand grabbed the corner of his clothes. He couldn't catch her sight yet, but it seemed that he didn't need to - because before everything, the touch from that hand that might no longer be called a "hand" was fear.

This was the emotion that Yago Sevitarion, the captain of the Night Lords, was most familiar with in his life. Before his vision received the signal, his sense of touch, hearing, and even smell had already integrated this abstract concept and passed it to his brain as an answer.

Alita's hands, which had almost completely turned blue, grabbed the tiny holes in the rough fabric with their sharp claws that didn't exist, and Sevatar's sense of touch received her whimper of fear and trembling in pain. The teeth-grinding sound of bones rubbing against each other sounded right beside him, and Sevatar's stiff neck finally twisted to a suitable angle, and he could finally see what Alita looked like now:

The gorgeous feathers had covered her arms and spread towards her torso. Her body was silently twisted by the infiltrating power of chaos, and the extra growth of tissue tore at her simple clothes. Sevatar clearly saw the scar on her neck that would have been hidden under the high collar. The straight and thin white line that he had repaired with his own hands seemed to come alive within a few breaths of the dizzying blue spreading up, wriggling and transforming into a mysterious symbol.

Alita's lovely face, which was always smiling, had been distorted beyond recognition by pain and fear. Winding tear marks flowed from her desperate eyes, passing over the small freckles on her fair cheeks, and fell silently to the ground.

"Jacob...Jacob...what should I do...save me..." Her voice was no longer as cheerful as before, and was mixed with sharp scraping sounds that were not human.

Alita, who was being alienated into another species, instinctively turned to the most knowledgeable and trusted person she knew for help:

"Something... is eating me..."

But the one she prayed to, Captain Yago Sevitarion of the Night Lords, could do nothing.

An unknown regret and anger rose from his chest: innocent people were suffering before his eyes, and once again, he could do nothing.

The bell announcing the arrival of midnight rang on time, and the ninth day of the celebration arrived. The starting gun was truly fired, the curtain was completely broken, and a carnival feast that did not belong to humans began on the surface of Jestal.

Amid the boiling cheers that the human spirit could hardly bear, Sevatar quietly asked himself:

Why, once again, can't you do anything?

Saiwei Otter! Otter is open! Keep touching Otter to open!! (Going crazy)

(End of this chapter)

Chapter 25: Thank you for the help from Brother Flower

The predicted time was getting closer and closer, and Conrad Curz was just waiting in boredom.

The Storm's Edge was on autopilot, its hull covered with some kind of magic camouflage that could even evade detection by auspex, and it hovered unnoticed above the First City.

It welcomed the sunset of Jestal together with the huge city, and received the blasphemous speech made by the Hastings Tech Officer on the radio. The only difference was that no one on this ship took the initiative to listen to the evil whispers from the warp, but this did not mean that the Storm Edge, also located on Jestal, could remain immune.

The pollution of Chaos does not only exist in the sounds that can be recognized by human ears, but also hides in the electrical signals transmitted along the global broadcast network. The poison of the warp is cunning and they cannot infect the system of Storm's Edge itself, nor can they disrupt the strange rules that are formed within the hull, and they are not qualified to affect any official crew members on this ship - but the informal ones are another matter.

Certain key words in the whispers seemed to trigger something. As the speech progressed, bursts of wailing came from the small cabins where the 18 Night Lords were imprisoned.

In fact, this is not difficult to understand. Hastings Tech Officer, or rather, the thing wearing Hastings Tech Officer's skin, mixed a spell that could detonate the Chaos pollution accumulated in other people's bodies into his speech. This was originally prepared as part of a ritual for the residents of Jestal who had survived for generations, but this spell was obviously not very picky when it came to choosing the right person.

As members of a renegade warband, a Chaos Astartes who have long used the Warp as a cover to deal with the Imperium, no one would believe such a fantasy if they were to say that these Midnight Lords had never been tainted by Chaos at all.

Conrad Curz knew this very well. Part of this conclusion was drawn from basic logical reasoning based on facts, and the other part was what he saw in the prophetic vision. The moment he saw his eighteen descendants, he knew the end of these people: they would be killed by him. Sooner or later.

They did not die at the scene of their evil deeds, but were detained, so they would die where they were detained. Curze was so sure from the beginning, and his prophecy provided evidence for his inference a short time later. The closer he got to that time, the clearer the future became: he saw his descendants tortured by the whispers of Chaos, and their minds twisted by the pollution of the warp; he saw that some of these people succumbed to the enemy because their spirits could not bear it, and others became monsters without minds because their bodies were too severely mutated; he saw that he was helpless and could only destroy their lives with death, judge their sins, end their harm, and disintegrate their suffering.

He was unable to do anything as predicted, so he simply did nothing in reality.

He was waiting for that moment, the point when everything became irreversible. After that moment, he would kill all his hopeless descendants on the ship, and then he would go down to the ground and grant a peaceful death to his favorite son, who was also terminally ill and beyond help.

Amid the painful groans of the prisoners in the cabin, the unique sense of disharmony on the Storm Edge reappeared, and Koz felt that he was being watched by something without malice.

When he first boarded the ship half a year ago, he had tried to find the source of this sight, but gave up after dozens of fruitless searches and confirming that it was harmless. If it were normal, he would choose to ignore this sense of disobedience as usual, but now, this little bit of stimulation that aroused his sixth sense also made him extremely irritated.

About four months later, Curze stood up again to find the source of this sense of disharmony, but the moment he stood up, another future scene gently flowed before his eyes: he saw that the eighteen Night Lords on the ship survived, wearing patchwork but obviously reorganized power armor loosely forming an array; he saw Yago Sevitarion wearing Terminator armor standing in front of everyone, casually using a chainsaw halberd to support his center of gravity; he saw himself leading this team, and saw that they were like an indestructible blade, driving straight into the enemy's core position -

——He struggled to get up from the illusion, trying to pull his consciousness back to reality, and asked the empty surroundings:

"Who on earth created this stupid illusion?!"

Fujimaru Ritsuka and Somni were still on the Dark Angel's Lion's Mane. At that moment, Curze was the only person who could move freely on the Storm's Edge. Logically, his question would not be answered. But a few seconds later, a young male voice that sounded frivolous and unreliable sounded out of nowhere in the cabin:

"Do you think I want to use such a crude and substandard method?" The voice accused back confidently, as if it was Coze who had the problem, not him. "After all, we shouldn't expect the accuracy of magic that crosses the barriers of the world and is performed in a completely different operating environment, right? I have tried my best to achieve this! The most important thing to do at this time is not to criticize the accuracy of the illusion, but to praise me for being awesome! Do you understand?"

Curze looked around alertly, but neither his normal vision nor the omen of his gift gave him any clues. The voice was still complaining to itself:

"I had planned everything well, but why aren't you sleeping? I'm really trying so hard to make sure all the side stories in Ritsuka's story have a happy ending! I'm really trying so hard!"

-

"I don't understand." After a series of intelligence gathering (or, a battle of wits with the Dark Angel Fire Wing Grand Master), remote sensing surveys, data fitting, and modeling inferences, Fujimaru Ritsuka, who was sitting in front of the table, covered his face in frustration. "Although I understand that talking about understanding with the Tzeentch demon is the first step towards the abyss...but I don't understand!"

Lanmaroc glanced at the pile of holographic screens projected in front of Somni, showing numbers, waveforms, and models. Well, he couldn't understand anything.

"Is there anything wrong with this ritual?"

"There is nothing wrong with the ceremony itself. It can even be said to be simple and clear." Fujimaru Ritsuka raised her head from behind her palm and reached out to grab one of the holographic screens. The next second, the display screen she wanted floated over under Somni's control and was projected in front of them:

That is a simplified diagram of the space-time curvature around the planet Jestal. In the Empire, which mainly relies on the subspace for faster-than-light travel, it is a technology that has been sitting on the bench for a long time. Even the members of the Mechanicus rarely care about it. In fact, even if it is just related monitoring technology, it is not useless in space travel, but...

Lan Malok threw these irrelevant thoughts out of his mind and focused on the indications shown by Fujimaru Ritsuka.

Perhaps it was somewhat difficult for the Astartes of other legions to understand what this frozen technology would show through data, but Lanmalok belonged to the First Legion.

"To put it simply, the main purpose of this ritual is to create a 'flush toilet'. At the final stage, with the push of a button, the entire planet will be flushed into the subspace." Fujimaru Ritsuka pointed out several key indicators on the light screen, showing the correlation between the subspace energy fluctuations near Jestal and the space-time curvature, and pulled out another model:

"You see, the distorted space-time around the planet is completely enveloping it - in fact, something similar has already happened in the subspace. In theory, the astropaths resident on that planet should have discovered that their astropathic communications could not be transmitted as early as fifty years ago. But I don't think there are any normal astropaths on Jestal. Now as long as the space-time on this side of the physical world also isolates this planet, it will undoubtedly form a space-time singularity that is completely unable to communicate with the outside world. At that time, external observers will never know what is happening inside, and the 'flush toilet' can quietly 'flush' by itself."

"...It is indeed a disaster, but it sounds like the damage won't be that great." Lanmarok said. Abandoning a planet that originally belonged to an alien would not cause any psychological burden to him.

"It's not calculated that way. It's not as simple as sending an extinction order to a planet and completely destroying it physically - it's swept out of the dimension of the physical universe." Fujimaru Ritsuka thought for a while, "For example, a small dot is drawn on a piece of white paper with a pencil. The paper is the physical universe, and the small dot is Jestal. If we want to destroy the planet on a physical level, we would erase it with an eraser, but this ritual doesn't do that. It takes a knife from somewhere else and directly digs out the small dot along with the part of the paper that carries it."

Lanmarok vaguely understood part of it: "This ritual will eventually leave a hole in the physical universe."

"And there will naturally be water flowing through this hole." Ritsuka added, "I can't say what kind of water it is, but anyway, this hole will indeed become larger and larger under the impact of the water flow, and then more water will continue to tear apart the physical universe... a vicious cycle."

Lanmarok was silent for a while. He had indeed been through many battles, faced tangible enemies, and fought intangible monsters, but this was the first time he had faced such a problem. "The invasion of the subspace tore the physical universe apart" was still too advanced for an Astartes active in the 30th millennium.

Taking advantage of this moment, Somni seemed to have finally found the opportunity to interrupt and immediately reminded: "We haven't started to estimate the scale of the enemy's presence yet."

"It's meaningless. The chaotic energy on this planet is running exactly according to the ritual program. We can only barely find a few traces of the devil. The intelligence is seriously insufficient. Besides, I don't think the person who presided over this ritual is a powerful person."

"Perhaps we can use the scale of the ceremony to eliminate redundant data and make a reverse calculation..."

"It doesn't work that way." Fujimaru Ritsuka shook his head. "The fundamental meaning of rituals is 'borrowing power that does not belong to you through certain customary steps'. To use an easier-to-understand analogy, it's like a power sword. A swordsman with a power sword is of course more dangerous, but if you just want to accomplish a simple goal like 'splitting steel plates', any child who can hold a sword can easily accomplish it by flipping a switch. We've only seen the 'sword' part, and it can be said that it operates precisely and perfectly, and it is indeed a good sword, but if we judge the level of the 'sword holder' based on this, it would be a major strategic mistake."

"This... ritual." Lanmalok finally found his voice. "What can be done to stop it? Is there an important part that can be called a core? If it is destroyed-"

"It has come to this point. Forcibly stopping it may have the opposite effect. Let's use the metaphor of the power sword again. Of course, it will be a problem if you let it chop down, but if you shoot at its power supply part to make it explode, I'm afraid it will hardly have any good results. Humph, whether we stop it or not, the opponent will win. From this point of view alone, it is indeed in line with the style of the servants of the Lord of Change."

Fujimaru Ritsuka glanced at the time, then slowly stood up from the table, slowly untied the cloak draped over the Ortnaus exoskeleton, and stuffed it and the Skyhawk Scepter to Somni, "Let the ceremony proceed, and wait for the space-time singularity to form - then interfere directly from within the singularity, and at the moment when the opponent cuts down, I will take the sword without a knife, and then insert the sword back into the opponent's throat. This is my professional field."

While everyone was still in a daze, she had already begun to arrange the next task: "Mr. Lanmarok, I hope that the Lion's Mane can intercept the taxation fleet sent by the Imperial Ministry of the Interior. Before the singularity of Jestal is truly completed, those transport ships loaded with contaminated grain will definitely leave first, so that the influence of Chaos can spread to other star systems. The Dark Angels do not have to do anything special with the grain. They only need to use the excuse of hunting down fugitives and checking whether there are stowaways on the ships to prevent them from going to Mandeville Point and entering the warp. The remaining problems will naturally be corrected after the singularity is resolved."

Lanmarok was still fully equipped and wearing a helmet, but even so, anyone could easily read his reluctance from under that nondescript power armor. Fujimaru Ritsuka did not deal with this issue for the time being, but turned to the golden giant beside him and said, "Somni, I need you to teleport back to Storm's Edge and reconnect the energy supply to the Triton Engine. I may need your Noble Phantasm to support me."

Somni hesitated. "This function has not been tested yet. I am not 100% sure that it will work properly."

"It doesn't matter. Just follow your feelings. How to release a Noble Phantasm is an instinctive behavior of the Heroic Spirit, just like humans naturally know how to breathe when they are born. There is no need for any rational thinking or calculation."

The golden giant didn't say anything, but he still looked confused. He instinctively held the things that Fujimaru Ritsuka stuffed in his hand, and then suddenly realized something: "Aren't you going to teleport back to the ship together?"

“No. We need to consider the possibility that subspace transmission will be affected as the space-time blockade is formed. Your physical body is made of ether. Even if your landing point is embedded in the wall, you can easily escape by transforming into a spirit body. I will really die if I do that.”

Fujimaru Ritsuka calmly made a crazy decision:

"I'll make an orbital drop directly from the Lion's Mane."

(End of this chapter)

Chapter 26 It is He Who Makes Dreams and Reality Meet

Time stopped. Everything in Sevatar's eyes became extremely slow, and everything was silent. The almost mentally debilitating cheers and wails stopped in an instant, and everything in front of him was frozen in place, as if it was sealed into transparent amber in the blink of an eye.

Only the self-blame and anger burning in his chest reminded Sevatar that he was still alive.

He didn't know why this happened, but Alita was right in front of him, frozen in her last moment. Sevatar had no idea what was happening: Why did it become like this? What was poisoning the people of Jestal? Alita, Alita, she -

"She's hopeless," a voice announced cruelly in a sneering tone that he was all too familiar with.

Sevatar mechanically turned his head towards the direction of the voice. His mind was almost completely filled with anger, so he didn't even notice that he was the only one who could still move in this moment when everything was stagnant. He wanted to roar, he wanted to question, but when all the words came to his mouth, the sound that should have been turned into was eliminated by himself.

He saw a huge creature that was not originally here: an Astartes, a Night Lord. He was wearing Iron Knight-style Terminator armor, which was undoubtedly made of the unique adamantium ore of Nostramo. Bright lightning patterns flowed on the armor like the deep blue night. Apart from the legion emblem and company logo, there were no more decorations on his armor - there were neither human skin skeletons commonly seen in the Night Lords, nor medals of honor more commonly used in the Empire, but the fragmentary battle scars on it had already shown that it and its wearer had made many great achievements on the battlefield.

This is not reasonable.

Sevatar looked at the other party's company logo in confusion, and a greater doubt grew in his heart. However, before he could organize his words and prepare to speak, the Astartes who suddenly appeared in front of him had taken off his bat-wing helmet.

Then he saw his own face beneath the helmet.

"She is beyond saving." The "Sevatar" who took off his helmet repeated, "The Unborn is devouring her soul. Neither you nor I can stop this process. Even if we can, she will be broken by it. Death is her destined fate. The only thing we can decide is how she will die."

This feeling is so wonderful: another self is right in front of me, speaking "nonsense" that I can't understand. It's as absurd as when I was looking in the mirror one day, the virtual image in the mirror suddenly came to life.

Because this matter was so absurd, Sevatar's first reaction was not to follow up on the information given by the other party, but to ask another question: "Who are you? Or, what are you?"

The other Sevatar had expected such rude questions. He raised the corner of his mouth where the scar passed through, revealing a smile that did not seem to have any good intentions, and spoke:

"I am you, but I am definitely not you; I exist, but I don't exist." He said slowly in an annoying tone, "I am a fictional memory, a hypothetical story, a slice that will not appear at any point in the past, present or future. In this sense, I am not a human being, but somewhat similar to those 'unborn' - hey, I finally know why those think tanks always like to use this sentence structure to speak."

The expression on Sevatar's face, a mixture of "confused incomprehension" and "anger at being offended", obviously entertained the other party very much.