You smell betrayal.

Its flavor is so clear, so pronounced. It represents a kind of outright infidelity, and how can you tolerate it? No, this is not an option. The betrayer deserves death, you think, but you can't do it now, because the time has not yet come.

Yes, the time has not yet come.

Gavier Loken and Tariq Togardon are your heirs, and they deserve a more glorious death, and they deserve to die like warriors.

You need to give them hope, because hope is about to become the most terrifying thing in the galaxy. You need to make them afraid, and then you need to make them despair, and you want them to hate, and that's what you need.

Although it is difficult to let your children hate you, there is nothing you cannot accept for the sake of the future of all mankind.

You laugh and smile bitterly at your thoughts. You stand up and think of the others.

The first thing that comes to your mind is St. Giles, and his wings. You miss the days when he shielded you from the sun with his wings, and you waited for him, but not for long.

He and his legion have been transferred by you to Signus, where they will face the truth. St. Giles may or may not agree, but you will have your own way to convince him.

The second is Roger Dorn. You always liked Rogge's, you liked his honesty and integrity, and you even liked his stubbornness to a certain extent, these rare qualities and intolerable shortcomings make up Roger Donne.

Without a doubt, he is one of the best of you. It's a pity that he won't be on your side.

Rogge has a flaw, you think, his flaw is foolishness.

He made it an instinct to follow the emperor, and he was almost like a puppet. It doesn't matter, you'll find a way to free him from this bondage.

You laugh, you pause from thinking for a moment, and walk out of your room. Mortals cheer in the shadows behind you, their faces are pale, and the cheers sound as thin as mosquitoes, almost non-existent.

It's strange, why do they look so white?

You skip this question, it doesn't matter, it's not even a question worth thinking about.

You continue walking until you reach Fabius Bayer's medical room. Your brother lies in it, with his only son of sanity. That's good, and it's gratifying to think about it.

You walk in the door and see the disabled Fabius Bayer operating on his knee. He was taken aback by your arrival, but you raised your hand and motioned for him to continue.

You're smiling to soothe him. You look at his wounds and speak in a sad and implicitly sympathetic tone.

"Who are you doing so badly, Fabius?"

"It's out of the way, Marshal." The pharmacist says to you, bowing his head respectfully.

He was in pain because he didn't give himself an anesthetic. You see this through the afterimage left in the air, and you see the murderer. But you didn't say those two things, and that's not something you need to deal with.

The commander should be gentle, but not too gentle. Let them deal with the contradictions within the emperor themselves, and sooner or later they will understand your good intentions.

You look approvingly at Fabius Bayer and think he is a true son of an emperor. You walk up and pat him on the shoulder and signal him to continue. You stay by and hand him all the equipment needed for the operation.

This honor made the pharmacist's face flush, and as always, you had made people trust you thoroughly by a few small means. It's not deception, after all, you really want to help him, it's just that you're different from everyone else, and you've turned this help into an outward manifestation.

You remain silent until the pharmacist finishes his surgery before speaking again: "How's my brother doing?" ”

You don't have to ask that, not at all.

You know more about Fergrim than anyone else, and you're asking this question just because you're standing here.

You don't fully trust Fabius Bayer, and even though you've seen his future and you understand how important he really is, you still don't trust someone so easily.

You look at him, and he looks at you with the violet eyes he inherited from the Phoenix, and he is silent for a moment before answering the question. During this time, you savor the silence and be very satisfied.

You understand, Fabius Bayer has bowed his head to you.

"My lord is recovering, Commander." You heard him say. "Our sacrifice was worth it."

Yes. That's true. You smile at him again and sigh, "Unfortunately it's not enough, Fabius. ”

"What. What do you mean, Marshal? The apothecary immediately looked at you uneasy, his expression almost filled with fear.

You know, every word you hear next is going to stammer. You sigh again, deliberately showing your sadness. You purse your lips and look sadly at your brother.

Your actions turned the pharmacist's uneasiness into fear, and he fell backwards in panic and rolled off the operating table. You immediately stepped forward to help him up, and instead of asking him to thank you, you quickly began to explain.

Some things are too much, and at the moment this level is just right.

"I'm sorry, Fabius, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to speed up the frequency with which your brothers fight each other. Fogham is suffering from something in his sleep, and only your soul and blood can help him find relief from it. ”

It's strange that you're so skilled at liaring, when did you start to get so good at it? You are confused, and your words stop.

Horus Lupecar looked at Fabius Bayer in a trance.

No, you don't have to think about it.

Are you sure?

Of course, you're a war commander and you're good at everything.

But I can't tell this lie, he's not being attacked, he's getting help.

Whose help?

Carlil Lohals.

Yes, you got it. You already know what he is, don't you?

He's a monster, and the purpose of his existence is to make humans and aliens kill each other. He is a brutal deity wrapped in flames, and once he sheds the stolen skin, he will be completely exposed.

But how hateful it is. Even if he is far away in Terra, he will dictate your affairs as if it were not enough for him to take away your place among your brothers, but this time he is not destined to succeed, after all, the gods are holding your father back.

What could he do alone from such a distance?

But is that really what I'm thinking? I'm not so narrow-minded, I don't think he's a monster, am I really seeing him?

No, but.

You look at Fabius Bayer, who awaits your next step. You see fear, pain, and doubt in his eyes—you are happy with the first two, but not surprised by the last.

You raise your hand and help him get back to the operating table. You put your hands on his shoulders, look at him sincerely, and speak slowly.

"It's true, Fabius." You say bitterly. "He's starting to heal, and we can't stop here."

"Well, Marshal." The pharmacist succumbs, and you see that his heart is bleeding and tearful. You are also bitter about the decision, but you have to do it. This is a necessary sacrifice. You squeeze his shoulders and force him to look at you again.

This time, you gave him confidence in a serious manner: "We will succeed, and we will definitely bring the phoenix back to life." Stand with me, Bayer, and together we heal him. ”

A few minutes later, you leave the medical room. You're laughing, even though you don't know why.

It doesn't matter, you'll know.

——

"You killed me, Fogream." Ferus Manus said. "You brutally killed me, and you didn't even grieve about it. On the contrary, you have a dirty orgasm over it. You're a monster, Fogham, and I hate you. ”

Fogham ignored the noise, and the cold sea breeze blew past him. He keeps moving forward, and he never stops. The sea flooded his chest, freezing cold.

An icy joy pressed from all sides, and he understood what it was—primal longing, extreme pleasure, the limits of sensual stimulation. This joy tries to bring him into it, to make him a part of it.

It first tempted him with the hope of escaping here, and then the corpse of Ferus Manus. It doesn't stop for a moment, and these seawaters are one of its incarnations. It also showed him other things, such as the murder of Gorgon.

But that's not true.

Fogrem paused, raised his hand, and wiped his face. The sea drenched his hair, and the subtle waves came slowly from afar, gently persuading him to dive into the sea.

He lowered his head and looked down at his own reflection in the water. It was a bewitching and beautiful creature, and nothing in the world could compare with him, and those bright red and delicate lips looked so delicious.

Fogrem laughed, and he raised his hand and slammed it down, shattering the curtain of water. He was still afraid, but there was another roar of anger surging in his heart.

"How dare you slander me like this?" He asked about the pitch-black water. "How dare you think of me as such a lowly creature? Listen, I'm Fogham of Chermoth. I may not be perfect, I am not noble, but I will never draw pleasure from my brother's blood. ”

The sea did not answer, but responded with a gentle wave.

"Shut up!" Phoenix roared, a mad hatred surging across his face.

He's been here for one hundred and seventy-two years, and the way he keeps his time is by listening to his own heartbeat.

For the first forty years, he was ignorant and crumbling at what was shown to him here. In his fiftieth year, he suddenly remembered the past. He still didn't understand why he had arrived, but he remembered the past.

He remembered Horus Lupecar, and he remembered the battle. So it dawned on him that he didn't need to know where the hell this was, he just needed to leave.

In the eighty-second year he began to walk incessantly. The water was getting higher, and on a few occasions it didn't even reach his mouth and nose, but it never submerged him.

There were no reefs or anything else to lean back on, the sky was still dark, it was a desperate place, not even the horizon existed, but he kept walking.

In the one hundred and fifth year, he understood that this was a desperate advance. Here they want to drown him, they want to take him to the bottom of the sea.

But he does not give in.

There is no reason, he just doesn't give in. You can name a reason for this, such as his love for Ferus Manus, such as his hatred for Horus Lupecar, or his concern for his own children

The reasons for his insubjugation can be varied, as simple as it can be, even as simple as just four words.

I don't believe it.

Yes. He didn't believe it.

He didn't believe that he could be so lowly, he didn't believe that he had so easily turned his back on the perfect path he had forged with Ferus, he didn't believe that he would just throw away the humility he had so hard to pick up. He's not that kind of person, never has been.

"Listen up." He said to the seawater. "I am Fogram of Chemos, I am the third son of the Emperor, I am the genetic prototype of the Third Legion, I don't believe, I don't give in, I reject you."

The sea did not answer, how could it answer? It was someone else who really answered him, a voice, a voice he knew very well.

"Primordial." The voice called behind him.

Fogrem spun around.

Tacitus, where Tacitus of the Sixth Company stood. The stubborn sergeant, the sergeant who always has something to say, the sergeant who never grovels in the face of anyone, has flames wrapped around him.

It's pitch black, darker than night.

"Why are you here?" Vogrim asked. He had understood something, and his grief was surging like the sea.

"I'm dead, Primordial." Tacitus said. "We're killing each other."

"Why?"

"Horus asked." Tacitus stood still and said quietly.

The sea began to boil, roaring for his arrival. Suddenly, the calm night began to change. The originally silent sea began to roar and howl, and the wind raged, and the thunder finally appeared not just again, but literally accompanied by lightning.

Fogrem was almost overturned, and if it hadn't been for Tacitus catching him, he would have fallen into the ocean. But even if they were so close, he could no longer hear any voices belonging to Tacitus.

The figure of the latter was interrupted by the lapping of the great waves, drowned out by the howl of the wind, destroyed by lightning and thunder. He couldn't hear anything, only a real pain.

The pain was genuine, not as illusory as the ocean, it burned in his hands.

Tacitus looked at him, her lips quivering and deformed. Fogrem began to read his lips.

"They're going to come to you, but they're not real, Primordial."

Who? Who will come to me?

Tacitus did not answer, and he disappeared in place, as if vaporizing without a trace. The storm did not stop at all, and the phoenix stood in place, slowly clenching his right hand.

"Come on." He muttered under his breath. "Come, come to me"

His silver hair floated above the water.

Updated.

(End of chapter)