The emperor slowly opened his eyes.

He was supposed to be in the tunnel, but he wasn't there now. He was now in a memory, the sky was overcast and dark. Sour rain fell from the sky and smashed to the ground.

The stone buildings hissed and sang in unison. The gargoyle crouched on the top of the building and stared into the distance, oblivious to the cruelty beneath his feet, the clammy wind blowing, and the people in the streets walked like walking corpses in the filth, rushing to their predetermined death.

The Lord of Mankind lifted up his eyes and saw all he could see, some miserable sights.

Gangs train their young soldiers on street corners, medicines are distributed in turn, and the children do not feel cold in the cold wind, even ruddy. They were unclothed, but they had weapons in their hands.

In a few minutes, they're going to burst into someone's house, or somewhere in a slum, and they're going to brutally murder someone there — it's going to be a long, very long process. Only then will they be able to enter the gang.

They thought it was the first step to a better life, a trial, but their qualifications as human beings had disappeared at this moment. There's a ghost that will find them someday, or maybe it's medicine.

The drug will completely destroy their already unhealthy bodies in the next few years, and of course, they may die in the fire or be murdered by others in the gang

Even if you are lucky enough to survive for a while, you will die one day in the future due to the failure of your body's organs.

Workers with lung disease coughed quietly in the slums, and acid rain fell on them, moistening the faces of corpses on the streets. Their eyes can no longer shed tears, and this may be the last tears, and this may be the last mercy of this cruel world.

The Lord of Humanity turned his head, perhaps because he couldn't bear to look at it anymore, or perhaps because he heard a sound of footsteps.

He saw a rain-soaked man, walking slowly down a dark alley with a knife. Along the way, passing several corpses, rats greedily gnawed on them, starting with their fingers and then the soft flesh of their cheeks.

The men tried to drive them away, and the beasts were not afraid at all. There were many of them, some of them straightened up, their noses twitching, staring at the man as pale as a ghost in the raindrops, wondering what he would do.

The man looked at them as well, and a few seconds later, two blue lights suddenly lit up in his dark eyes.

The psionic fires flickered, and in an instant they turned to ashes, spreading all over the ground, wet with the rain. The corpses were lying on the ground, their eyeballs gone, and they were in shambles.

The man stared at the corpse, silent. After a few seconds, he bent down and carried them away one by one. He walked under an unmanned street lamp.

The tattered boots were soaked with blood, and the acid rain mixed with the blood, reflecting the faint light of the street lamp, presenting a charming and splendid scene. The man piled the bodies under the street lamp before turning to leave.

The pace still seemed slow, perhaps due to the bloodstained owners, who were lying peacefully on the side of the road, their throats slit. Not so long ago, they were a brazen mob boasting about how many people they had killed tonight.

The man had killed them, and he had finished his hunt for the night, and he was about to return home, like a beast that had finished his hunt.

The Lord of Humanity steps along. Whispering, he called out behind him, and said a name.

"Carlil."

The man stopped and turned his head.

For the first few seconds, he seemed confused and wary. It took him a while to realize what was happening now. Then the calm expression familiar to the emperor returned, and appeared on the pale-faced ghost.

Carlil lowered his head, glanced at his hands, and tried to shake the blade in his hand, and a smile was born on his face, a terrible smile mixed with nostalgia and catharsis for violence.

"Nostramo."

He said, the sound hissing through the rain curtain, and the rain stopped for his voice—like the world, it stopped in an instant.

The torrential rain stood still above them, and the strange howls and all kinds of killing under the night ceased.

"Or are you back here?" Carlil asked inquiringly.

"Your anchor of humanity is here." The emperor said. "It's been a conversation that has been repeated a million times, Carlile. Your memories are dissipating faster and faster, and I can reshape them, but I still need time."

"Ahh Carlil sighed regretfully.

"If you get to a point, or maybe it dissipates faster than I can reshape—"

"—I'll disappear." Carlil whispered. He was still laughing, as if he didn't understand what a terrible thing they were talking about. His voice was still a very special soft whisper, like the breathing of a dead man in the night.

The Emperor looked at him wordlessly, and Carlil shook his wrist, and the blade vanished like magic. The smile bloomed again, but this time it seemed much calmer.

"If this conversation is destined to be repeated, why did you tell me about it?"

The emperor did not answer this question.

"How's Terra doing now?" Carlil asked again.

His face was getting paler and paler, and for a moment, a terrifying flame of rage almost broke through the human skin.

The Emperor knew why, the battle in the subspace was no secret to him, and he was also a participant in the fierce war, the Lord of Death draped in golden flames fighting alongside his scarlet brother.

He deserved to die, but he wanted to fight, and for that, he would rather endure pain and suffering. He had endured enough long before he was alive, and standing on the other side of death, he laughed at their incompetence.

Revenge – everywhere, everywhere in the galaxy, this huge and tragic spiral is everywhere. Once it appears, it will not dissipate until everyone lays down their arms, dispels the hatred in their hearts, and coexists peacefully.

And that never happens.

Therefore, it is an indescribable miracle that Carlil Lohals still exists now. The ghost also realized this, and he touched his face, and the flames actually came out of his body and began to spread on his fingertips.

Carlil sighed regretfully and said goodbye.

The world dissipated in an instant at the Emperor's feet, turning into nothingness, into a pale and rudimentary altar made of demonic ashes.

He returned to the net.

The Lord of Humanity closed his eyes wordlessly, and the golden light flashed in his hand, and he began to reshape the memory once more.

Nostramo's sins came to his face, and the white ghosts slaughtered furiously in it, but the anger could not be dissipated. He couldn't end everything by killing alone, and the pain was everywhere.

The Emperor saw every detail, and he maintained the transmission of power and began to push on.

So the conversation repeats itself.

In the nostramo that has been reshaped over and over again, in the extreme pain that one would not have to bear, it repeats itself indefinitely. And then another, and again, and again

The Emperor relentlessly used his power to cling to this cruel memory, and he watched it over and over again, and Karil Lohals struggled with pain and reincarnation over and over again.

Then, in the acid rain, the ghost took the initiative to ask questions for the first time.

"How many times has this been?"

"I didn't count." The emperor said. "Do you want to see how Terra is doing?"

"Yes." The ghost replied with a smile.

His face became almost transparent, and the veins were completely exposed on it. The darkness in those eyes writhed like a living thing, and the souls of the dead roared in it.

The Emperor silently raised his hand and showed him another sight.

The flaming Terra immediately crashed head-on from the dark distance—in an illusory yet immensely real vision, and after the conversation had been repeated tens of millions of times, the ghost finally saw Terra again.

Of course, it won't be what he wants to see.

The wind was cold, and the black snow was drifting, guarding the ghosts' feet. He shook his head, but his form began to change. Pale bony claws rose little by little from the shadows beneath his feet, crawled up his body, and eventually formed a suit of armor.

The gods stood side by side with the Lord of Humanity, looking at Terra, at the planet they were all unfamiliar with.

The nest was covered in snow, the wilderness turned into a glacier, and for the first time since the last ocean on Terra was stolen, a natural source of water spread across its surface. Countless corpses lay in the cold, biting water, already swollen.

They were killed before the glacier was here. Auxiliaries, Astartes, cathars - even civilians

One by one, the frenzied scenes began to flash before their eyes, in no particular order, not in the order of importance, and some of them did not even seem to have the slightest logic.

They saw roaring pilgrims, strapped to themselves with grenades, rushing towards the tide. They also saw children who were supposed to live under their parents' wings shoot with light guns, weapons that weren't designed for their size, but they fought well.

Their parents fought below, they shot at the walls. The bloody ashes of war rush to the face, and a group of Imperial Fists are fighting to the death against the horrified demon army.

Behind them was a power station, the last one left. It is it that powers all the defenses within a radius of hundreds of kilometers, and it is the last hope of a group of people, so the Fists of the Empire stand here.

Terracotta steel or fine gold, explosive bombs or chainsaws - it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter at all in a war of this magnitude. They kill, they die, and so do the demons.

There were gunboats whizzing through the sky with overloaded power, firing incessantly for fourteen hours, and if they did not crash, they had to fly all the time. They will bring the bombardment to some of the scorched earth of war where the Titans stand.

In the terrifying flames of the explosion, the god's machines angrily charged at their enemies. The ammunition has long since run dry, and the pilot is even on the verge of death from the heat or some kind of violent emotional resonance reaction, but that still doesn't stop the mechs from bringing the kill to the enemy.

Or rather, that doesn't stop them from empathizing with the mech. They have risen to the highest level, and from now on, they will be with the Titans.

The cathars are charging again and again at the feet of the god machine, how can such a battlefield be without their presence? The ground has long been turned into a bloody mud made of bullet casings and corpses, and no matter who they are, no matter what their status is, they have all become part of this war at this moment.

Then, mercilessly run over, steel boots, bare feet, crawlers - every minute, every second, countless people are dying, adding bricks and tiles to this place.

They don't care, no one cares.

It's just fighting, it's just dying. This is Terra, humanity's home planet, humanity's last line of defense. So they will die here - until victory, or perhaps, until everything dies.

The relentless machine runs feverishly.

If a person who is devoted to his duty dies in obscurity, he will not even have a chance to become a hero. The valiant burst out of the trench, was killed by the demon's spell, and fell on the way to the charge. Those who were once feared now step into the meat grinder with a sharp knife in their hands.

Death, death, death, death, death. The gods stood side by side with the emperor, watching them die, watching these people they knew or didn't know fighting.

The original is fighting, Astarte is fighting, and mortals are fighting. Vogrim and Ferus Manus fought side by side, fending off waves of demons in the toughest battlegrounds.

The phoenix, soaked in black flames, had blood and tears on its face, weeping over the death of its loyalists. The souls of the dead were whispering their grievances, and he could not forget, he could not hide, he could only listen.

Ferus Manus is at the forefront of the battle with the Furnace Breaker in his hand. His armor was covered in blood, and his hands were covered in shredded flesh. There was not a trace of emotion on that cold face, and their children followed their father's side and launched a glorious but unknowable charge against the great enemy of mankind.

Roger Dorn was on a different battlefield, his battlefield was the paper-strewn command room where he had fought for the past seventeen hours.

He mobilized reinforcements, wrote orders, and sent people to his death. Row after piece of data streaked through his mind, adding deeper wrinkles to his brows. He couldn't get out of here until the situation reached its most critical moment.

This is his cage, his torture chamber – and the Rock gladly accepts it. If the last minute does come, he will make it all worth it.

The god took a deep, deep breath.

"Sacrifice." The emperor said. "That's all, we're sorry for them."

As the wind and snow blew, everything began to dissipate, and a broken glacier took its place, and a short old man in a black robe. He seemed to have a sense of it, and immediately turned around as soon as they appeared.

In the dark snow, they saw each other's faces.

The laurel crown above the Emperor's head still shone, and the psionic light in the palm sealer's eyes had turned into substance, replacing his eyes. The mask on Karil Lohals's face remained motionless, his eyes deep and flame-swirling.

"It's time." The emperor said.

"I thought it would go on for a while." Machado sighed.

"Yes, but that requires getting the knife." Carlil laughed. "The gift that was given out is still taken back one day, how can there be such a bad father?"

The wind and snow intensified, darkness hit, and their figures were covered.

This chapter is 4k, and there is a final chapter.

Father and Son Talk (Le)

(End of chapter)