There is no sun here, there is no moon here, so there is no light here, and darkness naturally takes everything.

In this pure and desperate darkness, there is a man who is slowly pushing a stone.

The stone was surprisingly large compared to himself, and one couldn't help but wonder if it was real or not—could a boulder of this size really be pushed by someone who wasn't considered strong?

However, if you look closely, you will see that it is not really a stone at all.

It was a kind of monument made of the bones of the dead and the rusted blades of the dead, each of which was incomplete, and was cruelly joined together by the murder weapons. They were killed by these weapons in their lifetime, and they still have to bear their reproach after they die.

Interestingly, the surface of this stone is covered with blood.

You know, those who died have long since become complete bones, so where does this blood come from?

It's simple, ask the person who is pushing the stone. Ask him about his wounded arms, his fleshy shoulders, and you'll get the answer. And of course, don't forget the last question.

How do you feel?

Sisyphus did not answer, but continued to push the boulder.

He clenched his fists and jammed a few blades through the gaps in his bones, pushing his own flesh and stone upwards.

It wasn't an easy job, and every few seconds the boulder rolled, he would pull out his palms, let the bones and flesh away from the rusty weapons that were no longer in the shape of blades, and then press the boulder against his shoulder, cheek, or forehead to keep it from falling.

There was no light in the darkness, so he had to reach out his trembling hand to find the next point of support that could pierce his palm.

However, the pain caused by the blade piercing the flesh and seizing the bone, although severe, could not be compared to the problem that followed.

How do you hold up this stone? Endure pain with brute force, or with terrible patience?

Sisyphus just pushes, just pushes.

He understood that he was doing useless work, because no matter how high or far he pushed this stone, it would surely return to the foot of the mountain, to the beginning of it all. The cycle repeats itself.

The most frustrating part was that he had to go down the mountain empty-handed to find it.

How free? No pain, no need to breathe, just follow the road, shake your hands and walk down easily and naturally. Only then will the breeze blow by, bringing him a little coolness. At this time, he didn't have to put up with anything

Then, when he returned to the starting point, he had to face the bloodstained boulder once again.

It's like forcing him to choose.

Give up, right? How is it? Just stay where you are.

No more pain, no more pointless work, why make yourself a living specimen of nihilism? The nature of human beings, or rather, the nature of animals, is to seek advantage and avoid harm, and there is no shame in escaping.

Like this time, Sisyphus stood in front of his boulder, calmly breathing in the air that was filled with the smell of blood.

He knew in his heart that little by little the stone was draining his willpower, and what was more precious. Moreover, in this matter, he does not have the right to choose.

The stone was nothing more than a metaphor that had been cut down many times, a reflection of a great power, weakened by multiple rituals, and then sent elsewhere by the hands of the most powerful psychic in human history, for which he had already received a reduced sentence.

In other words, Sisyphus was lucky enough. It is precisely because of this that he can still hold on to this day.

Well, there's no reason to give up, isn't it?

He walked towards the boulder and began to push again. Then another, again, and the next time, which will always come.

Sisyphus had forgotten how long he had been here, and time had long ago become a notion that no longer needed to be cared about. Moreover, this is also deliberately done by him. He promised one of his friends that he would stick to it.

He has only broken his trust once.

This time, however, the push seems to be a little different. Voices rang out in the darkness, causing Sisyphus to stop and listen.

At first, he didn't know what the sound meant, until it dawned on him that it was actually a creepy chewing sound. Very dense and regular, ringing almost every once in a while, as if something was eating in the dark.

Sisyphus frowned, and he turned around, pressed his back against the boulder, and began to listen to the voice that had first appeared in the darkness

Then he succeeded in hearing.

"I know you're hiding him, father. I also understand that you will not hand him over to me, but I will find him out. ”

"You can hide yourself in the infinite cracks of infinite dimensions, with these unseemly tricks, but I will chase you forever until every ounce of your power is taken away from me—they are mine, remember, Father?"

"Your army, your power, and everything you have promised will be at my disposal. And now, I'm here to ask for them. So run away, father, and let me see how long you can hold on. ”

Anger crept into Sisyphus's pale face.

He knew what it was, but the skin wasn't supposed to have such a sense of self again.

Is it deception?

This is what Chaos does best, distorting the positive part of human nature into evil and extreme emotions, and using it to trick others and force them to despair.

But it was only a skin, the skin of Horus Lupecar. The last bit of his ego and spirit had long since dissipated on the Vengeful Spirit, and since then, his body has become a Chaos Lodge shell.

They were endlessly satisfied with the empty skin so that it could swell, fill, and come in handy, and their attitudes toward Horus Lupecar and Lorja Aurelian were two very different attitudes. They were very attentive to Horus.

However, whether you are interested in it or not, a skin that can continue to exist because of the power of chaos should not have that kind of self-awareness.

Sisyphus could tell that there was not the slightest hint of manipulation or hint from chaos in the words he had just spoken, but there was a mixture of self-confidence and ambition and longing.

The puppets of Chaos have no desire to speak of, they can only think they have. It's like the miserable Loja Aurelian.

Sisyphus clenched his fists, and another voice began to sound in the darkness.

"Don't do it." The voice said. "We've calculated countless times that you can't get out of trouble on your own. What remains of your humanity now is not enough for you to regain control of that divine body. ”

"I can't just watch you get devoured." Sisyphus said.

"He's just devouring phantoms." The voice suddenly turned into a smile. "I may not be able to fight the quasi-gods with my body, but I am very good at deceiving the gods. I've done this a million times, my friend. ”

The voice faded away, and Sisyphus fell silent again. He heard the cruel joke, but he couldn't.

He turned around and began to push the stone again.

Time that didn't exist passed again, and at one point the center of the boulder emitted a terrifying glow of blood.

It was the first time in the darkness that it shone brightly, and it was ominous, but there was no fear on Sisyphus's face. He gazed at the light calmly, then little by little, he withdrew his hand from the blade.

This time, the stone did not roll off due to gravity. A call came from within, a voice vague and distant, very soft, hissing.

Sisyphus raised his hand and began to pound the boulder.

A dull and terrifying sound sounded slowly in the darkness, and the blood light emanating from the center of the boulder suddenly increased, and the bones on it continued to fall with Sisyphus's hammer blows, and the swords were constantly being pulled out. The strange thing is that the more light there is, the fewer wounds on Sisyphus's body.

At first, he was covered in bloody wounds. And now, he has almost recovered more than half of it. There was no longer half of the penetrating wound or white bones in the arm, only the pale skin that wrapped around the muscles.

He was still not strong, but he was much better than the skinny and terrifying appearance he had before.

The bones of the dead continued to fall, soon landing at his feet. One by one, the rusty blades were pulled out and thrown into the darkness. Suddenly, the blood light began to light and fade, changing color until it was covered in a terrible darkness.

At this moment, the light looked like a dancing flame. The dark red base is wrapped in pitch black, which is completely terrifying.

Sisyphus stopped hammering and sighed wearily.

He reached out his right hand and touched the flames.

It swelled and burst out of the boulder in an instant, surging onto him, but instead of hurting him, it enveloped him, making him look like he was wearing a suit of armor.

Sisyphus clenched his right fist slowly and sadly and threw the final punch.

This time, he smashed the boulder completely. At this moment, the empty eyes of the skeletons lit up in unison, and the lights were brightly lit.

A giant covered in blood stood silently in front of Sisyphus, his skin pale, his black hair hanging down, and a moonlit crown on his head, which was glowing coldly.

Conrad Coetzee bowed his head, "I've come for you, father. ”

'Sisyphus' was speechless about this.

Kotz smiled and tilted his head, the black flame in his eyes flickered, and the blood on his body was completely evaporated. He used his sharp claws to wipe away the black hair on his forehead, and even simply stretched his waist, acting very naturally.

"It shouldn't have been, Conrad."

Finally, Karil Lohals spoke slowly.

He did not use the imagery or face of Sisyphus anymore, and the darkness around him disappeared in an instant, leaving only nothingness.

A strong tearing sensation came from under the feet of the two of them, and in an instant, the scene around them changed. The wasteland covered in thick ashes replaced the darkness, the flames rose, the winds roared, the sky thundered deeply, and the air was filled with impatient salutes.

A temple called out behind Carlil.

"It has to be so, father." Conrad Coetzes said softly. "I have to, only I can find you through the connection between the authorities. What's more, I'm the anchor and you need the humanity I bring. ”

Carlil closed his eyes, his face as if it had never changed. After so many years, when he didn't smile, this face was forever cold.

Coetzes crouched down, scooped up a handful of ashes, and began to discern them. They flickered like dust between his fingers, but he watched intently.

His eyes were no longer completely black as they had been, and the flames had replaced his eyes, scorching the area around his sockets.

Looking at the white dust, he suddenly smiled and said, "To be honest, I didn't think about these things before. ”

"What's the matter?" Carlil asked, closing his eyes.

"That's it, father—" Coates chuckled. "—you're knowingly asking again."

He stood up and walked behind Carlil with his hands behind his back, and began to look at the Temple of Bones curiously, but still didn't forget to explain.

"It's these overly complicated things, gods, authorities, thrones or crowns. And, of course, my brother who can't rest in peace. ”

"The evil god who was good at deception somehow captured one side of him and magnified it infinitely. Not only that, but he even forcibly borrowed the special nature of the vengeful spirit as an altar to add a vengeful divinity to him. In other words, you now have a competitor with the support of the four gods, which is terrifying. ”

"Where did you learn about this, Conrad?"

"Analysis."

Coates turned around and shrugged at Carlil, who was facing away from him.

"I've got enough information at my disposal, and I now have the power to know things you didn't want me to know in the past. The authority is to tell you all these things, and it's weird, it's like you know them in the morning and only remember them now."

As he spoke, he suddenly laughed again, this time not because of a joke or anything, but simply because of the change in the man who had his back to him. For example, the scarlet crown that suddenly appeared, and the hideous armor that had turned from illusory to solid

"It's my fault." Carlil turned around and said. There were two blood stains on his face, falling from his eye sockets to his chin. "I shouldn't have interfered in your life, you didn't have to be like me, to be like this."

Coates laughed and said, "I think I'm probably not far from that, father. But what would I be without you, I remember saying it a long time ago. ”

Carlil stared at him in silence.

"I use false light—" he said.

"—Is the false light not the light?" Conrad Coetzes interrupted with a smile. "There's no need to grieve for me anymore, it's my choice. Father. ”

"I must awaken you that humanity needs a god who is on their side for the time being. And my biological father, who doesn't like to tell the truth, needs you too. Although he behaved as if nothing happened, he was probably already at the end of his crossbow. ”

He took a step back, stroked his chest, bowed his head, and bowed gracefully, his cloak rattling in the wind.

"I'll wait for you here, father." Conrad Coetzes hissed.

The god didn't respond, and turned away, embers pouring out of his armor, his eyes fierce like those of an evil god.

(End of chapter)