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Chapter 10:
"Would you like to know what you did wrong?" Morathi said.
Of all the things, it had to be her grandmother to tend to her injuries. Even though her blood rampage made sure to purge the toxin of the Skaven, Morathi was of the mind to make thorough examinations. Or at least that was Morathi's excuse to subject Allisara to her most vulnerable so she could have her 'fun.' That was how it was when Allisara was lying face down on a table almost entirely naked with only a loincloth to hide the last of her modesty. With her head down, Allisara could not see the iniquity of the surgery done on her back. How Morathi, using ancient spellcraft, peeled back the skin taut, revealing the muscle, ligament, and spinal column open to the air. Each stretch of skin was held at six points with three on each side held up by magical sigils flashing an eerie purple and pulled at the skin like meathooks. Morathi's eyes flashed with a sight that told her a thousand things as she studied every twitch of muscle to the blood flowing in Allisara's veins. She couldn't be too careful when trying to take out the toxin of the Eshin assassins.
The only grace afforded to Allisara was that she only felt the occasional pinch. She did not suffer the agony of her back muscles being exposed to the open air nor did she have to feel the deep stabs from scalpels slicing off tissue from bone to sinew for Morathi's studies. Several 'medical' instruments of blades of steel sharpened to near perfection and enhanced through Morathi's spells floated over the exposed musculature, nerve tissue, and spinal column like a demented version of a crib mobile. Any one of them would expertly carve down into Allisara with a thought by Morathi.
That's why Allisara didn't immediately rise to Morathi's question. There was no telling what her grandmother would do if she was given the wrong answer. So many things could be done to the Witch Princess with just a snap of Morathi's fingers.
Allisara didn't fancy blades growing out of her skeletal structure.
Morathi however decided to be a bit more merciful. "What held you back was that you were too absorbed in the fight. You overlooked the arsenal you possessed that could have ended the fight sooner."
"But you cut off the wards!" Allisara argued, her frustration overtaking her tongue.
Speaking out of turn with the world's most powerful sorceress was an ill act. A twitch of a muscle in Morathi's cheeks was Allisara's only warning before she screamed in pain as the scalpels stabbed into specific nerve clusters along the spine. It didn't stop there as the medical blades gave a soft hum of energy before sending a small but precise shock, furthering Allisara's pain. To the Witch Princess, it felt like molten metal was being poured into her veins. She was in so much pain Allisara was not aware of the kind of shrieks she let out.
It only lasted a few seconds and then all was back to normal as the scalpels floated back into the air. Flesh knit itself back together from the areas they pierced as if they were never struck. Allisara should count her fortune; that was the least Morathi could ever do.
"As I was saying," Morathi continued as if she didn't torture her granddaughter, "You had yourself a plethora of abilities besides your martial skills. It's not like I and Malekith spent the last - hmmm - sixteen years drilling into you arcane knowledge and power few could ever hope to achieve in thousands of years only for you to neglect it all in the heat of battle. Oh yes, it's not like I certainly wasted time imparting a portion of my magical capability only for you to squander it."
Allisara winced at the hidden sharp bite behind Morathi's casually motherly tone. As the silence drew on between them, Allisara was forced to think back to her fight against the Esshin assassin. Perhaps she had been distracted in her fight with the Skaven by entering a melee instead of simply using the fastest solution. No, she can't be making excuses. She had lost herself in the fight and thoroughly neglected the rest of her arsenal that should have ended the fight sooner. Instead, she paid the price for her hubris and suffered the cut of a Weeping blade.
She would have died if not for her prototype arm-mounted cannon. It was simple in concept: an arm bracer that had a built-in firing mechanism taking the form of a blade to act as a conductor of the shot as it protruded out. However, the design right now was only a draft. Allisara was already considering replacing the firing mechanism and building in a proper cannon system instead of using the blade itself. She didn't have any names for the weapon yet, though 'Riot Cannon' was thrown around every so often.
"I was too self-absorbed," Allisara stated. "I allowed myself to relish in a melee with an expert fighter rather than finishing off a genuine threat. I let my pride get in the way."
Morathi seemed to accept Allisara's words with a nod. "There are times to indulge in your achievements and competence. A life-and-death battle is not one of them. You can boast all you want at the enemy, but the moment you hold yourself back because you underestimated your enemy you were courting death. With the power you gained under my tutelage, you could have easily cut down that assassin, wards or not."
To further Morathi's point, she snapped her fingers, and the whole air of the chamber was filled with blades made from dark magic. They saturated the whole room and whirled around the pair like a storm, each one twirling in midair. More than once did a tip or edge of one come nearly close to nicking at Allisara's skin, causing goosebumps to appear from the close contact. It was with Morathi's fine control that despite the many hundreds filling the chamber none of them managed to touch a single hair at all. Another snap from Morathi and they all disappeared as if they never existed.
A curl of her wrists and the taut skin retreated back to Allisara's skin, becoming unblemished and lacking any scar as if Morathi did not casually cut up her granddaughter. Teh scalpels floated away into a corner of the chamber where they sunk into a pouch. With the operation done, Allisara arched her back and groaned feeling the satisfactory pops in her joints. A few twists of her neck caused audible cracks, making Allisara moan from the ease of movement.
"So much better," Allisara moaned.
Meanwhile, Morathi walked to a set of doors, and with a flick of her finger, they opened outward with a loud groan. Immediately, a ruthless chill swept through the room from the merciless cold of Naggarond. Lesser beings would shiver under winter clothes in contact with this cold, but Morathi and Allisara merely gave a momentary scowl. Their bodies had long attuned to a frosty bite of the northern lands, but never did they like it. The open doors led out to a balcony that looked over the city of Naggarond.
And what a sight it was! Being the tower was Morathi's property and they were on one of the highest floors of it, the view below them was unlike any other. Everything below seemed so tiny in comparison, even the many towers over a hundred feet in height seem to pale. The tower itself was built upon the Iron Mountains where the city stretched from the coastline. Morathi took in a deep breath, relishing the air that was saturated with dark magic and more importantly the suffering of uncountable poor souls in the streets below. Mansions of dark iron and black stone littered the streets from the great port where warships were docked to the roots of the Iron Mountains. It only paused before the great palace of Malekith as it loomed over the city like a menacing structure. Upon towers and rooftops were banners of flayed skin and the walls, rising at heights to rival towers, were decorated with severed heads as grisly reminders of the price of denying Malekith's will.
To most, especially High Elves and humans, this was hell on the world. To the Druchii, it was their grand capital for thousands of years ever since the separation. That thought alone threatened to bring a frown to Morathi's face. Her eyes looked to the eastern horizon out at sea where if could squint she could just barely see the small blur that was Ulthuan, the untainted island of the High Elves. The most prestigious kingdom of eternal spring. The great civilization that Malekith - her rightful son - should be leading instead of living out here in exile.
The place where her once beloved Aenarion called home and fought to the bitter end against chaos in its defense. He was the only one that Morathi felt understood her, despite the precarious nature of their relationship. Most would not see it as love between them, but a connection of lust, anger, and respect. Yet the two comforted each other, with Morathi cursed with prophetic visions and tainted by Slaanesh of the Great Catastrophe and he cursed by the wickedness of the Widowmaker, the god-sword of Khaine. The birth of Malekith was a sign that there was definitely something deeper between them. Unfortunately, his death would forever keep that a mystery to Morathi if he ever cared when in the end she confessed her love.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the ruffling of clothes. Glancing behind, Morathi looked at her granddaughter as she got dressed in a new dress. It was a simple design with black cloth wrapping around her neck and going down her chest to cover her privacy and finishing it off with a pitch-black skirt that covered her lower body. Their eyes met, and Allisara found herself pausing in her motions with an internal struggle going on within her mind.
"M - Mi - Grandmother?" Allisara spoke after some hesitation.
"Yes?" Morathi drawled with a raised brow.
"Could," Allisara asked, hesitating again with a gulp, "Could you... tell me about Aenarion? About Grandfather? Anything would suffice-"
Allisara was stopped immediately by a raised palm from Morathi. But it was a look that she had that made the Witch Princess mute. Always there would be some sort of amused smirk on her lips, even a ghost of it. Now Morathi was showing a rare expression of flat lips and even the twinkle of mischief in her eyes ceased. They were now dark pools that lacked any hint of emotion or thought that was plaguing Morathi.
Within the mind of the Hag Sorceress, thousands of images from long ago flashed before her mind each as clear as fresh water to her. It was life forever gone, but never forgotten always lurking in the deep reaches of Morathi's mind. Memories of sick passion that hid deeper emotions. The rare genuine joy when she held a babe - one to call her own - in her hands fresh out of the womb. The untold yet longing power Aenarion had over her - something Morathi deeply desired to have again but always knew it will never be. And... And...
"I will not die. And your son Malekith will not. And if you listen to me, you will not either. If you go today, you forfeit immortality. Stay with me and live forever."
The begging she made to keep him alive, to have him stay away from his fated demise. The internal wish Morathi carried was that she should have begged more to keep him. To stop him from being such a fool. To be such, well, Aenarion. In the end...
"You are a fool Aenarion, and I love you."
Morathi could only confess that one thing from the deepest reaches of her heart, knowing it was useless. Knowing his only love was in his late Astarielle, and yet they shared a brutal kiss filled with such lust and anger before he departed. He was never to be seen again despite how hard Morathi searched.
The more Morathi stayed silent, the more Allisara felt dread crawl in her heart. She believed to have crossed a line that should never have been crossed. A line that would lead to a very painful demise. Yet Morathi continued to stare down Allisara until she closed her eyes and took in a very deep breath. With her exhale, she opened her eyes that revealed to have some life back in them.
"Aenarion..." Morathi reminisced, rolling her tongue in her cheeks, "The single greatest and most painful thing in my life. The most fun and the most cruel. What to say about Aenarion - your Grandfather? He was a hard man. Stubborn. Strong. Unrelenting. None could match him in martial might. That's the elf I knew when I first met, but by then he had drawn Widowmaker and you know its curse."
Allisara had the decency to wince. All elven kind knew of the dreaded curse that befell any wielder of the divine blade as well as the ultimate power bestowed upon them. To take up the Sword of Khaine was to invite the old god into one's heart and soul. Their personalities would be changed irrevocably, replacing empathy with callousness, reason with hatred, and mercy with ruthlessness. The last wielder was of course Aenarion, who took up the Widowmaker in grief after the death of his first wife by the Slaaneshi Great Daemon, N'Kari. It was a testament to Aenarion's will that he didn't destroy the elven kingdoms while under the influence of the Widowmaker, but taking up the sword had forever cursed his bloodline.
"He was the finest soul to have existed upon this realm, and there will never be one again," Morathi continued. "He was blessed by Asuryan and Khaine, making him nigh unstoppable. And yet, he was not perfect. Of course, he would not be; I would never prefer otherwise. In the time I knew of him to the end of his days, he was a foolish one. A foolish elf who suffered so much, buried under insurmountable hatred and ruthlessness. In the end, he was the only one who had power over me, and I was the only one who could understand him the most."
Morathi paused, contemplating if she should speak more or drop it right there and then. The choice was not her own as out of nowhere both the real world and the Immaterium shook. Allisara, Morathi, and those sensitive to the Immaterium felt how the barrier between reality and unreality quaked before the boundaries shattered. Even those of the mundane felt the change throughout the world. Every elf, man, dwarf, and sentient race of the mortal world looked up to the sky as did grandmother and granddaughter looking up from the balcony. Coming from the far west, a wave of primordial energy was racing across the heavens like a ripple in the water. No doubt all who resided within the world saw the same phenomenon.
But for those attuned to the Winds of Magic, they knew the truth of this power. They felt how the barrier between the warp and the physical realm began to blur. The Winds of Magic raged anew and within the Immaterium they heard the horrors of the warp cackled in glee. For this was the roar of a dying god.
(Moments Before; Deep Within the Realm of Chaos)
'How long have I endured? How much have I sacrificed? How much more do I have to go on?'
These were some of the many questions that went through Prince Yuri Barkov's mind as he made what had to be the final steps in his quest. He had given up so much to get here. He had endured harsh blizzards and ravenous tribes within the Chaos Wastes.
He had even sacrificed all those that followed him in Yuri's treacherous quest. His loyal men. His advisor.
Not even Gerik, his younger brother, was spared.
But it was all worth it. Yuri knew it the moment the portal to Ursun's location opened and he stepped through. It just had to be worth it. All so the god-bear could roar away winter and bring spring back to Kislev. So that Yuri could return home and not have to walk through the cold streets surrounded by beggars and homeless children dying of starvation.
The toll of his journey was heavy on him and the corruption that Yuri had sunk into was all too clear. His once pristine armor was dirtied to a dull grey and his veins throbbed with crimson eldritch power that he knowingly (or did he?) accepted into his being. One of Yuri's eyes glowed with red power like an old star, but his right eye was still his original grey. Even now, Prince Yuri, son of Kislev, resolved in his heart to rescue Ursun from whatever torment he was under.
Yuri made that promise as he clutched the pendant of the god-bear fastened to his chest piece, still gleaming in silvery steel. The faith of a believer still kept it untouched, including the core parts of Yuri's soul. Yet he did not know of the eldritch power coursing within trying to take root there so he could be corrupted.
When Prince Yuri stepped through the portal from the Chaos Wastes, his vision swam for a moment before Yuri found himself someplace else. Somewhere beyond the reaches of his reality. He was standing upon a ledge of sorts protruding over a seemingly bottomless chasm. Pale light filled the space, but it was not enough to dispel the thick fog that surrounded Yuri.
No, not fog. Yuri corrected himself as he got a proper feel of the air and how it did not feel like a fog at all. What surrounded him was a cloud of shadows.
"You have come, my protege," Echoed the voice of 'Ursun' within the shadows, "Look how strong you have become."
At that point, Yuri knew. This was not the voice that called to him from the Chaos Wastes. Here, someone dared mettle with him.
No more games then.
"Who are you!?" Yuri exclaimed. "Come out from the shadows!"
"I... am... the shadows!"
The darkness around Yuri shifted, coalescing into a vaguely humanoid shape but definitely not human. It, no, he had the form of a Greater Daemon, but not one Yuri had seen. Yet when the shadows fully shaped into being and a pair of purple eyes beneath a crown of horn glared back at Yuri, a name automatically came to his mind. Momentarily, the prince of Kislev shivered internally at just who he was facing.
It was a great evil that all mortal life knew when gazing upon him. For when Chaos first stepped upon this world, it was he who first stood with the enemy. He was the first to turn against his own kind and slaughter in the name of the Dark Gods.
The first servant to Chaos.
The first traitor to all life.
The first to be favored by all four.
And the first to ascend.
Long has his mortal name been lost to the annals of history, but all knew this creature of the shadows as the first and most powerful Daemon Prince - Be'lakor!
"Be'lakor!" Yuri cried, aiming his pistol which was riddled with runes of heretical make that glowed a burning red. "Where is Ursun!?"
"Ah yes, the god who abandoned Kislev," Be'lakor replied easily.
"Lies!" Yuri denied. "You did something to him, but his voice led me here."
"My voice led you here," Be'lakor bellowed, his great size leering over Yuri with every sentence. "I spoke as Ursun, answered when he would not."
Horror started to creep into Yuri's heart. And with that horror, the corruption of Chaos grew ever closer to subsuming his soul.
"What deception is this?" Yuri said.
"Your fate has been guided by my hand," Be'lakor revealed, and from his palm projected very familiar figures slain by Yuri's hand. "Skollden... Kurnz... your brother... Placed in your way by me, stones to sharpen you."
"Why?" Yuri said lowly, trying to hold down foreboding thoughts - that his entire journey was a sham.
"Because gods are selfish!" Be'lakor roared, and the shadows for a moment were alit like flame. "They will betray you, as they betrayed me. I have freed you from their burden."
Long ago, Be'lakor was the first and only Daemon Prince of Chaos Undivided, a Daemonhood blessed by all four Chaos Gods. Before even Daemon Princes dedicated to singular gods were a concept. He had earned his place as their most favored champion, having clawed at the world and scarring it with his armies. With each blood genocide and orgie of slaughter, Be'lakor's power grew till the world was almost totally underneath his reign. But back then, the Chaos Gods were unwise in the handling of their new Daemon Prince, recklessly giving power like spoiled children with their favorite toy. Be'lakor, whose lust for power was unmatched, sought to use their squabbles to his advantage and cheat out power from his patrons all to fulfill his ambition to rise up as the fifth Chaos God.
Such a thing never came to be. Be'lakor had desired far too much, earning at last the ire of the Chaos Gods. They struck him down on the spot, robbing him of much of the power he had gained from his conquest. Then, they started ascending more mortals into Daemonhood - most dedicated to one Chaos God - and further sapping away at Be'lakor's power till he was a literal shadow of himself.
Even then, Be'lakor was not without his power. The Chaos Gods granted him a twisted title as the Harbinger of the Everchosen. Every so often, he would be responsible in raising a mortal into the Everchosen, a champion of the Chaos Gods of epic power that would lead the Endtimes. His new 'duty' was adding salt to his wounded pride making Be'lakor choose what were obviously his replacements. Be'lakor sought to cheat this system, so he instead created the Everchosen himself by possessing a man of the tribes and then forcing himself on a woman within the Empire until life took root. A half-daemon child would be born possessing Be'lakor's essence and ripe for Be'lakor to gain a proper host as the true almighty champion of Chaos.
Already, Be'lakor knew that one that would be Everchosen was gathering his might in the far north, waiting for the time to enact the Endtimes.
But now perhaps there was another way to achieve his ambition of godhood. It all started when he made a pact with the ruler of the Forge of Souls. Together, they created a device powerful enough to bind a god within the depths of Chaos. Such was the reason the god-bear Ursun had disappeared for seven years having been caged within the Forge of Souls. It was only the first part of Be'lakor's devious plan, and Yuri had his own parts that he had done wonderfully. He could feel the deep taint of Chaos on Yuri's soul as it continued to borrow deep into his core self. The ritual Be'lakor had created through acts of corruption, heresy, and kin slaying that Yuri had participated in as a follower of the god-bear was nearing the final stages.
He just needed a bit of coaxing is all till Yuri's faith turned.
"What I did," Yuri spoke, his hands tight around the pendent of Ursun hoping to give him strength, "I did for Ursun."
He did not come here to revel in heresy. It was only a means to an end. It was all for Ursun to once again roar away winter. For his people that suffered from endless cold. For the families that starve in the middle of the streets. For...
In the mind's eye of Yuri, he saw the face of a beautiful woman. One he knew since childhood that had grown into the gem of Kislev. Yet for all of her cold beauty, it was marred by the deep sadness in her icy blue eyes at the suffering of her people.
He came here for the smile to return to the face of his lovely Queen Tzarina Katarin. If Kislev thrives, so will Tzarina's happiness return.
"YOU DID IT FOR YOURSELF!" Be'lakor accused, rage flowing into his voice at the blatant denial. "Took what your heart desired! Look at how you've reveled in your dark baptism."
"Where is Ursun!?" Yuri demanded with a near-feral growl.
"Let me show you, what you hold so dear," Be'lakor relented with an ominous tone.
He and the shadows departed, revealing to Yuri that great chasm of the Forge of Souls. He felt a powerful breath wash over his body and he dared to turn around. His eyes widened as he beheld a ginormous bear larger than a mountain and covered in snow-white hair. Its fangs were large than Yuri able to rip a Greater Daemon in half and each soft exhale was like a gale of cold. Veins of blue glowed beneath its furry mass and from his back sprouted spikes of glowing blue magic crystal. Its snout was kept shut by solid shadows and far below the chasm chains of darkness kept its limbs in place.
But this was not a giant bear. This was Ursun, the god-bear of Kislev, whose war could chase away winter and allow the fields of Kislev to grow their bounty.
"Tell me, what do you see?" Be'lakor whispered behind Yuri like a treasonous snake.
What Prince Yuri of Kislev wanted was to shout in awe. He wanted to praise Ursun's name and ask him how to free him. He wanted to celebrate in joy at finding Kislev. All he needed to do was free his god from those bounds. He had the power to do so; the same power he justified in attaining despite the atrocities. It would be so simple.
And yet, Chaos had fully infiltrated his being. What was truly 'Prince Yuri' was being subsumed by its corrupting taint. His mind fervent in Ursun's name was given more wicked thoughts at the sight of the bound god-bear.
'Why does he not break free?'
The line of thoughts that followed questioned Ursun's might. Doubt crept in, and meanwhile, what was Prince Yuri screamed from his soul to free him now, but Chaos was pushing the aspect as the Prince of Kislev deeper and deeper. Slowly, Chaos started to 'puppet' Yuri Barkov. And so what does Chaos see?
"Weakness," Yuri spat with venom as the pendent of Ursun rusted black by Chaos' taint. "A god unworthy of my faith, of the blood spilled in his name. The reason Kislev suffers!"
If he had more clarity of mind, Yuri would realize that Be'lakor was the reason for Kislev's never-ending winter. It was he who kept Ursun from bringing back spring as the binds around the god-bear were of the Daemon Prince's design. But he did not for Prince Yuri was overtaken and what was truly Yuri was being buried deep beneath the tainted power that has taken over.
Yuri's rant had the effect of awakening the god-bear. Gigantic, ice blue eyes radiating untold might gazing upon Yuri. Of his follower suffering under the throes of his hated enemy. They saw deeper than most could see, and Ursun saw the turmoil of Prince Yuri's core soul trying to fight against the corruption of Chaos.
"Yuri, son of Kislev," Ursun spoke, his voice baritone yet benevolent. "Be'lakor uses you for his own gain. This isn't what you want. You know this."
"End this misery," Be'lakor hissed.
"Free me!" Ursun roared.
"You can be greater than Ursun!"
"Save Kislev! End this madness!"
"Take his power," Be'lakor whispered. "Take his place."
The god-bear saw the epic struggle of Prince Yuri fighting against the corruption of power that was burying his true persona deep within. He fought valiantly and relentlessly against the tide of taint fueled by all four Chaos gods. It was corruption in its purest form, and if things were different Ursun would be proud. But no matter how hard Prince Yuri, the one who wanted to save Kislev and free Ursun, it was not enough. It was never enough and in place of the body of Yuri before Ursun stood only a puppet of Chaos.
"Ursun," 'Yuri' growled, aiming his pistol at the god oozing with Chaos taint.
"Do what you must, son of Chaos," Ursun growled but ultimately accepted his fate.
With a crack, a bullet was fired one covered in cursed runes and charged with the dark ritual and malignant sin from Yuri's journey. To the common observer, it only looked as if Yuri just fired a regular bullet at the god-bear. Ursun saw differently and before his divine eyes were the four Chaos gods themselves thrusting their own might into the bullet as if they were using their weapons themselves aimed at his heart.
It was ultimately a fatal blow for a god. Ursun had only one last thought as the cursed bullet pierced his hide and heart.
'So it begins...'
And Ursun's world was filled with agony and he could only force it in a roar that shattered the barrier between reality and unreality.
With such divine might released at once, Yuri was literally blasted out of the realm of Chaos and back to the real world only to crash into a snowy mountain like a meteorite. Above him, the sky rippled with divine energies and horrors could be seen manifesting in the sky. Despite the crash and the broken bones, Yuri did not feel any pain with Chaos flowing through his body.
That did not last long. With their scheme completed, Chaos decided to throw away its once-useful tool. He had done his part, so there was no more use for him. Suddenly, all the power that Yuri attained in his dark baptism left him. His veins glowing with eldritch energy dimmed leaving a scarred visage over Yuri's body. He finally felt the pain of every broken bone through his body. But with the absence of Chaos, Prince Yuri returned and clarity came to his mind - and the full weight of what he had done came down on him.
"What have I done..." Yuri said in horror. "No... No, no, no, no, no!"
The agony that plagued Yuri's body could not overcome the anguish he felt at that moment. So much he had sacrificed, the wrong he had done. All in his mission to return Ursun to Kislev. In the end, Yuri had been played from the very beginning. He should have never read that heretical book or taken up Skollden's blade.
"You were right, Gerik," Yuri mumbled as his voice turned to sobs. "I'm so sorry, little brother. I should have listened to you."
Kislev would suffer and its people will continue to hunger because of him. He had any chance of saving his country the moment he shot his pistol into the heart of Ursun. It was his fault his home will be destroyed.
"Oh, Tzarina," Yuri cried. "I'm sorry you had to trust this fool. It's my fault our home will forever be frozen."
He could see it in his mind. The face of horror on his queen's face having learned of his terrible deeds. It made Yuri feel a deep pain in his heart just imagining it.
Unable to move his broken body, Yuri could only look up to the blank sky of the cold north. Even as it seemed to be a regular dark blue and grey, Yuri could see shapes within the sky forming horrors of the warp that were trying endlessly to breach into reality. This place was truly a cursed realm, where Chaos gods and gods unimaginable reigned here. Yuri could feel their eldritch gaze going over his form.
Desperation crawled into Yuri's psyche. With the taint of Chaos gone, Yuri was still a prince of Kislev. He knew deep down in his soul he needed to right the wrong he committed. Perhaps out there in the vastness of the Immaterium with its many mysteries and creatures beyond rationale, there was a god that could grant him a request he needed.
"PLEASE!" Yuri cried to the heavens with all the strength he could muster in his voice. "TO ANY GODS THAT HEAR ME, I BEG OF YOU! I LAY HERE BROKEN AND REGRETFUL OF MY SINS! KISLEV IS IN DANGER AND URSUN IS DYING! AND IT'S ALL MY FAULT! IF YOU HAVE SHRED OF MERCY, ANY SYMPATHY OF MY PLIGHT, I BEG OF YOU! GIVE ME STRENGTH! HELP ME SAVE URSUN AND STOP BE'LAKOR FROM DESTROYING MY HOME! LET ME ATONE AND MY BEING AND SOUL SHALL BE YOURS FOREVER! LET ME ATONE AND YOU SHALL HAVE MY FREEDOM! I WISH TO ATONE! LET ME ATONE FOR MY FOOLISHNESS! LET ME FIX MY MISTAKES! LET ME ATONE!"
Only silence met the now disgraced prince of Kislev. There was no one to answer him in the cold and empty wasteland. It would soon prove to be his grave as Yuri felt the feeling in his body fade away. He knew that his end was approaching near. Perhaps it was a deserved fate for him.
"Let me atone..." Yuri whimpered.
And then time stopped. The snow that softly fell was left still in the air. The whistling wind went silent and even the machinations of Chaos behind the veil went still. From the sky, Yuri saw something that pierced through the unreality like a burning hole in the cloth. Whatever it was, it left even Chaos fleeting away from it and all that was left was a deep void.
And from that void floated down a single figure. It bore a masculine appearance standing twice the height of the average man. There were no discernible features, only that his entire body was shrouded in a deep purple that drew in the light, but the contours of a humanoid appearance were clear to see. No face could be seen where it should be, but crowning the head was a pair of curled horns.
Yuri thought this thing to be some odd Daemon of the warp, but it didn't explain how it alone still moved when the world was forced to stop. This being felt entirely different from Ursun, yet carried the same air as the god.
No that wasn't it. As much as Yuri didn't want to admit it, the presence this entity carried was far greater than the god-bear.
"Yuri Barkov," The entity spoke in a haunting tone, "Prince of Kislev, Betrayer of Ursun, and now would-be beggar of atonement. I have come for an accord."
Even when Yuri should be elated, suspicion made itself known in his head. Surely this was too good to be true.
"Why?" Yuri asked, his voice too hoarse to speak more than a few words.
The dark entity was silent for a moment before answering. "I have been watching this world for quite some time. I have - an invested interest in opposing the plans of those abominations. Preventing the rise of Be'lakor, much less his ascension to godhood, work in my favor. And you will be my instrument, and it helps our interests align."
"...I know not what you are," Yuri said, "but will you truly offer me strength? Enough to save Kislev and defeat Be'lakor?"
"That depends on you, Yuri," The entity said. "And so, do you swear to me to surrender your life, your freedom, your beliefs onto my whims?"
"And to who am I swearing all that I am?" Yuri asked.
The entity replied. "The God of Darkness I was once called, but you shall know me as the Void Dragon. And so I repeat: Do you, Yuri Barkov, surrender your freedom and belief to me so that you may spread my word - my power - and slay those I deem my enemy as my herald? What say you?"
"Aye!" Yuri exclaimed with the bite he could muster.
"So it was said, so it shall be!" The Void Dragon intoned.
In the blink of an eye, the dark god's arm was trusted into Yuri's chest, making him gag from the sudden 'attack'. Flesh squelched as the god reached deep inside until he pulled back with Yuri's still-beating heart. Before the mortal man's eyes, the red organ started to darken till it was pitch black and instead started to pump a black sludge darker than anything Yuri had seen.
"Let this dark heart serve as our pact," The Void Dragon said before roughly returning the heart to its rightful owner. "Now arise, Yuri Barkov, as my new herald. Grow into your new power and spread my word through domination. And thus I give you your first orders: confront the one known as Be'lakor, prevent him from completing his plans, and free the god-bear Ursun."
If Yuri had any response he could not voice it by the violent transformation overcoming his body. His skin started to pale to a stark white and his veins bulged with his new black blood. It started to ooze out of his orifices pooling beneath him. His once brown hair turned to a charcoal black. As for his armor, the metal was forced to bend into a new design featuring shape edges, and his cape featuring Ursun's face was replaced with a darker cloth featuring a snarling wolf with red eyes. His axe, Yuri's remaining weapon, was corrupted by the sludge as the axehead elongated with black edges and gained green highlights along the flats. Nearing the end of Yuri's transformation, he opened his eyes revealing his once dark blue to have turned into orbs of scarlet red within black.
(Vision with Kairos)
After that previous session, the Greater Daemon was actually looking forward to another vision of this exciting future. He never got a clear vision like last time, but as of now, he was getting much clearer snippets of the coming events. Already, his thousands of quills were jotting down every detail his eyes into the future perceived.
Ooh, looks like one was happening right now. Though the future looked a little jumbled.
Allisara smirked at this machine thing. "Quite a piece of tech you have here. But I have to wonder. Can it feel fear?"
Penny Polendina felt what was the first chill down her spine before automatically replying. "Eliminating target."
Allisara's smirk turned into a feral grin. She made a mad dash to this metal doll, grabbing it by its arms. Even the advanced alloy Penny was composed seemed to buckle under the Druchii's grip.
"Let's test that shall we!"
...
A volley of incendiary rounds caused Allisara to lose her vision of these pesky monkeigh. Then came that bastard Norsca girl with the hammer - somehow sparking with lightning - coming in too fast from the air. She made to block it with her halberd, but was severely underestimating whatever enhancement Nora w
Yay new chapter. And now we get to see the God of Darkness enter the picture. Unlike his brother, he actually has concerns about the Chaos Gods potentially getting to Remnant. I felt Yuri was the perfect way in creating a tool that can put a wrench in Be'lakor's plans as well. But now the world will have to brace itself against the forces of Chaos that have freshly emerged from the weakened boundaries between reality and unreality.
Up next is Chapter 11.
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