Chapter 449: The Clown is a Profession, Not an Identity
Cegorach loathed Slaanesh, for She Who Thirsts had long since destroyed everything he held dear.
Cegorach also loathed this universe, for the very machinations of the cosmos seemed designed to birth one unavoidable tragedy after another.
For this reason, he had even prepared the Final Jest for Slaanesh—that the god who delighted in devouring Eldar souls would one day be forced to protect the remnants of the Eldar race for the sake of its own existence.
Because the moment the last Eldar died, Ynnead would be born. The God of the Dead would rise, bearing the collective hatred of the Eldar for Slaanesh, slay the Dark Prince, and ascend to the Fifth Throne.
This causality led Ynnead to believe that Cegorach should naturally stand on the same side.
"Those Outer Gods seek to use the two Crone Swords and My chosen one to forcibly awaken a part of Me... Just as the Accursed One was forced to face the puppets of the Four Gods, I too must face this tribulation."
Ynnead explained the reason.
"I need you, master of deception, to mask all this for Me, just as you once deceived the Outsider into devouring his own kin."
The situation in the universe was changing too fast. These four entities, appearing out of nowhere, were inexplicably hunting Warp entities. First it was daemons, then Perturabo, then the demigod Vashtorr. They were forcibly transferring assets from under the noses of the Gods, completely overturning the order of things.
And Ynnead was powerless to stop it.
If he had acted before they grew powerful, perhaps he could have done something. But now, the methods of these four were enough to alarm even the Chaos Gods. Even Ynnead felt a genuine crisis.
If this continued, he could forget about being born. He had to gamble now. Even if he failed, the worst outcome would be getting stuck at the Slaanesh stage.
He absolutely did not believe these Outer Gods had the ability to seize the Crone Swords from Slaanesh's grasp.
The god, covered in purple carapace and genderless, stared at the Laughing God who still wore a playful expression.
Cegorach craved revenge, and the God of the Dead happened to hold the power of revenge.
As for what consequences His birth would bring, who cared?
With Ynnead, it meant the Eldar still had a chance to perish together with Slaanesh.
But Cegorach knew that Ynnead was no different from those greedy souls. Everyone knew the credit rating of this cosmic god. He absolutely would not trust the words of Ynnead, the God of Death.
Cegorach could trust Isha, because Isha had proven her doting love for the Eldar with practical actions. Even in such a critical situation, apart from the Dark Eldar in Commorragh who began to degenerate, other Eldar were physically no different from the ancient Eldar.
Wait, no. Isha truly loved all life in the universe.
Every time a new plague appeared in Nurgle's cauldron, this Goddess of Life would taste the soup first to generate antibodies, and immediately release the cure into the material universe after Nurgle spread the plague.
And in these ten thousand years, the ones who benefited most from her grace were not the dwindling Eldar race—viewed by Slaanesh as property and ignored or disdained by the other three gods—but humanity.
After all, humanity was the current galactic hegemon, with influence spanning the galaxy, and was also the race most deeply affected by Chaos.
This was practically a Human Goddess.
It was unreasonable for humanity not to build a temple for her and offer a few prayers.
The Laughing God let Ynnead's words pass through his skull, his mind wandering elsewhere.
Thinking of Isha, this good sister with whom he had lost contact for ten thousand years, he almost jumped up. He sincerely thanked the pig teammates for producing a true saint, giving him something new to bring to the table when negotiating with those four.
Although Isha was silly and cowardly, knowing nothing but crying when facing difficulties—her tears from back then still formed the barrier separating the Pantheon from realspace in the Warp—she was truly kind.
And this selfless kindness was the best means to win the support of those four.
Cegorach analyzed his impression of the Dawnbreakers and nodded in agreement.
"..."
Ynnead frowned, feeling that the guy in front of him wasn't listening at all.
"My Kin, do you understand?"
He spoke.
A cold aura, like a black sun, spread out, swirling in the deep Webway.
As a fellow god, Cegorach could see the intertwined circuits within. Inside these circuits were countless Eldar, enduring the fear of death, screaming and wailing within...
This was the echo of the Eldar gathered at the moment of death, filled with the most extreme desires.
Desire for death, desire for revenge, desire for the end...
The entity formed by all these extreme emotions was this monster born from the Infinity Circuits of the Eldar—the Eldar God of Death.
Except for being weaker, He was no different from the one on the Golden Throne who had not yet risen.
"Hiss~"
The Laughing God took a deep breath.
Unlike most Eldar who gave up or fell, he always felt that the Eldar could still be saved.
Otherwise, he could just start a genocide against the Eldar like Cain did. Why would the Harlequin troupes travel to various Eldar settlements to perform, deliver intelligence, help fight, or hope they could reflect on their actions?
If all else failed, believing in him, the Laughing God, a bit more would strengthen him to protect more Eldar, right?
"You say it lightly."
Of course, the Laughing God couldn't say he was contemplating how to kill the already active God of Death.
Looking at Ynnead, he kept rubbing his hands, smiling fawningly: "I am just a clown. How can I influence the senses of those four? Not to mention there is one among them who is insulated from the Warp. My clumsy tricks can't deceive him."
This was the truth.
He could fool the Outsider, the complete C'tan, because the high-level beings of this universe all had a "startling wisdom," thinking they were second only to the heavens. But these four obviously lacked this "startling wisdom," so he naturally didn't have a good solution.
True enough. This guy was just the most inconspicuous jester in the Pantheon, useless. Slaanesh didn't even notice this clown immediately when She devoured the gods.
Fitting for a clown's identity.
Ynnead thought so.
"This is a part of Me."
After a brief silence, He looked at the seemingly useless Laughing God. His body gradually dispersed, turning into ethereal alien flames that gathered together, finally forming a golden talisman.
"Though far inferior to the Crone Swords, It is no different from Us. You solve the rest yourself!"
"Easy to say, easy to say."
Cegorach beamed with joy.
"Hmph!"
The consciousness of the God of Death scoffed, then fell silent.
"Hehe."
Cegorach maintained that exaggerated smile, but it seemed like he was wearing a mask.
He looked around, first counting the Harlequin troupe he was protecting behind him to make sure no one was missing, then glanced at the Black Library, deciding to stuff this talisman into his pocket.
After thinking about it, feeling it wasn't safe just stuffed like that, he rummaged in his other pocket and stuffed a handful of unflipped Blackstone in as well.
After doing all this, Cegorach extended his hand, tearing open the psychic projection leading to Craftworld Biel-Tan.
"No pain, no gain! Work hard!"
"Tiredness means you're alive! That's life! Comfort is for the dead!"
"Defend your current life with performance! As long as you don't die from working, work yourself to death!"
"Even if you die from working, I have resurrection!"
Ramesses' loud voice could be heard across thousands of light-years.
At this moment, with the Dawnbreakers stationed in Biel-Tan, following the contract, they were migrating the population, protecting the Infinity Circuit, and selecting Eldar willing to enter "The Park" for work. Currently, they were undergoing the corporate culture shock of "The Park."
Chanting slogans, seniors leading juniors.
"Brother Ramesses, um..."
The Lion looked at Ramesses shouting with a psychic loudspeaker, with an indescribable expression on his face.
He couldn't help but look at Arthur.
At first, he thought this brother was comparable to Magnus, but now he felt Magnus was leagues behind this one.
"Corporate culture. You'll get used to it."
Arthur continued wiping his blade.
"My Lord, the High Farseer died from exhaustion!"
The Herald of the Corona ran over in a hurry, holding the completely crystalized body of the High Farseer of the Seer Council.
Ramesses knew at a glance that the physical body had reached its limit.
Since Isha was imprisoned, the Craftworld Eldar had lost their physical cloning technology, so they could only endure with their bodies. After all, Commorragh was a place Craftworld Eldar avoided if possible.
For Craftworld Eldar, death meant entering the Infinity Circuit or Slaanesh's palace. Commorragh was the median, slightly closer to Slaanesh's palace.
One could say the only difference between Commorragh and Slaanesh's palace was that Commorragh was in realspace.
And this High Farseer was in worse shape than Eldrad. Lasting this long was purely due to love for the Craftworld. Obviously an Eldar with ideals and ambitions, completely detached from vulgar interests.
Such an Eldar—
Excellent beast of burden!
"It's fine, the soul is good. I'll stuff it back in. Back to work in three minutes."
Ramesses waved his hand, and the hand of Hayek fished the High Farseer out of death directly.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Hurry up. After it's done, everyone gets seven days off. Extra holidays based on performance. Materialized soul bodies paid for by the Daemon Lords."
Ramesses shouted into the loudspeaker again.
"Yes, my Lord!"
"..."
The work efficiency was high. With several Primarchs present, Biel-Tan, the most martial of the Craftworlds, was almost empty. The remaining stubborn members were the "Park Eldar" still mobilizing the stubborn old folks in the Infinity Circuit.
"..."
Watching the Park Eldar happily going to the Warp to apply for living area expansion and extended annual leave because they duped a few ancestors, Cegorach's face showed a strained expression.
Is this a pyramid scheme? Bringing people in counts as performance metrics.
Too abstract.
But then again.
Cegorach examined the promotional brochure for "The Park" by Ramesses.
It covered treatment, remuneration for various jobs, employee handbooks, and Ramesses' obligations as the owner of the Park. It also included actual cases of Eldar, Kin scientists, Earth Caste scientists of the T'au Empire, etc., as well as detailed popular science about the Warp as a threat.
Pretty insidious. After reading this knowledge, if you don't enter the Park, you probably won't be able to shake off daemons in this life.
It felt like this guy was running godhood like a company, forcing you to have no choice through reality, and then ruthlessly squeezing your surplus value.
Cegorach felt even more strained.
But then he felt relieved, thinking of those Park Eldar going to collect rewards.
Although he couldn't find where the Park was because it didn't accept Harlequins, these Eldar were familiar faces. There was even a Farseer who was selected at the very beginning. Their enthusiasm couldn't be faked.
At least their simple moral values supported them in abiding by the labor laws they set, right?
Look, this employee handbook even added relevant requirements, proposing requirements for personal behavior and social activities, and strictly regulating various stimulations, especially mental ones.
Although it was written for all races, it basically restricted the Eldar. After all, among these alien races, the Eldar were the most immoral. These regulations were obviously to prevent Craftworld Eldar from letting themselves go after relapsing.
Moral values...
Cegorach finally couldn't hold his expression.
So who should he choose?
On one side was a new generation god who abided by labor contracts, had no interest in torturing believers, only desired performance metrics, and strictly executed contracts.
On the other side was a God of Death who just shot up an Eldar Craftworld just to send him a message, generally still stuck in the old generation environment.
Since the power of the God of Death would eventually be mastered by one side, why should he choose the more harmful one?
Although according to social development norms, it was all shit, the former was obviously considered a benevolent lord in this universe.
Everyone could distinguish between squeezing surplus value and sucking marrow from bones.
Looking at those Eldar with light in their eyes, thinking of the Harlequins who were killed when they first encountered the Dawnbreakers, Cegorach couldn't help but sigh. If they hadn't followed him, they might have had a better ending.
Although they died a good death, they were obviously dragged down by him.
Swallowing the gloomy breath, Cegorach finally made a determination.
He had to cherish the only opportunity in this life.
He opened his mouth and finally connected with the Crystal Farseer of Biel-Tan who could still speak.
"God—My Lord, Webway communication."
Biel-Tan. The High Farseer of the Seer Council, who had just been resurrected for ten minutes, found Ramesses who was busy. The power exoskeleton dragged her new body, yet this Farseer looked radiant as she ran.
Really can come back to life.
No need to worry about being devoured by Slaanesh, nor worry about consciousness merging into the Infinity Circuit and losing self.
Instead, truly reconstructed the cycle belonging to the ancient Eldar. As long as not annihilated, one can live again.
The High Farseer came to Ramesses.
The Formless Lord was mobilizing Yvraine to draw the sword. The young chosen of Ynnead was listening to some professional terms with confusion.
Arthur and the Lion were sharpening their blades. One locked down reality, the other used his own domain to block the various Webway entrances of Biel-Tan.
He turned his head.
"Who is it?"
"Looking for you."
The Farseer shook her head, then pointed at Yvraine.
Ramesses understood instantly and connected to the psychic communication.
"Hello? Who are you?"
He asked.
Testing the waters first.
As the last heavy hitter of the Eldar gods, the Laughing God hadn't been reduced to the level of Cain due to the frequent moves of the Avatar of Ynnead. Generally, he still retained a considerable degree of mystery. Plus, with a reputation second only to the Emperor, Tzeentch, and the Deceiver, he had always been an object needing careful treatment for them.
"Me, Human God Cegorach."
The Laughing God covered one ear with a hand. His opening words shocked the surrounding Harlequins greatly.
"I'm reporting something to you. You know the Eldar God of Death, Ynnead, right? The one you're planning to deal with now. He just found me, trying to threaten me with the preservation of the great human branch to weave lies for you, so he can use your actions to successfully birth an avatar."
"But who are we? Seeing this kind of thing that obviously wants to incite opposition between our individuals, destroy the unity between our human gods, threaten the harmonious development of human internal ethnic groups, and hinder the re-greatness of humanity, I came to report immediately."
"..."
Whose mouth did these words come from?
Facing an ultimate move right off the bat, Ramesses, somewhat dazed, turned his head to look at the Eldar present.
The old ones included several Farseers and the Phoenix—Herald of the Corona; the young one was the chosen of Ynnead, Yvraine. Without exception, the facial features of these Eldar, who always paid attention to etiquette, were twisted into a ball.
Ramesses organized his expression.
"For the sake of the Eldar being galactic overlords for tens of millions of years, I advise you to have some shame."
"Heh, I want the Eldar to live. What do I need shame for!"
Seeing the call got through, the Laughing God waved away a group of Harlequins who came over, a heartfelt smile appearing on his face.
"For the sake of brotherhood, give a brother a hand. Let me into the Park. My troupe can't even guarantee personal safety now. I myself am threatened by the God of Death coming to my door. Can't operate anymore. I can sign this contract too."
"..."
"Brother, I have considerable assets. I'll trade the Black Library with you. Webway maps, True Names of daemons, forbidden technology, everything."
"..."
"Please, take me to build the Human Empire for a lifetime! How can I live without you!"
Cegorach ran in the Webway, heading towards Biel-Tan. He shouted with the most emotional posture, trying to win a way of life for the race he protected, seemingly forgetting that he was also a god, abandoning the dignity belonging to a god at this moment.
Living like a clown.
That comical face still wore a smile.
Yes, this was Cegorach's true Final Jest as the Laughing God.
Laughing at Slaanesh, and even more at himself.
Although he always talked about the birth of the God of Death, the Laughing God never intended to really let Ynnead be born, let the Eldar be destroyed, and change the person in the pit above the cesspool.
Because, as the god who loathed Slaanesh the most, who loathed this current galaxy the most.
Cegorach, this jester, clown.
This little god who was always despised.
He simply couldn't bear to let the Eldar die.
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