Chapter 450: Ynnead: "Do You Think You Can Kill Me?"
Craftworld Biel-Tan, Infinity Circuit
Huff... Huff...
Cegorach could hear the sound of his own breathing.
The Laughing God had experienced many dangers in his long, supernatural life. Some of the most terrifying occurred during the cataclysm that tore open the Eye of Terror. Those encounters had become blurred over time—a series of increasingly desperate escapes, never finding a shred of peace anywhere.
A sudden burst of high notes in a long, dull melody had always been the Jester's fate. But for Cegorach, the dullness had lasted for countless millennia, making the recent burst of high notes so vivid, so difficult to handle.
Yet, despite all that, nothing he had experienced in his life compared to this current journey.
He stood sweating profusely in this domain that already belonged to another group of gods. His forehead felt burning hot, his hands trembling uncontrollably. He knew his affliction: fear. Fear of being forgotten, fear of dying without achievement, fear of being unable to do anything. The feeling of confronting fear triggered a fight-or-flight response throughout his body. This torture called weakness brought him to the brink of collapse.
Their era had passed. For ten thousand years, he had struggled to survive, avoiding the nauseating nightmare visions in the Eldar prophecies, never once thinking of giving up.
Now, the aftereffects were surfacing.
When hope truly appeared, giving up seemed like a reasonable option.
Cegorach could smell it everywhere—in his breath, inside his billowing robes.
But he couldn't allow himself to collapse.
Not yet.
Perhaps after enduring a few more centuries, he would choose to give up and end it all. But now, he was closer to his goal than ever before. Although not everything was ready, hope was visible.
Hold on a little longer, Cegorach.
The Laughing God maintained the posture of a jester trying to please his monarch, telling himself.
When we truly reach that step, you can collapse however you want.
Now there are strangers around you, completely strange gods. Don't show your true fear. Don't show it in front of them.
Just like what you are best at: use words to please them, play the clown, become the clown.
He was doing his best, holding his head high.
His mouth was dry, his heart panicked.
But he couldn't fall.
"Heroes in this world are truly as plentiful as carp crossing the river."
Arthur raised his sword, looking at the edge polished to a shine.
The silver groove embedded in the outer ring of the black blade reflected the Laughing God's appearance.
The Lion deeply agreed.
To give up oneself, even one's dignity, for the survival of a race—the Lion asked himself, and his inner pride wouldn't allow him to go that far.
He could die, but he wouldn't accept wagging his tail and begging before a group of strangers so others could live.
Especially when standing on a throne capable of influencing the fate of a race.
"If one has power, who would be willing to do this?"
Ramesses whispered.
This was a last resort. After all, the difference in individual power in this universe was real.
There were many heroes like the Phoenix Lord and the Old Farseer. But limited by the status quo, the Old Farseer could only ruin his reputation in wild attempts he wasn't sure of himself. The Phoenix Lord could only act as a sycophant, stabilizing the internal situation of Biel-Tan, buying more time to understand the new gods before him, and delaying the overall fall of the race.
But these people couldn't do much.
The power they mastered determined that they couldn't represent much.
The Old Farseer's attempts seemed more like performances for the gods to mock. If the Phoenix Lord really wanted to do something drastic, he would probably be sent to the guillotine by his fanatical people.
In fact, Cegorach was the same. He couldn't use much; he couldn't do much.
Unlike Vashtorr who could still dream, the Laughing God's path forward was truly blocked by all kinds of monsters.
And those who could truly represent and decide all this were too beastly.
If they could completely ignore the influence of other lives, fine. At this point, what's there to say? If you want to torture me, just do it. But these existences, forming a certain symbiotic relationship with believers, couldn't shake them off, and might even be backlashed.
This led to decisions that seemed purely harmful to others without benefiting oneself, dragging everyone into the cesspit together.
Specifically pointing at the C'tan and the Eldar gods.
Now, actually letting a clown ascend to the throne of the Eldar Pantheon, letting a clown do his utmost to show off everything he mastered to win a future for the race—this was the failure of that entire group, not the failure of the clown.
"You—"
Ramesses looked at the grinning Cegorach, clutching a part of the Avatar of Ynnead in his hand. His expression turned weird, holding it in for a long time, and finally gave a thumbs up.
"You are the man."
"Haha, of course. All for humanity."
The Laughing God laughed out loud, still looking cheerful.
Ramesses almost couldn't hold back his laughter.
"We'll deal with Ynnead's problem first, then discuss cooperation details later. You responsible for observing, no problem, right?"
Shaking his head, he decided to get down to business.
Arthur and Karna usually handled internal issues; diplomacy was for him and Old Romulus.
"I can connect you to the internal network. You talk to Romulus first. He handles the general direction decisions of our team."
Mainly because Romulus wouldn't personify races when discussing business. Just like absorbing the Earth Caste scientists of the T'au Empire without stereotypes, he wouldn't view the Eldar behind the Laughing God with too many positive filters just because the Laughing God was a bit better.
Logically, the Laughing God should be able to become friends with them. There were many heroes in this universe, but few on the same wavelength. However, brothers still need to settle accounts clearly.
"Sure, sure."
Cegorach agreed, glancing at Yvraine.
Prioritizing one's own interests was a good thing. It meant if you became one of them, they wouldn't treat you badly.
How to become one of them was his problem.
The fickleness and capriciousness of the Eldar were notorious, as seen from Slaanesh. So in the future, there would probably be many bizarre events wearing down the patience of the Dawnbreakers, and the Dawnbreakers probably wouldn't spoil the Eldar; they would definitely strike hard.
Good thing.
Cegorach always felt the biggest reason for the collapse of the Eldar Empire wasn't Isha's doting, but Asuryan's inaction.
If he had issued a decree every few hundred years, it wouldn't have turned out like this.
And that damn Lileath, prophesying for nothing. The Eldar gods disconnecting from the Eldar was largely her fault—one of the war criminals behind Slaanesh's birth.
"Here, connect."
"Okay."
Nodding and bowing while connecting the comms, as responsibility took over, the crisis lingering around him dissipated unnoticed.
All he needed to be responsible for was winning a future for the Eldar.
"Hello~ Is this Lord Romulus?"
The Laughing God connected the call.
"Me, Cegorach, Human God of Laughter."
"I have a lot of useful stuff here. Help take a look when you have time? Black Library data, fair trade..."
"Heh, if worst comes to worst, I can craft a finished product and send it over. Still got the skills after working alone all these years..."
"No problem, no trouble at all. Serving humanity..."
"..."
"My god."
Trazyn put down the camera, looking incredulous.
He looked at the Herald of the Corona, who carried sadness and a hint of unwillingness, then turned his head to look at Eldrad, who was so relieved he looked like he could die the next second.
It was clearly a game I was leading. What do I do when a carry on the other side grabs the steering wheel and drives straight to the finish line with sparks and lightning?
Where is the Silent King, Szarekh?
Querying Silent King status—
Although loaded with a soul, the brain still running on the galaxy's most cutting-edge computing system quickly conjured up the Necron territories still twisted into a ball due to civil war, selfish desires, and pride.
External Tyranid threat, internal massive civil war, Flayer virus deep in the race ahead, escaped C'tan Shards behind... The Stormlord rebelled just for the thrill of battle, the Silent King was still a cryptic riddler, and the ideological confusion of various dynasties was more exaggerated than the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period.
Orikan is still jungling!
Trazyn held his head in his hands, feeling the sky falling.
Is there no normal person in leadership in this universe?
Not expecting surrender—Necrons were dead anyway, rock bottom, no need to be bootlickers—but starting formal diplomacy for technical cooperation and trading with the Dawnbreakers would work! The Necrons' useless civilian technology and computer tech could exchange for who knows how many souls.
He should have borrowed an assassin squad from the Little Inquisitor to assassinate the Stormlord back then, let Vargard Obyron's boss, Nemesor Zahndrekh, take over, then set up a situation for the Dawnbreakers to chop Szarekh too, and recommend Zahndrekh as the head of the Triarch!
No!
Trazyn flipped through his contacts.
Well, actually all his creditors.
Flipping to his own Phaeron's directory, cursing his boss as a completely rotten senile dementia patient, flipping to the next directory, Trazyn decided he had to do something for his race too.
Can't go on like this. Must find a weighty, normal Phaeron to start formal diplomacy. Otherwise, the longer it drags on, the worse the Necrons' technological advantage becomes. They won't even get to eat warm shit then.
Look at how much the Eldar have progressed.
It was cold here.
Very cold.
White frost spread on the rough stone.
Besides that, the smell of burning souls assaulted the nose.
Yvraine, chosen as the vessel, looked in surprise at the blade she held. The empty Infinity Circuit in front of her, infused with souls by Ramesses, glowed with a brilliance that could only bloom during the Eldar Empire era.
There was a presence here, invisible for now, but occupying it.
Yvraine felt she was being tainted by some power.
This made her subconsciously want to withdraw.
"Don't move."
Ramesses' voice rang in her skull.
"Stay as you are. Don't be afraid. Falling into my hands means even Slaanesh can't snatch you away."
He was injecting pure soul power into the Infinity Circuit. As the God of Death born deep within the Infinity Circuit, as long as the quantity was met, this pure soul power was enough to support His awakening.
As for where the pure souls came from, don't ask for now.
"..."
Falling into your hands vs. falling into Slaanesh's hands... hard to say which ending is worse.
The young Eldar couldn't help but complain internally. Thinking of the daemons she visited in "The Park," she shuddered subconsciously.
Do you know how the safe threshold for daemon engine energy and the minimum soul capacity to maintain ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine types of daemons in the Book of Ramesses were tested?
She knew.
"Why are you empathizing with daemons?"
Ramesses' voice rang again.
"With that mind, you might as well think about what to eat tomorrow."
"..."
Yvraine quickly gathered her thoughts.
When she activated the psychic field on the Spear of Twilight, dazzling light flooded the space. The shadows around her receded rapidly, leaving only a patch of uneven darkness before the altar—a blackness with no reflection, head lowered.
"Go away!"
The power of the God of Death resisted, seeming to be in a fierce tug-of-war with Ramesses.
The black mass writhed, stretched, and then began to twist, popping out a pale grey head like a hen laying an egg.
The head was missing an eye, replaced by a purple horn. On the chest, apart from the female curve, a lonely cavity occupied most of the space, surrounded by fine, sharp teeth.
"GO AWAY!"
He spoke, loose thick lips trembling sickly, violent power escaping.
"Heh."
Countless spells unfolded, trapping this avatar in place in an instant.
The square was torn into a mess by the power of death in an instant. Dead microorganisms piled up a shallow layer of dust on the ground. In this 'confrontation', Ramesses extracted the power of the God of Death sent by Cegorach, pre-loaded inside the Infinity Circuit.
These powers were pre-loaded with some reactions. Although limited by weakness, the resistance couldn't last long, Ynnead could see the exquisite acting within.
Quite vivid.
Within Biel-Tan's Infinity Circuit, Ynnead evaluated, thinking a bit higher of that clown.
But now was obviously not the time for critique.
"I should leave."
Ynnead, or rather the Avatar of Ynnead, the Yncarne, looked arrogantly at Ramesses who was 'focused on dealing with' the bait, and chose to leave decisively.
He didn't choose to occupy the Crone Sword currently held by Yvraine. It didn't matter if his chosen one got a bit of Death God power. His essence could find another Crone Sword as an anchor in the mortal world.
Ramesses didn't act immediately.
He was still observing, trying to lure the God of Death out of the cradle formed by the Infinity Circuit without stimulating Him as much as possible.
A Craftworld was still very precious. Although the Infinity Circuit was likely ruined due to the birth of the God of Death, the Craftworld itself had great research value. Belisarius Cawl wouldn't give up such a complete research facility.
The Yncarne moved unimpeded, easily escaping the Infinity Circuit, passing through the ancient passages of the Craftworld as if nothing happened.
This was an interesting journey. Once passing through the Webway gate at the Ultramar Gate to the east, he would be like a dragon entering the sea, free to go anywhere.
The further forward, the better the situation.
The entire Craftworld became empty. Except for those traitors who converted to Outer Gods, there were few eyes left.
The spaceport itself fell into a charming emptiness, pulsating under the pale light emitted by rare wax-like substances not from any living being. Strange shouts echoed in the silent passages. Inorganic water gathered in pools rippled.
He looked at the various traps around him that seemed prepared for him, almost laughing out loud.
Ramesses is a cunning fox.
No next time.
He lifted his leg, about to step into the Webway.
"Wait."
A hand landed on his shoulder.
It was Ramesses!
Cegorach, you set me up!
The Yncarne shouted in his heart.
The aura of death bloomed from him, forming treacherous grey-purple clouds.
This power that killed all living things on touch was sealed in an area by psychic energy.
Unlike facing the mysterious Laughing God Cegorach, because there was plenty of data on the Yncarne's appearances, Ramesses had a good idea of the Yncarne's combat power.
Couldn't beat Ahriman, the Tzeentchian chosen who was now wandering in the Webway with a fake map after being duped by the Laughing God.
Naturally, couldn't beat him either.
"You can let Me go."
The Yncarne said: "I am completely harmless. I have no impact on your existence. I just want to be born. The Eldar are not worthy of your protection either."
Ramesses remained vigilant.
"We need you, but you yourself are too unstable."
"You and I, us."
Ramesses pointed at the Yncarne's face.
"Only one of us lives."
"Heh~"
The Yncarne sneered back:
"You are not safe either. Let Me go, and I will stand on your side. In the future, we can feast together."
"I don't think so."
Ramesses smiled cheerfully.
"You will stay here. This is the most convenient and safe way. Trust me, it will be quick."
"You think? You can think for yourself? How arrogant are you Outer Gods, presuming to judge the life and death of a god based on your own sensory preferences? Where does your authority come from? I don't see it."
The grinning mouth opened wider, the roar of the God of Death sounded.
"Let Me see how fast you can be!"
The candle flames stopped flickering, frozen like a paused picture.
The Yncarne's body suddenly soared upward, speeding outward. Grey-purple flames spread at an exaggerated speed, obscuring vision.
Ramesses dispersed these filthy grey mists with an impact like daylight. The staff in his hand swept diagonally, the tip sweeping across the open maw. The extending mist and flesh shattered into dense fragments, then gathered together, writhing to form many new bodies.
These creations, capable of ending any life activity upon contact, seemed to fill the hall, surging towards the lone Ramesses. The entire space was immersed in void-like purple-grey ripples.
The first moment passed. Time was still stuck in that seemingly frozen instant.
But Ramesses knew the falsehood within this grand scene.
He endured the attacks of these creations, his gaze locked on the Yncarne.
The Yncarne turned and fled towards the Webway exit.
Then he rushed into a boundless forest.
The Lion, prepared to hunt early on, pounced.
"Where do you think you're going?!"
That roar was full of majesty, announcing the arrival of the true master of the hunting ground.
The Lion swung his sword without hesitation, intercepting the fleeing Yncarne with speed like teleportation. The Lion Sword sank into the Yncarne's body.
Then his second sweep cut the Yncarne in half at the waist, snuffing out the spreading grey-purple flames.
In an instant, countless forms identical to Eldar wailed in pain. Fragments scattered, splashing on the surrounding trees. The Lion squeezed out all the power he mastered, pouncing on the original avatar, piercing the grotesque body covered in purple carapace like a Slaaneshi daemon, pinning him to the floor of the hall.
Arthur, about to act, couldn't help but laugh. Seeing the Lion complete all this, he stepped closer and nodded to him.
The second moment passed. The Yncarne writhed on the ground, spitting vicious words.
The Lion could feel the similarity between him and himself, feel his essence trembling in the blade. Through these escaping breaths, he glimpsed another world. That world was endless, created by pain and resentment, only to destroy everything.
This transcendent existence should have been the guide of all living beings, controlling the fate of countless lives, but would be devoured by them because of this failure.
The Lion experienced his fear and resentment, feelings completely unbearable for a god.
Clang!
The third moment. The blade wrapped in a black curtain sliced across the neck.
This was the last sound the Yncarne heard before his consciousness disconnected.
Whoosh~
'Ramesses' caught the dispersing grey-purple flames, then his whole person dissipated, turning into a small sphere sealing the power of the God of Death.
Slap!
Beside Arthur, Ramesses reached out and caught their spoil.
The forest faded, the candles began to flicker, illuminating three intact bodies.
"That fast."
Hmm?
Amidst the echoes of shock or anger from bystanders, Slaanesh, playing with a Crone Sword on the bed, suddenly jumped up.
The God of Death was no longer complete.
He could no longer represent the Eldar.
This puzzled the Prince of Pleasure greatly, rarely casting Her gaze to the material universe.
She hadn't paid attention to the material universe for a while.
Since the Battle of Cadia, realizing the gap between Fulgrim and those four, as the weakest link among the Four Gods, Slaanesh had basically been slacking off.
After all, everyone knows Slaanesh's drive. After making a certain determination, She would be distracted by some fun on the way. After having fun, She might not remember what the goal was.
And visibly, there was absolutely no hope of obtaining those four.
This directly led to a hard time for the members of the entire Sixth Circle recently.
Sigh, fantasizing again.
Fantasizing that in the Grand Sacrifice of Pielde back then, only She, a transcendent existence, intervened. Ringing in Her ears was Romulus's ambition to save all humanity from despair. Beside Her was knowledge explored by Ramesses from the endless Warp, urged by thirst for knowledge.
And my arms embracing the Lord of Knights, enjoying his restrained charm.
Slaanesh sighed, climbed up from the bed, wanting to summon Fulgrim, but found that the brat hadn't finished paying the debt for Her completing him.
Sigh~
Thinking of this, the God of Pleasure lost interest in paying attention to reality. Gathering the bedding, She picked up the Crone Sword from the bed and went deep into Her body to relieve boredom.
Although She didn't know what happened, it seemed She didn't need to worry about the awakening of the God of Death anymore?
Win!
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