Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 638 Killing Fugen
The golden flames ignited by the Emperor's Sword were not ordinary burning.

It is the embodiment of the Lord of Mankind's endless hatred for aliens and demons, a pure will of destruction originating from the Golden Throne and condensing ten thousand years of human faith and suffering.

When Digglis gripped the hilt of his sword and swung this sacred weapon at the fallen Primarch, the blade tore not only through the air, but seemed to rip open the barrier between reality and nothingness.

The flames roared silently, and a terrifying shriek that transcended physical hearing and directly affected the soul reverberated deep within everyone's consciousness.

That was not noise, but the prayers of hundreds of millions of people in despair, the roars of war, and the will to persevere in the dark ages, all converging and compressing into a torrent of final judgment, rushing toward its goal.

This holy yet incredibly violent golden beam of light seized the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and struck Fugen with pinpoint accuracy.

At this moment, the Demon Prince was in unprecedented chaos and weakness due to the essence extraction performed by the female version of Fugen through the Emperor's Mark. His deep connection with the warp was also becoming shaky, like a poisonous vine whose roots had been severed.

"Do not--!!!"

A piercing, distorted scream erupted from Fugen's mouth. This voice no longer contained the pain or rage that was mixed with theatricality or mockery of the past, but rather the most primal, pure, and fundamental fear—the ultimate fear of utter annihilation.

This fear even overwhelmed all the extreme sensory experiences he had gained from Slaanesh's blessing, because it directly touched upon the deepest nightmare of the warp: the true, eternal end.

Generally speaking, destroying the physical form of a demon prince, even if repeated countless times, is by no means the true end.

Their essence is deeply rooted in the warp realm where the Chaos God who granted them power resides.

As long as the will and power of the evil gods remain, they can reshape themselves from that boiling, chaotic sea of ​​energy, and their return is only a matter of time.

This is almost a despairing iron law in the universe.

However, at this moment, all the laws have been broken.

Although the static field was forcibly broken by the Great Demon Sharasi the Disaster, its residual spacetime viscosity effect, like the most stubborn malignant sore, still briefly interfered with and delayed the invisible bond between Fugen and the essence of the subspace.

Even more fatal was the female version of Fugen's devastating blow—the mysterious imperial mark not only forcibly plundered some of his power, but also tore a huge, unhealable gap in the core of his being, fundamentally shaking the very foundation he was built upon.

The golden flames of the Emperor's Sword seized upon this fleeting, perfect weakness created by a confluence of factors, and poured its ultimate destructive power—specifically targeting beings in the warp—into it without reservation!

This flame did not merely scorch that demonic body; it was more like a purifying tide with a greedy will, surging wildly into every tiny crevice and every corner of Fugen's being.

Wherever the flames reached, the chaotic energy that constituted the Fugen demon form was not dispelled or banished back to the subspace. Instead, it emitted a chilling sizzling sound, as if it were scorching metal exposed to absolute zero, collapsing and annihilating from the most basic level, returning to the most primitive, pure nothingness without any consciousness or form!

This kind of annihilation is chain-like, irreversible, and truly "deleted".

Fugen's once magnificent yet twisted and perverse body, like a sand sculpture blown by the winds of time for ten thousand years, began to violently collapse and disintegrate.

The four arms hung limply at their sides, and the eerie and terrifying weapons vanished in the golden flames before they even hit the ground.

On his flawless yet inhuman face, the extreme horror and ultimate despair were eternally frozen, then shattered and vanished completely like a piece of glass art struck by a heavy hammer.

There was no dramatic explosion as expected, and no siphon vortex as is common when energy returns to the subspace.

Only one absolute, soul-chilling "erasure" was proceeding silently yet efficiently. "Impossible... Father... This is impossible..." Before being completely annihilated, the last remaining fragments of Fugen's consciousness let out a wail that no one could hear, filled with endless confusion and ultimate fear.

He could never understand why the blessing from the god of darkness had completely failed, or why the "eternity" he sought had come to an end in such an absolute way.

The entire process is actually extremely short in physical time.

To an outside observer, it appeared that after the golden beam of the Emperor's Sword struck, Fugen's enormous and terrifying demonic body was completely devoured and decomposed from the inside out by the sacred golden flames amidst extreme pain and indescribable fear, ultimately turning into a few wisps of fine ash that quickly dissipated in the scorching air, leaving not even a trace behind.

The demon prince Forgrim, who was once famous throughout the galaxy for his decadent art and pursuit of extreme sensory pleasure, suddenly and drastically weakened his presence, both in the real universe and in the turbulent depths of the warp. Like a candle in the wind, it flickered briefly before being extinguished completely, leaving no trace.

Almost at the same instant, the great demon Sharasi, who was engaged in a deadly dance with Hathor, suddenly stopped his fluid and terrifying movements.

For the first time, a clear look of astonishment, and... a hint of barely perceptible yet real rage, appeared on its inhuman face, which was always etched with a playful yet cruel gaze.

It sensed with absolute clarity that the profound and direct connection between it and Fugen, stemming from the same dark master, had been severed.

It is not a temporary shielding or weakening, but a complete, radical, and permanent break!

Slaanesh's most beloved prince... has actually perished? In this material universe, he was utterly destroyed by a weapon from the mortal realm?

Sharasi's empty yet all-seeing eyes suddenly turned to Digris, who was panting heavily but whose gaze was as firm as a rock. His gaze swept over the Imperial Sword in Digris's hand, which was still emitting its afterglow, and then quickly passed over the unconscious female version of Fugen and the wounded but still ready Feralus and Hathor.

It instantly realized that the plan to descend had completely failed, and that it had paid a far greater price than expected.

Continuing to linger here, facing a powerful think tank wielding the Emperor's Holy Sword, two Primarch-level powerhouses in relatively good condition, and an ever-growing number of loyalist troops, would be far from a wise move, even for a force as strong as it is.

It let out a sharp screech filled with endless resentment and icy rage, a sound that pierced through eardrums and tore apart the mental barriers of all living beings present.

The next moment, it no longer lingered in the fight. The Demonic Spear drew a strange arc in the air, easily tearing through the veil of reality once again.

The iridescent rift, filled with both allure and destructive power, reappeared.

It gracefully but swiftly drifted backward, its eerie form disappearing completely into the crevice.

Just a moment before the rift completely closed, its icy gaze, cold enough to freeze the soul, swept over the people on the battlefield one last time, its eyes clearly imprinted with an unyielding vow of revenge.

As the subspace rift disappeared, the suffocatingly sweet aroma and eerie music that permeated the battlefield also quickly faded and subsided.

Finally, the warp fluctuations above the Forge Plaza, which had been violently agitated by the arrival of the Chaos Demon, began to subside slowly, returning the area to its relatively stable state.

The square was a mess. The pungent smell of ozone from the overloaded and burned-out static field generator mixed with the strong smell of gunpowder, engine oil, and burnt flesh, filling the air.

A brief, unsettling stillness enveloped the area that had just experienced a divine conflict, as if even the wind had stopped blowing.

Fugen seems to be really dead.

(End of this chapter)