"Counterfeit."
When these two words were calmly uttered from Leticia's lips, they transformed into the most vicious, venom-drenched curse in the world.
They easily tore through the Primarch's immense psychic pressure.
They precisely pierced Fulgrim's heart, which was prouder than any adamantine and more fragile than any crystal.
Boom—
The color instantly drained from Fulgrim's impeccable, handsome face, leaving it ashen.
He had spent his entire life in pursuit of the ultimate.
The ultimate swordsmanship, the ultimate art, the ultimate glory.
After his fall, what he pursued were the ultimate sensations, the ultimate freedom, and the ultimate pleasure.
He could accept any accusation.
Traitor, butcher, madman.
These could even be twisted by him into medals, glorious proof of his breaking free from the Emperor's cage.
Only the word 'Counterfeit'.
He could not tolerate it.
It completely denied the foundation of his existence, reducing all the pursuits he prided himself on to a ridiculous, clumsy imitation.
"Shut up!!!"
A roar of suppressed, extreme rage exploded from the depths of the Phoenix's throat.
It was no longer a magnificent aria.
But the roar of a wounded beast.
He suddenly raised the sword of laer in his hand. Sensing its host's boiling rage, the pitch-black magic sword emitted an extremely excited, shrill hum.
Soaring, sickly violet fell energy flames erupted from the blade, illuminating the filthy sky behind him with an even more eerie glow.
"The path I walk is the ultimate way to break free from all shackles and taste all the ultimate sensations in the universe!"
Fulgrim's voice trembled slightly with extreme rage, yet it still carried that undeniable authority belonging to a Primarch.
"This is the ultimate truth!!"
"And you, a mortal who hasn't even glimpsed the nature of the Subspace, a prisoner cowering in the pathetic cage of 'protection', how dare you... how dare you use the word 'Counterfeit' to define me?!"
Before the words had even faded.
That massive, reality-warping violet fell energy transformed into a violent shockwave, carrying countless shrieking, painful soul phantoms as it roared toward Leticia.
This was the 'pleasure' from Slaanesh.
It sought to tear apart her sanity, defile her soul, and make her sink completely into the most extreme pain and sensory stimulation, becoming its most loyal slave.
The loyalist warriors in the camp, merely feeling the shockwave's aftermath, felt as if their souls were being pierced by countless red-hot steel needles, and they fell to their knees in agony.
Rauth Solaart's face turned deathly pale; he clutched his helmet tightly, as if that was the only way to hold onto his last shred of sanity, which was on the verge of being torn apart.
Saul Taviz and Nathaniel Garro used every ounce of their will just to barely avoid making a fool of themselves before their former Gene-Father.
However.
That fell energy shockwave, capable of causing a world to fall, reached the invisible, tranquil domain surrounding Leticia.
And a scene occurred that no one could comprehend.
There was no explosion.
There was no confrontation.
The violent violet fell energy, like a turbid current filled with mud and sand, flowed into a boundless, pure, and warm ocean.
It was diluted.
It was purified.
It was dissipated into nothingness.
Not even the slightest sound was made.
Leticia stood where she was, her black skirt not even stirred in the slightest by the gale.
She did not retreat.
Instead, she took a gentle step forward.
With this step she took.
A soft, pinkish-purple halo, with the dreamy colors of a nascent nebula, slowly and naturally bloomed from within her.
This light was not blinding.
It was full of the rhythm of life, the warmth of Hope, and the beauty of the most harmonious, tranquil order belonging to creation.
Like the warmest breeze of spring, it swept across the entire battlefield.
The stinging pain in the souls of all the warriors struggling in the aftermath of the fell energy instantly vanished.
Replaced by a tranquil, warm, and pure joy originating from the deepest depths of their souls.
It was not a fleeting, false 'pleasure' obtained through sensory stimulation that required a huge price.
It was a most real 'happiness' derived from life itself, one that could be felt simply by existing.
"Look."
Leticia's voice, calm and powerful, easily pierced through all the clamor and clearly reached Fulgrim's ears.
"My 'pleasure' can let the desperate see Hope."
"Can let the suffering find peace."
Her voice paused, and her obsidian eyes gazed quietly up at the sky, at the fallen Phoenix who had fallen into a stupor due to her power.
"And your pleasure, besides bringing more screams and more thorough destruction, what else can it bring?"
Fulgrim was completely stunned.
He looked at the peaceful position below, shrouded in the pinkish-purple halo.
Looking at those former sons who had just been wailing in pain, but whose faces now revealed expressions of tranquility and Hope.
He lowered his head again, looking at the pitch-black magic sword in his hand, which was still exuding an aura of tyranny and destruction.
An unprecedented, absurd, and subversive feeling exploded in his mind.
Leticia did not give him any time to think or argue.
She slowly raised her hand.
That hand, fair as something not of this world, pointed to the young girl not far behind her, who was looking at her with golden eyes like a fledgling bird, filled with absolute dependence.
Terrania.
Then, her hand swept across those warriors she had healed, who were currently watching her with fanatical faith.
It swept past that former close friend clutching his helmet, his eyes filled with painful struggle and newborn Hope.
"Protecting a pure heart trembling with fear, letting her find a harbor to rely on."
"Protecting a group of loyal souls on the verge of sinking into despair, letting them rekindle the courage to fight."
"Protecting a belief belonging to a close friend, one that is about to be completely shattered by your fall, letting him see... the way back."
Leticia's gaze returned to Fulgrim.
She asked that ultimate question, one sufficient to completely shatter all his pride.
"Fulgrim."
"Tell me."
"Isn't this closer to the 'perfection' you pursue than any cold sculpture or hollow poem?"
Perfection.
This word, at this moment, seemed to have gained life.
It was no longer the magnificent rhetoric Fulgrim used to whitewash his fall.
It had turned into a mirror.
A mirror, clear enough to illuminate all the filth in the deepest depths of the soul, and cruel.
On one side of the mirror was what Leticia had displayed.
It was creation, it was protection, it was Hope, it was the warm and real radiance blooming from life itself.
On the other side of the mirror was himself.
It was destruction, it was indulgence, it was despair, it was the cold and false reverberation obtained through distortion and torture.
The so-called 'ultimate sensory stimulation' he pursued, obtained through endless destruction and indulgence.
In the face of this 'beauty of life'—supreme, harmonious, and originating from creation and protection—that Leticia had displayed.
It appeared so crude.
So hollow.
So... unworthy of mention.
Fulgrim's body swayed violently.
His proud Primarch heart was completely struck.
He discovered that his theory on 'fallen aesthetics,' which he knew by heart, now seemed so ridiculous.
His eloquence, which he prided himself on, could not find a single word to refute this at this moment.
Because Leticia had not debated scripture with him.
She had simply placed the facts, naked and bare, before him.
This feeling caused him more pain than being besieged by a hundred legions.
It made him feel more humiliated than being reprimanded by the Emperor to his face.
His faith, the meaning of his existence, the cornerstone of his fall.
At this moment, were completely and dimensionally shaken by a higher-dimensional, more real 'perfection'.
[NO!!!]
A shrill psychic wail, not belonging to Fulgrim, filled with fear and rage, exploded wildly in the depths of his soul.
It was the sword of laer.
This demonic creation clearly sensed the wavering of its host's faith.
It felt an unprecedented, fatal threat.
If Fulgrim were to be turned, then it, the demon parasitic upon his soul, would lose its most perfect breeding ground, and might even be completely purified by that pure divine power.
It absolutely could not allow such a thing to happen!
[Kill her! Kill that heretic!!!]
[She is a liar! She is using false warmth to lure you toward true destruction!]
[Pleasure! Pain! Ultimate sensations! This is the truth! This is power!]
Torrents of demonic energy, ten times more violent than before and filled with pure will for slaughter and destruction, flooded into Fulgrim's mind, attempting to forcibly seize control of this body.
A look of extreme pain appeared on Fulgrim's face.
His violet eyes contracted and dilated violently.
Half was the struggle belonging to the Primarch—proud and being shaken by the truth.
The other half was the pure, insane bloodlust and greed belonging to the demon.
His handsome features began to twist uncontrollably under this extreme inner conflict.
He wanted to speak, but could only emit meaningless, hoarse roars.
Leticia watched him quietly, watching his pathetic appearance as he struggled in pain.
In her obsidian eyes, that trace of pity became even clearer.
"Look."
Her voice was soft, yet like the sharpest blade, it precisely pierced into the sword of laer's false disguise.
"It is afraid."
"Because it is just a thief, having stolen some filthy, twisted scraps from the feast of that Dark God, and it dares to run before you, presuming to call itself a gourmet."
A cold, absolutely confident arc curled at the corners of Leticia's mouth.
Meeting Fulgrim's painful, struggling gaze, she delivered the final verdict for this trial of 'truth' versus 'falsehood.'
"And I..."
"Am the treasure vault itself."
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