Warhammer: I don't want to become a stinky can!

Page 882

And behind them, there was something that existed simultaneously in the sky and underground.

Lord of Darkness.

The genuine one.

Chapter 884 [326] Parricide is a Natural Right

Motalian was rarely so speechless.

He no longer felt anything. Pain, despair, numbness, suffocation? No, he just wanted to laugh.

Laughing at my own fate, laughing at the absurdity of this galaxy.

The Pale Lord blinked slowly, then raised his right arm. As the Primarch's slender arm rose, a long, bone-white scythe appeared in his hand, emerging with the mist as the Primarch moved.

+Killiman. +

"Motalian said softly, and Guilliman beside him only took a half step back to steady himself, drew his sword from his waist, and a golden light flashed in his eyes as fierce flames ignited on the silver-white blade.

It seems we think the same way.

Mortarian continued, and a mist surged from beneath his feet, instantly unleashing his domain.

To be honest, I felt a surge of anger welling up inside me for a moment just now—

Guilliman's eyes remained fixed, and a wildfire of golden light emanated from beside the Primarch.

The thought that countless worlds almost fell into a predicament similar to Pluto's...

Guilliman's voice trailed off. For the first time, this hardworking and uncomplaining king seemed to feel his anger burning within him. Though it wasn't outwardly apparent, Guilliman could sense that his reason was being consumed by the crackling flames.

The thought that the Emperor was even willing to risk plunging most of the Empire's world into war sent shivers down Guilliman's spine.

He will fight against everything for his empire and his people, and whoever tries to destroy it will face destruction.

+Saint-Gilles...I think you must also have some lingering feelings for him. +

Indeed, no.

Saint Gilles, who had been standing to the side with his arms crossed, staring with a forced smile and narrowed eyes at the expanding behemoth in the distance—

The Lord of Darkness was clearly rising from the golden throne, his body, which transcended dimensions and imagination, connecting heaven and earth, as if merging with the original Lord of Darkness that existed in the heavens.

Therefore, the answer is yes.

The archangel calmly dusted off non-existent dust from his body, shook his wings, and then slowly stepped forward to stand beside his two brothers.

I think we can finally have a real ending.

Saint Gilles said, and with a sudden reach of his hand, a long, golden spear, gleaming like a soaring dragon, drew a trail of spear flowers in the air.

Clearly, Sanguis was not satisfied with the farcical scene that unfolded on Terra years ago, even though they had gained authority and power after that battle and had successfully given the Emperor a hard time.

But compared to the suffering inflicted upon them by the emperor—it was insignificant.

None of the three Primarchs present were satisfied with the Emperor, and their meager pity and respect for him vanished with each of his actions.

In the past, drawing swords against emperors was driven by personal vendettas, not by righteousness.

Now that the Emperor has sacrificed himself as the Dark Lord for the greater good, it is only natural to fight the Dark Lord. This is perfect for the Primarchs, as they can now satisfy both their sense of duty and personal feelings by fighting the Emperor.

Is there anything more wonderful in the world than this?

It's obviously very rare now.

Perhaps these three original bodies are currently thinking similar ideas in their subconscious, but none of them have voiced their thoughts. The emperor's final dignity will be maintained by the unuttered curses from his offspring.

Are emperors great?

That's great.

Would they praise the emperor?

Not will.

This old man has brought them too much suffering. What they cherish is worthless in his hands, and what they want to protect is just a bargaining chip he can throw away at will.

Although Neos viewed everything as a bargaining chip, his actions were enough to drive his children insane, making them wish he would just die.

Angron is not here yet, otherwise he would see his brothers in their wonderful mental state—after enduring intense and relentless battles and learning of the Emperor's plans.

They must be very sick right now.

The ghoul Saint Gilles, who was carrying Horus and running for his life, saw the three Primarchs who looked like mental patients in the distance. The Primarch hesitated for a moment, but then gritted his teeth and ran towards them.

+Friend,+

Then, as he passed the three, Saint Gilles grabbed him with a smile, nearly causing the ghoul to stumble, but the archangel held him firmly, stopping him in his tracks.

Are you going to be a deserter, or are you planning to pull off a heist with us?

When Saint Gilles uttered those words with his godlike, holy face, the ghoul thought the man had truly gone mad. The three people beside him now looked like they had randomly selected a match and successfully formed a team. In their quest to slay the Dark Lord, they seemed to have become ruthless, oblivious, and suicidal.

The Primarch's feelings for the Emperor were absolutely complex and could not be simply summarized in a few words, but that did not stop them from killing him—they had long been prepared for this, and now they had finally put their ideas into practice.

In fact, ever since Terra seized power, the three Primarchs present had been replaying the battle in their minds, recalling, reviewing, and rehearsing it.

Before his forearm, along with his arm armor, was crushed by Saint Gilles's brutal grip, the ghoul spoke, blinking.

[Perhaps it's worth a try.]

He said that he carefully tried to back away, and under the unblinking, terrifying gaze of Sanguiles, the ghoul unfolded its domain and then hid the still unconscious Horus within the warp.

To be honest, the whole world feels like it's the last few hours before the end of the world. This is predictable; more than one catastrophe capable of destroying the entire galaxy is about to happen. Whether it's the convergence of fate lines, the ascension of the Dark Lord, or Hades' complete loss of control—all will bring about a complete bad ending.

If you only had a few hours left to live, what would you do?

Mortarion would choose to return to Barbaros to spend time with his dearest friend; Guilliman would choose to return to Macragge to see the walls and banners one last time; Sanguielles would choose to return to Baal to await his demise under the magnificent sunset.

But now they can't go anywhere, because of that damned Emperor. Maybe the three Primarchs' homeworlds are already in chaos because of the overlapping Fate Lines.

So they decided to make the second choice they would never regret in their lives.

Beating up the emperor.

If they win, they'll resolve one of the three world-ending catastrophes; if they lose, the outcome won't be much different.

[I don't even know which emperor He was anymore...]

The ghoul drew out his words, and he also drew his blood spear, the dull shaft faintly emitting a foul stench.

+ All of them.

Mortalian spoke quickly, and the Primarch suddenly stretched out his other free hand, writing and drawing in mid-air, and the tangible white mist condensed into a psionic array in mid-air.

Before the Dark Lord's attack arrives, buff your own team!

Their psionic domains are shared—during the fusion of destinies, the Emperors, as anchor points, also overlap. I don't know if this is a normal phenomenon, or it may be related to their active sharing of psionic domains.

There were no previous cases for Mortalian to refer to, so the fact that the Primarch could make this judgment was already a great success for numerology.

He said he has other plans regarding Luojia, and we only need to focus on this area.

Guilliman also spoke up. His anger seemed to have made him even more proficient in psionic powers. Guilliman stared at Mortalian's magic circle. After a few seconds of silence, the Primarch stretched out his hand, and golden droplets dripped from his fingertips onto the ground, spreading out in a regular and complex pattern.

Mortalian and Saint Gilles glanced at Guilliman in astonishment almost simultaneously, but Guilliman ignored them, focusing instead on communicating with the human flames within his psionic domain.

+Hehe...Luojia, once again, is the executor of our father's plan. +

Saint Gilles laughed, and deep-colored psionic patterns spread outward from him. Since being forced to return, Saint Gilles had always been silent in his heart—he had been holding his breath, and the Primarch realized that he was not a person with a broad mind.

The ghoul shook his head.

[I never imagined you would hate him so much—it seems that, regardless of fate, the emperor is equally detestable to us.]

He crouched down without any regard for appearances, his sharp index finger piercing into the soil of the palace. The ghoul was summoning power from his own subspace, calling for more forces to join him.

I had given him respect.

Mortarian gave a cold laugh.

I truly considered him my father.

"Killiman Roberts sighed."

He is nothing.

Saint Gilles raised an eyebrow, flapped his wings, and took off first, a white arrow rising from the ground like a white rainbow piercing the sun.

+The three of you, it's up to us now. +

Saint Gilles slowly raised his spear, aiming at the bloated being that emerged from the depths of the palace and rapidly merged with the darkness of the sky. The archangel's wings rustled fiercely in the storm stirred up by the Dark Lord, like a banner fluttering in the wind.

No problem.

Beware of His spiritual corruption.

Guilliman answered almost simultaneously with Mortalian. Seeing the three of them so in sync and experienced in fighting the Dark Lord, the ghoul raised an eyebrow and pondered for a moment whether his idea of ​​staying behind was correct.

..............................

Any creature that witnessed this war would marvel at the courage of the tiny to challenge the great.

Amidst the ruins of a royal palace covering most of the continent, an emperor, his golden and black robes blotting out the sky, stands with his crown reaching the heavens and his feet firmly planted on the earth. He resembles a human slowly rising, yet countless golden rays, like tangible roots, emanate from his body, proclaiming his inhuman nature.

Above His head, the halo centered on the Lord of Darkness rapidly expanded, like the golden halo above the heads of gods in ancient idols, but far greater, warmer, and more dazzling than the sun, from which golden light poured down upon the earth.

Wherever the golden light reached, it became a divine realm. The once dim earth suddenly became resplendent in gold, and countless human figures emerged, bowing to Him. One after another, pillars supporting the sky rose up, and a winding divine river flowed within the golden domain. From afar, it looked like gilded gold and honey.

If your gaze shifts, that golden, holy hue suddenly turns into a dirty, mottled black, like a garbage mountain on the edge of a city—the garbage created in the course of human civilization.

Anyone would know that this is invincible; you cannot challenge an entire kingdom single-handedly.

Fortunately, there were four of them in total.

White birds soar high in the sky, carrion-eating demons stir up the water, the king's knights charge forward, and farmers, accustomed to traversing wheat fields, emerge from the thick fog, their eyes filled with murderous intent.

There was only one objective—to kill him if possible.

Saint Gilles sometimes hovered in the sky, sometimes pierced the clouds like an arrow, and sometimes skimmed across the water like a startled bird. Countless golden threads pierced his wings, but he continued to fly. His scarlet eyes grew brighter and brighter, and blood flowed from the places where the golden threads pierced him. Then everything became more and more scarlet.

Those scarlet hues cascaded down from the pure white bird feathers, turning into a torrential downpour that splashed across the divine realm, defiling it and proclaiming His cruelty and inhumanity in a bloody display.

On the earth, tiny figures splattered with blood screamed as they melted into pools of blood. Then, even more insidious shadows emerged from the stench. A ghoul, as if drenched in blood rain, slowly rose from the pool of blood. He grinned, and the remains of the Dark Lord's followers vanished completely at his feet.

Then, the heavy hooves of the "herd of horses" splashed blood.

Amidst the rain of blood, the gleaming blue armor was already blurred and smeared. None of them knew how Guilliman had managed to summon Ultramarines on such a large scale under these circumstances—not just infantry, but primarily various heavy vehicle companies.

In the past, Guilliman would have been the first to slap his thigh and shout, "Impossible! Absolutely impossible! It completely defies logic and common sense!"

But now, riding at the head of his herd, this king, his eyes blazing with murderous intent, paid no heed to any of that. The thought that his painstakingly built empire had almost been plunged into war filled him with a burning desire to see the very culprit who had caused it die.

He furiously commanded his army to advance, tearing apart anything that stood in his way with his sword—giant humanoid monsters that suddenly leaped up, fleshy cysts, fleshy roots that sprouted from the earth—all were reduced to blood and gore amidst the gunfire.

+——Motalian!! +

High in the sky, amidst the howling winds, Saint Gilles shouted hoarsely. The Primarch raised his spear and aimed at the colossus that blotted out the sky—blood lotuses immediately bloomed around Saint Gilles's raised spear, appearing from below like rushing blood dragons!

The Pale King did not respond directly to him, or perhaps the hissing thunder had already answered Saint Gilles. On the other side, amidst the surging sea of ​​fog, the gaunt Watcher rose from the mist, his wings fluttering like a tattered cloak, but no longer the tattered gray-white of the past. A bright yellow, like warning hue, flickered in the fog like human eyes, and faintly, like the screams of Slaanesh, bright yellow lightning coiled around the Primarch.

Death is in position—Motalian had lost too much of his own psionic power, so he had to rely more heavily on the power of the Eldar Death.

From this perspective, coupled with the lightning surrounding him, Mortarian currently possessed the aura of Hades from the Dark Realm, but none of them noticed this.

Mortarian raised his scythe, and thunder roared across its blade.

Now, it's time for some exhilarating combo attacks.

A blood-pumping, patricide combo attack.

Guilliman abruptly raised his dagger high, and the thousands of cannons behind him rose in unison with his gesture—

Launch!

"Killiman shouted."

Chapter 885 [327] A thrilling combination attack!

A strange commotion came from afar. Deep in the Caliban jungle, beside Leon and Mortarian, who were half-crouching and resting, Luo Jia's sewn-on eyes flashed with an eerie light.

Now's the time!

The Primarch shouted, and the pages of the book floating in his hand rustled as golden light burst forth!