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

Page 878

This is the power He borrowed.

Makado clearly understood this.

He was speechless—in shock—Macado had never imagined that the Emperor had so thoroughly exhausted his power in the main destiny line, leaving him completely depleted.

It's like pouring ink into a glass of water; the ink will turn the entire glass black, and then the same volume of ink will be poured out of the glass and returned to the glass.

But the Emperor's current situation is like he originally had a small glass of water, and then the Emperor squandered it wildly, resulting in only a small amount left, or even worse—there is no water left in the glass at all—although too little psionic energy would directly lead to death or collapse.

Then the ink was poured in.

Then the ink was poured out.

Makado felt utterly speechless, and at the same time realized once again just how despicable the Emperor was.

Chapter 880 [322] Eternal Darkness

Lord of Darkness.

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

Makado had many speculations about the Dark Lord, and in the brief moments between rubbing his neck from his desk, his own thoughts would occasionally flash through the old man's vacant eyes.

What should a true Lord of Darkness be like?

Hatred, destruction? Or death and the end?

The silver-haired old man gazed at the dark starry sky, where the void was no longer the clear and cold place it once was, but rather a state of extreme chaos and darkness.

He saw his former emperor, master, best friend, and enemy.

It was also a sheet of gleaming gold, colorful and dazzling.

He stared directly at Him, and the sight of the Dark Lord made him dizzy, as if he were staring at some radioactive and toxic substance for a long time. The brilliant gold in his eyes gradually dimmed, becoming darker and darker, and eventually turning into a black that resembled some kind of impurity.

Makado felt his thoughts sinking, his mind becoming hazy and unsteady. Just gazing at the starry sky, trying to sketch the general outline of the Dark Lord in his mind, was enough to send the old man into a light, drowsy state.

? !

Makado suddenly shuddered. He was standing on the smooth deck of the warship, and the cold air from the ventilation system was blowing on him, making the beads of sweat on his cheeks feel unusually cold.

No, that's right, that's right.

Macado stiffly tried to pull his gaze away from the starry sky—the phantom-like black mist vanished abruptly at a certain angle, transforming back into that incredibly beautiful and magnificent gold.

When Macardo gazed upon Him, upon the descending deity, it was as if he had already heard the promise. He felt himself instinctively about to take a step, to ascend the ladder to heaven.

That land, both pure and profane, that land filled with shimmering gold and chaos, where there is no pain, where revenge has been granted, where there are no longer pale or gray colors, where everything is passionate and intense, just as the high priest of old promised those ignorant and foolish young warriors that milk and sweet sanctuaries flowed on the mountainside.

Alarm bells rang loudly in Macardo's muddled mind.

He seemed to have vaguely grasped the outline of the Dark Lord.

Throughout the long history of human civilization, many religions seem to emphasize one topic—death and reincarnation. Devout believers, fearing their heavy sins, pray diligently every day or throw coins into the church donation box.

Humans seem to always be overly worried about the world after death—where will they go after they die? Heaven or hell? Or will they fall directly into the cycle of reincarnation? But no matter where they fall, there always seems to be a huge rule floating above people's heads. If they do not meet the requirements of this rule, they will be thrown into that described "terrifying place" after death.

Throughout human history, most of these so-called fabricated "rules" were based on simple moral concepts of good and evil, which were then mixed with the characteristics of various religions, eventually resulting in a bizarre array of rules. The places where the "good" and the "bad" go after death are also different.

For tens of thousands of years, countless religions have been overthrown and re-established, but their core tenets seem as stubborn as humanity itself.

Religious rulers will always use similar words and rules to spur their followers, sometimes persuading them to do good and strive for progress, and sometimes whipping them with the lie that they will suffer in this life and be glorious in the next.

But now, as he gazed upon Him, murky tears welled in his sunken eyes, aged and deep-set, and he now knew where the “sanctuary” those foolish bishops spoke of was. It was not merely the pure imagination of idiots, but a real, existing paradise.

Or perhaps it is hell.

So this is humanity's final destination—all fantasies about the afterlife have been given concrete form. Makado's eyes reflected that darkness, and he felt his soul being deeply drawn in—the ultimate place humanity seeks, the resting place for the soul.

In the past, during countless devastating nights, Makado had dreamed of a sanctuary where he could truly find peace. He no longer yearned for forests filled with birdsong and sunlight. He would gladly accept even a filthy or chaotic slum if it could simply allow his soul to rest and his life to come to a complete halt.

Makado originally planned to knock Hades unconscious after his 114514th breakdown, and then throw himself into the Sea of ​​the Dead to die.

But now—a paradise that naturally holds immense attraction for him has appeared, a divine realm created by the Dark Lord that is nauseating and terrifying at a mere glance, compared to the underworld of Hades.

A paradise that no human soul can look away from.

But in the eyes of some truly determined people, that sacred realm formed by the gods suddenly transforms into a kind of terrifying hell in the corner of their eye, only to transform into a longed-for paradise in the next moment.

Makado felt himself convulsing.

If you were to describe his current situation in detail and objectively, Makado would probably be less than willing. In fact, the silver-haired old man was lying stiffly on the deck, convulsing and struggling, while the intense golden light pierced through the space and irresistibly shone upon him.

Makado felt his soul screaming silently.

He seemed to realize some unrelated similarity between Hades and the Lord of Darkness—in the imagination of gods, humans always subtly project their expectations and doubts about death onto the gods.

Both Hades and the Lord of Darkness fulfill humanity's illusions about death, offering different facets of it. Hades provides true warriors and those with no way out with a terrifying yet absolute silence, while the Lord of Darkness displays an alluring and seductive golden hue to the masses.

Compared to the underworld, which evokes fear instinctively, the sanctuary formed by the descent of the Dark Lord exudes an irresistible allure and truth; no one would try to resist him.

Perhaps He was meant to be the true destination for humanity after death. The Dark King, a god yet to be born, even before His birth, the Emperor, who was the precursor to the Dark King, already possessed the power to control the souls of the dead.

In this light, it was likely a true omen, but neither Macado nor the other immortals noticed this detail at the time.

The Dark Lord promised, or perhaps the Emperor promised, that humanity would belong to themselves in life, with each individual having absolute control over their own destiny, and that after death, all things would return to the Dark Lord.

The time spent in death is far longer than in life, which is clearly in line with the Emperor's character—perhaps the Dark Lord is just as shameless as the Emperor in this respect.

Looking at it this way... Makado felt like a dying fish, gasping for breath. He struggled to turn himself over, crawling on the ground, trying to get as far away from the golden light as possible. Blood seeped from his fingers as he finally managed to crawl to a slightly darker spot.

Marcado finally understood why the Emperor was unwilling to become a god, and also why the Emperor had been allowing Hades to grow unchecked—that old man had probably directly led Hades to be the real solution to the problem.

But now… Macardo gasped for breath, feeling the suffocating gaze disappear. He slowly stood up, leaning against the wall, and tried to circulate his psychic powers. As soon as he tried, Macardo felt the feeling of being controlled and watched again. He immediately stopped his foolish attempt and realized with some annoyance that his psychic powers were not completely separated from the Emperor’s.

Hades above...

Facing the gaze of the Lord of Darkness, the moment his will returned, Makado began to pray to Hades without any guilt or hesitation. He naturally did not care whether Hades was in a suitable position to pray at that time; Makado prayed as he pleased, regardless of what Hades thought.

Although the gods are powerful enough, the power to decide on faith still belongs to the believers in one respect.

The familiar feeling of weakness and nausea washed over him, and Macardo felt wonderful.

He shielded his eyes with his hands, trying his best not to look at that star field, but he knew he was only seeing things from a distance. Suddenly, the warship beneath his feet hummed—then, to Makado’s horror, he felt the ship beneath his feet begin to move—and resolutely headed toward that area that had already been dyed golden.

*！

Sweating profusely, Makado finally had the mind to think about the others. The old man's already tired face turned even paler. Even a skilled psionicist like him could not resist the Dark Lord—so how could ordinary people possibly resist Him, resist the Dark Lord!

At this moment, in the silent yet noisy universe, countless ships suddenly drifted along the channel simply by inertia. On them, countless people stood staring straight at the portholes, or stood in a dazed state in front of the wall closest to the Dark Lord.

This state seemed to last for a long time, yet it also seemed to last only a moment—then, as if receiving some kind of instruction, people suddenly realized what was happening and began to act. The crew members responsible for steering the ship bustled about, while those who were "idle" began to gather in the corners closest to the ship.

The people who had taken action were in a daze, staring at their original god.

Da da.

Beads of cold sweat dripped down Makado's neck and onto the ground. The old man was almost terrified. He suddenly realized how terrifying his current situation was—perhaps all the humans in the human empire were rushing here right now.

Simply because of Him, because the Lord of Darkness was there—He was the first god of mankind in the true sense.

This is not just a crushing defeat in terms of sheer size, but also a crushing defeat in terms of concepts. This is an omniscient and omnipotent god targeting humanity, much like Hades's attack on the subspace.

Makado suddenly wanted to thank the Outsider. If it weren't for the Outsider, perhaps all the humans within the Eye of Silence would already be eternal slaves within the Dark Lord's divine realm. Or worse, the entire empire, except for a few lucky ones from the Underworld Cult, would be doomed—no one truly knew the extent of a Dark Lord's power, perhaps the entire empire's territory.

But now, under the full suppression of the warp by the Outer Beings, the Dark Lord's power is confined to this small, narrow space.

Macardo felt his soul still trembling as he struggled with immense willpower to suppress the control emanating from the Dark Lord—he was, after all, a genuine human being. He trembled violently as he frantically tried to contact the Primarchs.

Perhaps the Primarchs are in better condition than any of them.

After all, they are not truly "human"—never have been.

Thinking of this, Makado gave a self-deprecating smile, but only looked more embarrassed.

His attempt to contact the Primarch's psychic energy was unsuccessfully severed, and he almost let that powerful and domineering force burn him again. Macado jerked his head back, realizing that this time he really couldn't do anything.

Now—we can only rely on the Primarchs.

Macardo swallowed hard. Hades and the Emperor had both gone mad, and humanity was completely blinded by the Dark Lord—perhaps only the Primarchs were able to move semi-freely now.

Primarchs… Macado’s heart sank. The old man’s lips involuntarily fell into a deep smile. He gritted his teeth, hoping they wouldn’t mess things up again this time.

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

huh... huh...

Mortarion convulsed, the Primarch's eyes wide open, pupils trembling as they shrank to their smallest size, poisonous gas gushing from his nostrils again and again. He and Guilliman were thus cleanly and utterly exposed to the all-around, all-encompassing golden light—the highest intensity kind at that.

Above them, golden light shone down on the earth, so bright that not a single shadow was left, and then suddenly it was pitch black, like an eternal night.

Beside the Primarch, Guilliman was also not feeling well, but he was still better than the Pale Lord. Large beads of sweat rolled down Guilliman's forehead, and he pursed his lips tightly, as if he was enduring some kind of extreme pain.

But compared to the Astronauts who suddenly moved, the Ultramarines and Deathguards stood stiffly in place, becoming the best embodiment of the Primarch's struggle for power with the Dark Lord.

Beside the two Primarchs, countless golden, phantom-like humanoid figures stood up, but they did not approach the two Primarchs; they merely gazed at them, and their numbers continued to grow.

+Hiss...Hiss...+

Get lost!

Mortarian roared first, and a pale domain instantly unfolded beneath his feet. The golden phantoms closest to them were blown away, but many more stood up, merely watching them.

In the name of the Human Empire, I order you to leave.

Guilliman also spoke, the Primarch of the Blue Helmets speaking with righteous indignation, yet still unable to conceal his sweat-drenched blond hair. He stared sternly at the golden phantoms, a clear presence extending outwards. Guilliman looked at the figures with lingering affection for a few moments, then bent down and vanished.

Guilliman blinked again, his brow furrowed as he looked up at the starry sky and saw the golden flames—now all the stars were falling toward him, all people, all the stars, all the fire.

No—this must not be done.

Guilliman lowered his head and looked around. He felt that the ownership of the Ultramarines had returned, but for the ordinary people, who had not signed a deeper treaty with Guilliman, they were even more attached to the Dark Lord.

can not be like this……

Guilliman took a deep breath, placing a hand on Mortalian's shoulder. The Primarch, panting, glanced at him, and then the two Primarchs' domains began to connect, clearly granting Guilliman power. Guilliman then looked up at the sky, gazing into the distance along the Fate Line in his hand.

He will first contact the Primarch, and then use the Primarch as a "signal transmission base station" to cut off or interfere with the Dark Lord's coverage of humanity.

But then, Guilliman's pupils twitched as he gazed at the starry sky.

Among the hundreds of millions of countless sparks, he saw some... special beings?

He then realized that it was the emperor's backup plan.

The Emperor still has a backup plan—Guilliman admits he was momentarily moved at one point.

However, this did not affect his decision. The Primarch contacted the Primarchs while also urgently contacting the Cult of the Underworld and the Cult of Mechanism, in addition to the State Church.

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

[Inside the returning Astronautical warship]

"Alright, now you can stop praying."

The Word Bearer spoke expressionlessly, his voice echoing through the crowd of people who stood dumbfounded in the command room, praying along with the state priests. He casually pulled out a bomb pistol.

"Gods do not exist,"

Those who cherish words say,

"Anyone who calls Him your god has something to gain from you, even if you are as lowly as dust, your heart, your soul, your blood, your flesh, your bones—but according to the Imperial Constitution, according to the declaration of the Imperial Lord Robert Guilliman, according to the joint declaration of Hades and the Emperor, you belong to yourself."

The Word Bearer pressed the gun against the head of the Anglican priest, who was already in a hallucination of the King of Darkness, and prayed fervently. Golden ripples emanating from his soul spread throughout the entire ship.

The Word Bearer whispered a few words, then took out a black stone rosary with his other hand, and then—

Pull the trigger.

boom!

Blood burst open before him, along with ripples of blood that surged forth at the moment of the priest's death. The crowd trembled as if startled.

Mead suddenly seemed to lose focus. The believer kneeling before the statue of the God-Emperor blinked in confusion, as if something had just happened, but then his gaze returned to its dazed state—

But the voice of the man who cherishes words rang out again on the radio.

Further afield, on the battlefields of the Mechanicus and the Necromancers, the hasty awakening work was also proceeding in an orderly manner. Even though some lower-level factions were unaware of what had happened, after a brief period of panic, most people near the high-powered black stone remained conscious. However, some who were not steadfast in their faith required additional steps to be awakened.

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

[……what happens?]

Inside the altar, [Motalian] asked breathlessly, looking at Luo Jia outside the altar who was smiling but not saying a word. Luo Jia simply shook her head.

Hades, who was rushing toward them, blocked the influence of the Dark Lord for them, but even so, as Primarchs, they could naturally sense something.