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

Page 877

If it's the Hades that Jin knows, then it's highly unlikely.

He might just give a wry smile.

But this only highlighted Hades' greatness and the insignificance of those beneath his feet. At this moment, amidst the darkness and white dots, Jin was acutely aware of this.

Hades, the god of the underworld, is so noble and great. He personally enlightened mankind's wisdom step by step, and then gave them the fire that could consume him when necessary.

Thus... the Cult of Mechanics is indeed fortunate, and humanity is indeed fortunate to have such divine assistance, helping the human race to prosper for ten thousand years and never decline.

Jin gazed intently at the starry sky, where Hades roared as the sudden attack caused the sun-sized nets to expand, tearing away pieces of His power.

The previously slightly weaker outer force expanded again, the bright white sphere burning, the particle light intensifying, eroding the Black Sea, and in an instant the tide of battle turned.

Jin felt like he was about to faint, even though this was what they had hoped for. The Mechanicus had done it. They had emerged from the warm wings of the gods and proven their power to this cruel world.

Power powerful enough to injure a god.

Jin stood quietly in place, the desolate wind on the construction site lifting the hem of his red robe. He looked at the dark sky and remembered the Death Guardian sergeant he had seen on Mars years ago, whose right eye was just as black as it was today.

Above the starry sky, the dark sea churned.

In the distance, a glimmer of light appeared that interested Him more and was more within reach.

Chapter 879 [321] Gratitude

The darkness is roaring.

Hades seemed bewildered by the sudden attack, yet He continued to writhe and roar in fury and anguish, His vast, dark celestial energy expanding and contracting in sync with the ebb and flow of His emotions—

The pale cavity stood out starkly against the darkness, its paleness etched into the wood like thick wood riddled with wormholes.

But it couldn't compare to the original's deathly pallor.

Mortarion held his head high, his initial surge of anger now replaced by a paler, more feeble despair. A look, more unsettling than that of a dead man, appeared on his emaciated, inhuman face.

The non-human, insect-like entity raised its head, gazing high at the starry sky. Its already pale eyes reflected the dark sea of ​​darkness, and faithfully reflected the white holes riddled with insect worms.

Beside the Primarch, Guilliman also frowned. The Emperor gazed at the sky, but not with the same focus as Mortarion. The small hillocks in the golden Primarch's eyebrows twitched from time to time. Then, the Primarch subtly glanced to the side, observing Mortarion with a secretive gaze.

Guilliman admitted that he was worried about everything, about the Empire, about humanity, about his warriors and the current situation. These worries and responsibilities outweighed his personal feelings for the Emperor and Hades. He was certainly saddened by Hades' current predicament, but there were too many things for the blond monarch to worry about, and he could not afford to indulge his energy and thoughts on them.

Mortarian, however, didn't care about any of that.

He once again revealed his flaws as Primarch, as an Imperial general, and as a Legion Commander. Millennia of experience had made Mortarion competent, but he still couldn't reach perfection.

Mortarian simply stared at the white dots on the horizon, his cloudy eyes seemingly lost in thought.

Although the massive, pale insectoid Primarch simply stood there silently, Guilliman was certain that the Pale Lord had lost his composure, for the psionic currents around him were beginning to stagnate, and more fragments of the Star God were breaking free of their course and falling toward them from the planet's orbit.

But now that he no longer had to fight those Star God fragments, Guilliman blinked, a different kind of worry reflected in his blue eyes. He looked at the starry sky—and could only watch quietly.

One minute, two minutes... ten minutes later, the darkness that occupied half of his vision seemed to be moving in a certain direction. The relentless light behind him immediately pounced on him, trying to tear flesh and energy from his body.

Guilliman sensed that Mortalian's mood had become even more off. The Primarch blinked and simply moved closer to Mortalian, trying to comfort him in this insignificant way.

But Killieman’s attention was quickly diverted.

The Primarch's eyes widened, his pupils trembling slightly as he gazed at the darkness descending from the starry sky.

There, the guy who was "borrowing the tiger's power" is falling towards here.

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

Pain...pain...

Unable to win.

Unable to win.

failure.

death.

die……

The lighting throughout the restaurant flickered, like a room on a ship sailing in a storm, with the lights swaying along with the furniture and then thumping against the walls and ceiling.

The walls and ceiling were no longer the warm, off-white color they once were; instead, they had turned into a dirty black, with white specks, like tiny insect eggs, crowding the black walls, making one feel increasingly uneasy and nauseous.

Pain... Failure...

The rough, large characters covered every corner, only to be covered again by the chaotic, glowing liquid flowing on the floor. Then the characters floated up again, like beef cubes in a thick soup, all staring at Hades.

You failed.

They said.

These foods—the very things that make up His life and His strength—are now shouting at Him, telling Him that He is about to fail, about to lose everything, and that there is no way to recover, because calculation and logic are so reliable that His reason and subconscious, which have been at work all along, have not found any way to turn the tide.

He could only watch helplessly as he approached his end.

It is coming to an end.

He felt an indescribable despair and rage—the attack from behind finally shattered the delicate balance, the scales inevitably tipping to the other side, and thus proclaiming His death.

But for some reason, He did not harbor resentment.

This is not a topic that Hades can understand; only Hades can figure it out. But now is not a good time to think about it. The storm outside the room is getting more and more violent, and those aggressive energies are crashing into the room, roaring and tearing everything apart.

Amidst the raging wind and rain, He stood disheveled and bewildered in knee-deep sluice water, slowly rolling his eyes.

Then He saw it.

In some distant place, in a place that isn't so far away, a faint light appears, carrying a strange sense of familiarity.

His first reaction was to swallow.

Subsequently,

Pounce on him!!!

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

"Hold on, Mortarian!!!"

[Herrera] roared, and [Motalian] felt the corrosive and other wondrous saliva of the Slaanesh archdeacon spraying onto his face, but the Primarch did not speak, not because he did not want to, but because he could not at the moment.

He was now standing to the side of the altar, like a complete fool, releasing his psychic energy and trying to make it as "delicious," "tempting," and "appetizing" as the bald chanter had described.

In all my life, Mortarion has lived for ten thousand years and this is the first time I've ever seen an intelligent being use such an adjective to describe psionic energy—especially chaotic psionic energy.

In this comparison, Nurgle's descriptions of warmth and comfort in relation to psionic energy seem trivial.

So he stands here now, literally trying to make his psychic energy as "appetizing" as possible.

The first rebel, Mortarian, didn't quite understand how to do it; he could only try to imagine what a delicious meal would look like.

The first rebel expands his psychic energy, then multicolored flames leap onto the black fire—colorful often arouses appetite, and then makes the psychic energy look more lustrous, like dark gems in a cave.

But none of these were as effective as [Angron]. Now, the Slaanesh follower was pinned to the ground with thirty-six long pillars piercing his flesh and leaving holes, while the bald man chanting incantations stood calmly beside the Slaanesh prince, ignoring the Slaanesh demon's muffled cries and screams, chanting his incantations with a holy expression.

The first rebel, Mortarion, believed that the psionic energy he was currently emitting was nothing more than a few pebbles. What was truly effective was Angron. The souls of the Slaanesh cultists were now like live pigs skewered on a kebab, letting out one mournful cry after another in the High Heaven.

Meanwhile, [Angron]'s emotional perception and amplification made his screams in the warp even more amplified, coupled with the strange, calm incantation of Luo Jia beside the Primarch.

[Motalian] admitted that for a second he was completely overjoyed and gloating. [Angron] was the most classic bastard, and the kind of bastard who threatened the Primarchs by taking advantage of his ability to "see through" their emotional states.

[Angron] could have chosen not to participate in [Guilliman]'s plan to corrupt [Luojia], but that Slaanesh joined because of some idea that he wanted to harm his own brother.

Although it was Mortarion who initially connected Guilliman with the relationship, Mortarion had his own legitimate reasons, while Angron did not.

Later, Angron became increasingly dissatisfied with Guilliman's rule—this man, whose mind was sometimes shrewd and sometimes muddled, repeatedly tried to harm the sleeping Fugen, or tried to sneak into the bedroom of one of his unfortunate brothers.

Later, [Angron] intended to infiltrate [Motalion]'s rest room again, but accidentally stumbled upon the Primarch's secret meeting with [Karas] and [Herrera].

Angron wasn't interested in Mortarion's plot to overthrow Guilliman or his so-called grand plan; he was more interested in how to use the secrets he had stumbled upon to threaten Mortarion.

……

Mortarion will never forget the kindness of Herrera in stopping Angron.

Then a mess was stirred up in their plans. Angron was keen to tease the First Rebel from time to time about it, while Mortarion was surprised to discover through Angron that he wasn't the only Primarch who harbored resentment towards Guilliman.

[Angron] can sense the emotions and souls of the Primarchs. He had long since discovered the minor emotions of the Primarchs—but that was all. The Primarchs all knew they could not overthrow [Guilliman], and only [Motalian] actually took action.

With these minor abilities, [Angron] repeatedly mocked his brothers. [Motalion] didn't know if any Primarchs had actually suffered at [Angron's] hands because of this, and he didn't really want to know.

As for Mortarion... I'll say it again, I'm grateful to Herrera. Having a friend working under Slaanesh is necessary and essential at times like these.

Grateful to Herrera for upholding the Primarch's bottom line.

Mortarian couldn't help but feel contempt for Angron once again in his heart—he was so annoyed by Angron that the relief he felt at seeing Angron suffer overshadowed the desolate and desperate reality of the moment.

In the final moments before his rationality focused on reality, the First Rebel glanced longingly at the suffering of [Angron], which looked as if...

If Hades had described it to Mortalian before, Mortalian would probably think this scene looks like a street vendor selling kebabs.

For foodies, these kinds of stalls are just too dangerous.

And Hades happens to be a gluttonous beast.

So He pounced—

Before anyone could react, before the smile that had been secretly creeping onto Mortalian's lips had faded.

Then came screams.

[Motalian] Hears himself screaming with his ears.

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

gone.

he's gone.

The old man's slightly cloudy eyes gazed into the distance, yet his gaze remained as sharp as an eagle's. Macado did not linger on the hastily departing Hades, but instead looked towards the person on the outside.

There, the enormous sphere of light remained somewhat agitated—normally, the outermost being should have pounced on it the moment Pluto left, but it did not.

This is clearly not a case of an outsider having a sudden burst of kindness.

Makado's eyes were fixed on that space. In the old man's eyes, a kind of darkness, like a light veil, was shrouded in darkness, but it was not as deathly and absolute as Hades's.

It's actually noisier.

It's even more chaotic.

I feel even more uneasy.

Even more so by fate.

The King of Darkness...

Macardo felt the word stuck in his throat, rendering him unable to utter a sound. He stared there in disbelief as reality dealt a heavy blow to the weathered old man; the Emperor had finally gone completely mad.

This also completely confirms what Neos once told Macardo.

"I would sacrifice everything if necessary."

The middle-aged man with black hair spoke calmly and casually, looking into Macado's eyes to let him know that he was not joking.

At the time, Macardo simply smiled dismissively.

all?

"all?"

He smiled. "Who isn't?"

Yes, who isn't?

At that time, Macardo naively thought it was just a matter of life and death, but he later realized that there were fates in this world that were far more terrifying than death.

He fell to become the "Emperor," Saint Gilles fell to become the Fallen Bird, and the Emperor fell to become... the Dark King.

They all sacrificed themselves completely, but some of them had more from the beginning, so when they gave it all up, they seemed more dignified and glorious than others.

But they were all sacrifices.

It's just a sacrifice...

Macado muttered to himself. In his wildest ideas, he had never considered the path of the Emperor voluntarily becoming the Dark Lord, but now it seemed that wasn't entirely the case.

Macardo frowned.

Although the darkness seemed to beckon Macardo to look over and bow down to it, there was still a strange sense of dislocation, as if the chopsticks in his hand were always one long and one short, or perhaps the color of the sun was a little mottled. In short, fate was not so righteous.