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

Page 865

But it doesn't matter anymore. Since Tarachin, there has never been another such good person who fears death! Nor has there ever been another such good historian!

Tarasim flew towards the flame like a moth to a flame—though it and its fleet were not moths, but arrows capable of shooting down gods, and the flame was not warm, but rather brutal and insane.

It ignored the nearby star systems, the astonishment and cries of the humans who received its final message; it ignored the nearby planets, the Primarchs who, upon receiving its message, abruptly looked up, their eyes filled with terror and despair; it ignored the cacophony, the heart-wrenching screams behind it, the weavers of fate, the gods who controlled the planets, perhaps roaring at it because of Tarazin's shameful last words—

Countless threads of fate, manipulated by the Star Lord, rushed against Tarachin, seemingly trying to weave a giant net to drag him back. But before Tarachin, who was determined to go, those threads were soft, like willow branches brushing away misfortune and dust from his journey, gently caressing him and showing him a magnificent view ahead—a place bathed in light, like the afterlife.

"Ha, he calls himself the arbiter of fate, yet in the end, he still doesn't live up to his predetermined fate," Tarachin thought sarcastically. "But perhaps this is the ending that Eurycan is trying to ensure."

Goodbye.

Tarasin opened its mouth, then spoke silently. It leaped toward fate in a rather ungraceful manner, breaking free from the silken rain of fate's threads. Its left wrist, which swung backward by inertia, still held the last thin thread of fate, swaying like a spider's web.

It and its fleet plunged into that ocean of light.

Subsequently,

Its daybreak.

The sky here is not the narrow sense of "the atmosphere near a planet" in the vocabulary of backward civilizations, but a broader sense of the sky—referring to all the external information that these backward civilizations receive through their senses when they look up.

Everything lit up, turning into a vast expanse of white. The void, the warp, the sun, the stars, the swarms of fleets as dense as ants, the tiny figures clinging to planets—everything vanished briefly in that instant, covered by an absolute white light, covered by an existence that was screaming, screaming at all civilizations and senses the concept of "pain."

This vast expanse of white seemed to stretch through the beginning of time and space, seemingly eternal, yet also so fleeting that people felt as if they had only been momentarily dazed.

Then, as they blink their bewildered, tearful eyes and look up at the sky, they will see an enormous crescent moon falling from the full moon and crashing into the nearest celestial body.

Countless tiny, dim fragments fell together near the waning moon, like extinguished meteorites.

Once, lives were made by those shooting stars with utmost devotion, but now they no longer shine.

Chapter 866 [308] Waiting

The sky has fallen.

A vast expanse of white light illuminated the entire field of vision. Not only sight, but also hearing, smell, and touch—all outward explorations were transformed into a painful, bright white. The souls of the highest heavens shrieked and wandered within it, yet only the white light and pain persisted.

[It’s over. 】

This was the first thought that popped into Guilliman's mind, and also the most solid one, which he now believed to be the most correct.

Half of the outer being was hurtling straight toward them—a size that would cause a disaster even if it were just a simple rock, let alone half a star god.

Killieman looked up—

Affected by the gravity of the fallen god's remains, the heavens and the earth, and the up and down, are now blurred and indistinguishable. Is the earth above his head or below his feet, enough for him to stand on?

Killieman couldn’t quite tell whether he was still standing intact or had been flipped over and was falling towards the outsiders who were falling towards them after the violent jolts.

When two massive celestial spheres collide, the ants between them will scream and die in the fluctuating gravitational field.

Falling—falling, the god struck down by the Endless Ones fell into the altar.

The originally spherical planet developed a spire-like structure made of broken rocks on the side facing the falling outer edge. Continental plates, pulled by the suction, floated outside the atmosphere, pulling towards the outer edge. The towering spire was gradually crushed and swallowed by the falling outer edge.

throat……

A sound that made the whole earth tremble appeared, as dull and long as the first awakening of insects in spring, yet not loud, muffled, symbolizing that something had been permanently changed.

Guilliman watched in horror as cracks simultaneously appeared beneath the foundations of the thirteen black stone towers at the farthest point of the altar. Then, Guilliman estimated that about five nanoseconds later, those black stone towers, which had been indestructible in the eyes of the Primarch, were forcibly uprooted by a tremendous force, as easily as pulling thirteen ornamental flowers from a flowerbed. The thick, interconnected black stone runes buried underground were also pulled out and shattered in the air, melting away as easily as cotton candy falling into a river amidst the white light that filled the sky.

The flow of psionic energy abruptly changed, instantly transforming from a calm and majestic torrent into a force that was swallowed by a black hole. The psionic currents, turbulent by a powerful negative suction, crashed into Guilliman.

The Primarch tried his best to release his domain, and for a moment, only golden flames remained in Guilliman's eyes—pure golden light filled the Primarch's eyes, but it was not as ruthless as the former monarch of the Empire.

Guilliman looked in vain at the Ultra Warriors around him, who were floating in the white light alongside him.

Guilliman no longer expected his descendants to fight such a monster—like a primitive man wielding a stone axe who could never defeat the sun; he now had only one thought—

Run... everyone run!

Amidst the vast expanse of white light, specks of golden flames hissed and then vanished, along with the Ultra Warriors who perished in the flames.

Perhaps the emperor wouldn't bother to make his sons retreat, but Robert Guilliman would.

Guilliman blinked, feeling hot, liquid-gold tears slide down his cheeks. Instinct told him his warriors were safe, and Guilliman instinctively took a deep breath.

The altar, floating in the air and collapsing, had countless black stone patterns stuck to the soil being pulled out. Thirteen black stone towers fell into the sky together. At the very center, the altar eye, connected by black stone runes like roots, was now flashing.

Unleash your subspace instincts...

Guilliman thought of the sky falling towards him, and he realized that he might die here today—the battle with the Star God meant that it would be difficult to be resurrected in the Warp, but it was hard to say, after all, the concept of the Lord of the Empire was integrated into the entire Empire—it was possible that one day, long, long afterward, Guilliman, who had been asleep for many years, would be shaken up again by the Lord of Humanity who did not want to work.

He still loves to overthink. Guilliman once sparred with Angron, and the Primarch, with his keen insight, pointed out that Guilliman always overthinks during battle, and his reactions can't keep up with his imagination, or that he's always thinking about things outside of war.

Unlike Mortarion.

Angron shook his head.

[Once that guy sets his sights on the enemy, all he has on his mind is killing them—Guilliman, learn from him, stop calculating your war profits while you're fighting.]

Well, he ultimately liberated himself but never really learned this lesson. Guilliman went through the "Proxy Governance Plan" that he had already written and reviewed a million times again, ensuring that someone could quickly step in if he couldn't take command.

Then, Killieman found a corner in his memory, a small world on the outskirts of Macurag, where a waterfall cascaded down like a white brocade amidst lush forests, and wisps of water sprayed onto Killieman's face, giving him a refreshing coolness.

He sat quietly on a rock by the creek, head bowed, taking a nap. The Macurag sunlight shone on his blond hair, and Guilliman felt good.

The intense particle energy scorched Guilliman, turning his hair and skin charred instantly, and the Primarch drew his sword.

"Release your essence..." Guilliman thought intently, but it was difficult. Faced with the falling Star Gods, Guilliman, like the warp, was being choked and struggling to breathe.

He draws strength from his empire as much as possible, the Primarch hearing the prayers, joys, and jubilations of everyone, which is what he strives for, fights for, works overtime for, and gives up his days off for.

Killieman felt his soul burning brightly.

The large sphere of light on the horizon was getting closer and closer, and Guilliman was falling towards it from one of its broken rings.

This made him feel terrible, like a human knowing he couldn't kill a tornado. A huge gap in power stretched between him and the Star God—even though the Star God had been severely injured and was no longer complete, the energy and authority it contained and controlled still held the status of a god.

This was even more unbearable than fighting Hades. Guilliman's soul twitched as he thought that at least when he fought Hades, the most painful and nauseating moment was always at the beginning, after which everything would quiet down, and he wouldn't need to raise his sword.

But the outsider tormented him constantly, not as much as Hades, but still preventing him from falling into a coma, forcing him to endure the pain at all times.

Without hesitation, he raised his sword, and a dazzling, massive sword aura, like a warship engine, surged from the blade he gripped tightly in his hand. Guilliman prepared for his final strike, facing the Outer One who was screaming in agony, he thrust towards the entire falling Star God. Tiny specks of dim ash swirled around him, but Guilliman didn't notice—

? !

The anticipated pain and destruction did not occur. Guilliman blinked sharply, feeling the golden liquid still rolling down his cheeks.

He was no longer in the same spot—but found himself in a gray world, with a storm of gray dust swirling around him.

+You know to tell the Ultra Warrior to run...and you don't run?+

A soft voice drifted from behind and above Killieman, carrying a hint of mockery.

A flurry of white ash fell on Guilliman's head. The Primarch paused, still immersed in the immense pressure from the outsider. Snowflakes fell on the golden giant's shoulders. Then, Guilliman bent down and took several deep breaths.

+What do you mean, Mortarian? Run? I thought you were the most steadfast advocate of war. +

+The main force doesn't mean watching you die meaninglessly.+

Behind the Primarch, the enormous, emaciated insectoid monster hissed.

Let the Star God lure him over, then the three of us Primarchs can fight him together... that way we can at least buy some time.

+……? +

+Wait, what's going on with the other Mortalian?+

With a sneer, Death, who was frantically and relentlessly refusing to die, blinked.

+It's just a facade; I'll bring him over next... The Star God that Tarachin shot down was too large; it clearly knew the Imperial front couldn't handle such a massive force. +

The Primarch's words carried a hint of dissatisfaction. Guilliman pressed his temples, then looked up at the sky. He saw that the planet he had been on had been completely shattered into dust, with the remnants scattered throughout the galaxy like crumbs of cookies.

Guilliman saw the other half of the Star God, slightly larger than the fallen half, more insane, and more complete. It seemed to have inherited the Outer Ones' main personality. The Primarch frowned. The Space Necromancers no longer had melee units; now it was the ranged weapons that Tarasin had previously deployed outside the star system that were attacking the Outer Ones.

Should we call the mechanics instructor over?

There are now two Star Gods on the field, and the Necromancers of Space obviously can't stop one more.

No... we can hold on a little longer.

Mortarian blinked his whitish compound eyes and looked up at the sky. If he wasn't mistaken, the creature that had been ruling the stars and watching from the sidelines had just made its move.

As if confirming some of Mortalian's conjecture, wisps of light, like starlight falling to the ground or flowing silver threads, emerged near the larger Star God.

I wonder how long that guy who's so protective of his reputation can hold out, or if he's just a show-off with nothing to show for it.

However, amidst the countless threads, a clearer, more distinct, and longer thread, seemingly possessing its own will, extends from the outermost surface, its other end far beyond this battlefield, far beyond this galaxy, backward, backward, backward, ever backward, until it reaches that place they all long for…

…………

[A few minutes ago]

Hades' eyelids twitched.

Beside him, sitting on his calves, Macado sat expressionlessly, smoking a pipe, and flicked his pipe, paying no attention to Hades whatsoever.

The old man remained silent, only breathing deeply—whether he was waiting or resigning himself to fate, only Makado himself knew.

As Tarasin lay dying, his impassioned and heartfelt last words echoed through the empty little house. Makado remained unmoved; it was simply the end of a race that should have died long ago.

However, if the Lord of Mankind were to give his last words, Makado sneered, thinking with no goodwill and only malicious speculation that Neos would probably say something like "He is always right."

Not knowing what fate awaited the other side, Makado exhaled wisps of smoke. Now, this side was attacking the outsider, while the other side was attacking [Guilliman], or [The Emperor], or [Tzeentch].

It doesn't matter, anyway, if the other side loses, it's all the same – death.

Why hasn't Hades woken up yet?

Makado scratched his head in frustration, not even bothering to look at Hades. Tarasin's last words were still echoing in his mind, so arrogant.

Only narcissists prepare their last words.

A person should die a quick, decisive death, so that no idiot will drag them up and make them do those "life-or-death" sit-ups.

Finally, on behalf of my civilization, I sincerely wish all other civilizations in the galaxy prosperity and eternal flourishing.

Hades' eyelids twitched.

+May civilization flourish and our race prosper forever.

Hades' fingers trembled, as if he were trying to swim upstream from some deep sea.

Civilization flourishes, and race prospers forever.

He came here not only to live more comfortably at the beginning... but for most of his life, wasn't it all for these simple eight words?

Hades thought of it, but also felt a strange, unreasonable hunger. Some kind of external stimulus was stimulating him to wake up, but Hades did not know what this stimulus came from—it felt extremely distant and painful to him.

He listened intently to the last words. Hades, still unconscious, could not recognize the words from Tarasin, but he was deeply moved by the sincerity contained in them.

Space Necromancers... A once glorious, brilliant, and invincible civilization has finally perished.

To be fair, Hades did not believe that anything is permanent, including civilizations and races. There is no race that prospers forever—humanity is just a race that has been rebuilt from ruins after being destroyed by fire time and time again.

However, this did not deter him from continuing his efforts; Hades hoped to prolong the days of peace and prosperity as much as possible.

But upon hearing the dying man's last words, a deep-seated motivation that had always driven Hades to work and struggle was awakened. This was a motivation that transcended base desires, a motivation that led Hades into an endless cycle of overtime work.

So he began to try to swim upstream, to reach out into his deepest will—but he always felt something was missing, just that final jolt of thunder.

Finally, the thread of fate that had been pulling out from the outer layer of the body circled around and eventually drifted down to Hades.

Hades blinked.

He saw Tarachin, who laughed sheepishly and with a relieved expression, followed by a sinister-looking fellow—oh, it was Eurican.

"Hades!"

Tarasin shouted Hades' name with a cheerful voice and ran towards Hades.

"Haha, sorry, we were just a little short in the end—but I feel like we've got you good enough to play!"

"Tarasin... what are you doing here?"

"I'm dead!"

Tarachin smiled with relief, then opened his arms to show Hades its half-illusory form.

"But you see, there are just so many ways to escape death in this galaxy,"

Tarasin winked mischievously, gesturing for Hades to look behind him at Orikan, whose low-pressure atmosphere was fixed on them.

"oh--!"