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

Page 864

In the very center of the raging psionic turbulence, the First Rebel, pinned to the spot by fourteen daggers, breathed heavily. The chaotic psionic environment was his method of fighting against the Star God fragments, but it also caused him harm—chaotic psionic energy could destabilize the soul within a psionic being, even causing it to self-destruct.

However, the Primarch did not focus his energy on regulating his internal psionic energy. His wolf-like eyes were fixed on the sky, and the fourteen chains that were tied to him by the fourteen daggers were bursting out with even more rapid black flames at different times according to the Primarch's will.

Suddenly, black flames erupted and quickly traveled along the chains to the towering black stone towers at the edge of the altar. The towers swayed visibly from side to side, and each time they were activated by the Primarch, they emitted a muffled hum, and ripples of psionic energy violently emanated from the towers, further intensifying the chaos in the warp.

The First Rebel was calculating when and which Blackrock Tower would be activated to reach the most chaotic and insane state the fastest.

Looking down from the starry sky, one would see fourteen black towers humming as if playing a musical piece, with countless beautiful white lights exploding on the planet, only to be blasted apart again by the chaotic, fiery, and water-like massive subspace turbulence.

Meanwhile, a massive fragment of a celestial being was shrieking. The monster bared its fangs and claws, trying to fight against the vast ocean formed by the collision of two warp currents. A psionic eye of the vacuum appeared around it, but the next moment, the surging psionic energy from all around poured in again, resisting the fragment of the celestial being.

The monster screamed in agony, its piercing cries echoing across the entire planet. But the First Rebel remained expressionless. He seemed to have no interest in the fragments of the Star Gods, focusing instead on stirring up the turbulent flow of psionic energy, growing ever more frenzied and violent, as if he had no regard for his own survival amidst the torrent.

It must last at least longer than its counterpart.

The first rebel thought of it.

At least... we should try to pave the way for their final plan...

The first rebel looked up at the sky, towards the location of [Terra]. Life is always so difficult and absurd. They were still in a dead end, yet they struggled as much as possible to pave the way for the next game—even though they didn't even know how they could escape from this dead end.

But he couldn't give up.

However... he still couldn't possibly fall before another version of himself.

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

The young slave owner was unaware of the very nature of the reins his father had given him.

When he realized that the rope was a noose around everyone's necks, and also a straw that pulled them back from falling into hell, he was already skillfully pulling the rope.

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

The holy light was as bright as day.

The sky is so clear! Soft white clouds drift across the azure sky, just like the clear sky over Macurag that year. Only now, countless white rainbows streak across the clear blue sky, and shooting stars fall to earth.

The dazzling, golden sunlight shone brightly on the earth, gilding the originally brown land with a golden hue. The warriors in their azure armor seemed to be standing not on a barbaric land, but on a sacred temple. The smooth, gleaming golden floor reflected their pure and innocent souls. In the distance, thirteen colossal pillars soared into the sky.

A dazzling, exhilarating, and exhilarating golden light rippled from the Black Stone Tower, illuminating everyone present.

At the very center of the altar, at the very center of the temple, the true master stood with his head bowed. His body was enormous and inhumanly handsome, like a statue sculpted by an ancient craftsman. The face of the empire's ruler was so perfect that it seemed unlike a human—that was a god, inherently superior to humans, who had ruled over mankind since ancient times.

Beneath his feet, thirteen gleaming golden chains pierced straight into the black stone tower, flashing with a blinding light.

"Courage and glory!!!"

The Ultramarines shouted, their voices echoing like a tidal wave. The sheer number of them, bathed in golden light, caused the azure armor to move like a real ocean. Smaller fragments of the Star God fell into the sea like pebbles, splashing up only a few blue droplets before silently sinking into the vast ocean of the "masses."

He saw every shining soul.

Killieman saw it.

For the first time, he truly saw them, his offspring, his warriors, the people he trusted most. He saw the pure flames burning brightly in the souls of those warriors, the golden light that made the Primarch dazzled, as if he were born to love the blue sky of Macragge. As he gazed upon those golden souls, Guilliman felt a deep joy and comfort.

He might now understand the way the emperor looked at the crowd.

He could no longer discern the faces of those people, but he could see the flames of varying colors and lights. The one that burned steadily, like a lamp that had never gone out for a thousand years, was dazzling but not the most radiant. It should be the one he trusted, Calga. The one that shot straight into the sky like a spike, the most radiant and unrestrained, should be Cato Sicarius. And that extremely abrupt flame... Guilliman thought for a moment... Titus? He had not paid attention to this offspring before, but at this moment, this offspring's soul was so dazzling, so bright that it was like a bug in the world. It even made Guilliman's eyes sting.

The pure souls of humanity filled Guilliman with genuine joy. Those souls, burning fiercely with faith, were the greatest support for the Lord of the Empire. Even with the heavy hammer from the heavens, Guilliman felt no strain. For the first time, he realized the wonder of psychic power.

He could see people's souls at will, witnessing firsthand the magnificent sight of those souls burning brightly for the empire. He realized the trust that humanity had in him, the trust that humanity had in others—a trust that was enough to make them burn themselves out.

These burning souls are the very foundation upon which he stands.

As the holy light shone down, the unimaginative Guilliman granted his offspring the ability to fight, allowing them to wield swords and knives at the Star God Shards, to make the Star God Shards "bleed," and to make them more like ordinary enemies.

But this ability failed before the largest fragments of the Celestial God, so the ocean rushed toward them one after another, only to be evaporated once more. At the forefront of the battle, the Titans who had been given the most power by Guilliman were wielding their swords and fighting against the massive, mountain-like fragments of the Celestial God. If one looked closely, one would be astonished to see an Ultramariner flitting up and down like a ghost on the largest fragment of the Celestial God—it was the brilliant flame that Guilliman had seen earlier, Titus.

Guilliman heard prayers coming from churches in the far reaches of the Empire. He heard the most sincere wishes of the believers, and these wishes for the Empire's eternal prosperity were transformed into power, which Guilliman then forged into the sharpest swords in the hands of the Ultramarines.

Amidst the blood-soaked battle of the Ultramarines, Guilliman heard their dying prayers: they wished to continue fighting, they wished to tear flesh from their enemies. Guilliman granted their wishes, entrusting these sacred souls to him. In return, they would continue fighting after death, fulfilling their prayers within the psionic domain of the Empire's ruler.

The stars in the sky continued to fall, shrieking as they rushed toward the earth, yet the waves continued as usual, and the golden sunlight shone on the sea, bringing light and warmth to the soul.

If the black moon hadn't fallen from the heavens, this scene might have lasted a long time, until the seas dried up and the rocks crumbled—

Behind this azure ocean lies the faith and rule of an entire empire. The various official documents that Guilliman once painstakingly reviewed built a vast empire, and now, this vast empire is continuously providing him with strength.

The trees that were painstakingly planted in the past are finally being rewarded with a field full of fragrant fruit on this day—so visually appealing, so moving, so dazzling, so beautiful.

Robert Killman had never been so gratified.

Although he soon lost his sense of relief.

Twenty-four minutes later, the battle lines between the Endless Emperor Talazin and the Fearful Ones collapsed. The largest fragment of the Star God was torn in two, and the smaller outer half crashed straight into the planet where Primarch Robert Guilliman was located, shattering the entire planet.

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

Tarasin felt dizzy.

The sounds echoing around it grew fainter and fainter, as if it were wandering alone in a desolate wilderness. It shouted loudly, but received no response. Only the howling wind carried away its sorrow and roar.

One by one, the dead, who crawled out of their graves fueled by burning rage, fell, their skeletons collapsed, and they were completely reduced to dust in the raging winds stirred up by the star god, drifting away with the wind.

It felt its senses being severed one by one, and the endless clones that Tarasin possessed vanished into nothingness with each collision of energy, rapidly shrinking to an unacceptable number.

Compared to the rapidly dwindling army of space undead, the Outer Ones were in much worse condition than before. The once raging starlight had dimmed, and rough cracks ran through the entire sphere. Countless healing white threads intertwined in the center of the cracks, but the cracks were too large, and even though the Outer Ones tried to heal them, it was to no avail.

It won't last long...

Tarasin thought, and the idea swelled in his mind, as if the last echoes of the Death-fearing Ones were reverberating in his ears—at this moment, they were of one mind.

The Endless One watched as the last remaining fleet of the Space Necromancers gathered, their crescent-shaped black scythes floating silently in the air, as if waiting for something.

They are waiting for Tarachin.

Tarachin made a sweeping gesture, and even though any movement made it feel strangely unreal after becoming a god, it still tried to imagine itself gracefully waving its cloak before striding towards its destiny.

+Euricán—General Zandreuk the Crowned and those who fear death are now in your hands!+

Tarachin waved his hand, and the last descendant of the dynasty, the Star God of the Dynasty, strode away. The energy surging within him would act as the most powerful bomb in the galaxy, tearing the outer part completely in two, with no possibility of healing.

Chapter 865 [307] The Last Words of the Fallen Moon

The Milky Way is dazzling.

This was perhaps the umpteenth time Tarachin had looked up at the magnificent Milky Way, this vast galaxy that had given birth to boundless wisdom and civilization. In the eyes of this briefly divine being, whether it was because of his ascension or because this was the last time he would gaze at the stars, the sky now seemed even more dazzling and wondrous.

It had expected to be filled with emotion, but in the end it appeared carefree and at ease, as if it had been looking forward to this moment for far too long, as if it had been anticipating this day and this moment ever since it was dragged and thrown into the bio-conversion furnace by three fearful warriors.

The Endless One only cares about striding forward; it has no clever ideas for battle, nor any genius-level military talent—otherwise, it would have long been a higher-ranking noble among the Fearful Ones, not just a historian.

But this historian possessed a vast collection, which he piled high into a stack before casually setting it ablaze, leaving the flames from its burning to illuminate the starry sky.

The fate of the Fearful Ones ends here, along with the fate of the ancient Star Gods. Tarasim gladly accepts this ending. It is not as stubborn and greedy as the Silent King. Slaying the last ancient Star God is enough.

Tarachin strode forward, spreading its arms wide—these were all actions Tarachin imagined. In reality, after ascending to godhood, it wasn't quite sure how it moved. It could only imagine itself as the same fearful being it had been, only no longer weary, but instead radiant.

A shriek, like a grand chorus of billions of ghosts, ripped across Tarachin's cheek and exploded from the great sphere of light in front of the Deathbringer. The outer part, with a corner shattered by the Deathbringer, resembled a deformed egg carrying some kind of monster. In a daze, Tarachin felt that the malice of the entire physical galaxy was being conceived within it.

A heart-wrenching scream echoed behind it—perhaps from Orikan, and could only come from Orikan, Tarachin thought indifferently. He regretted leaving this mortal enemy to exist in the future, but it was Orikan's own choice. Orikan never considered itself a Death-Fearer, nor did it want to be responsible for the civilization of Death-Fearers.

Those who walk different paths cannot make plans together; this is why they are mortal enemies, and after a brief alliance, they will eventually part ways.

Tarasin thought to himself.

It ignored Euricane's cries; the roar of the Outer Ones filled all its senses, and it felt itself attached to those flat, black crescent moons in a fluid, energetic state—

The ships of the Fear of the Dead were not originally like this, but after undergoing the bio-transformation ritual, these vehicles, which treated the crew and passengers more brutally, became the new favorites of the Fear of the Dead. In the beginning, when these ships accelerated at superluminal speeds without inertia, they would toss the crew around like juggling balls in a circus.

It makes it seem like they never treated their own civilization well from the beginning.

Talasin thought silently, now it no longer thought of anything else, its gaze fixed on the Outer One before it, that howling, roaring monster, the one who deceived the fearful, the one who plunged several civilizations into the abyss, that insatiable god of greed—

Tarachin was also worried about Hades. He didn't know if he had bred a new monster, but he had done his best to fulfill his duties. Now, a small army of space necromancers remained behind the front line, led by General Zandrek, to coordinate with the Mechanicus of the Empire of Man—in case another monster grew out of the depths of the galaxy.

But Taraxin wasn't too worried—greed was a necessary prerequisite for growing into a behemoth, and Hades, whom it knew, was someone who knew when to stop—it hoped that Hades could still maintain his last shred of decency even in his corrupted state.

May this galaxy have good luck.

Tarasin shook its head and sped forward. The ship it was attached to cut through thousands of waves like an arrow, heading straight for the huge rift on the outside, carrying immense fury.

Their speed transcends time and space, and countless shimmering threads of fate converge here, seemingly trying to pull back this destined arrow, but it is destined to be in vain. Tarachin is determined to shatter the outer ones, and this is the only chance—they cannot stand by and watch the star god heal.

Finally, in the end, Tarachin listened blankly to the Outer One's screams—until it was finally shattered by the impact and could never be restored. The Outer One could only scream in chaotic pain, unable to utter a single word with complete meaning. This star god, who had been exiled for too long, had gone completely mad. It had become a madman, a madman who didn't care about anything, and this was the very existence that the galaxy feared most.

Finally, as the last monarch of the Fearless Civilization, what kind of echo should the Fearless, or perhaps the Necromancers of space, leave for this galaxy?

Taracin thought that, as an ancient civilization, it believed that the fearful should leave some last words, which was better than the ancient saints who left without saying goodbye—even though those mollusk-like creatures lurking in the warp were too kind and intelligent.

Ah, as a historian, it knows what it should say.

But could it utter these words? As the final end of a civilization, would leaving these words be a disservice to its brilliant civilization? But it seems that leaving a last message is already good enough, better than those Eldar who screamed and then died suddenly—Tarasin thought this was also a cold joke, that the Eldar, who loved to tease civilizations with language and prophecy, had no chance to leave a last message.

Well, Taracin finally decided to say it this way, recounting exactly what he had hastily written down tens of thousands of years ago before falling into slumber, following the command of the Silent King—he had modified the words to better fit the context, but the essential meaning remained unchanged.

The violent energy turbulence from the outer beings impacted it; they hadn't even reached the optimal attack range yet, but the energy particles spewed out by the outer beings were already nearly tearing the ship apart.

The once sleek and smooth black scythe ships were now riddled with dents, revealing their rather unrefined skeletons. Tiny, living metal pieces struggled to writhe and try to restore the ships, but their efforts were futile against the ferocious onslaught.

Tarazin roared, feeling himself transform into a dazzling ball of light, enveloping the last fleet of the Fearful Ones and shielding them from the outer forces' attack—a madman, a temporary addition who couldn't use any skills. Their battle had become a simple, brutal clash of energy, and Tarazin felt his own energy rapidly diminishing.

The good news is that while this energy is far from enough to support their return, it is enough for them to launch a suicidal charge.

Of course, don't forget to leave behind a high-class last message. Tarasim shook his head gracefully and raised his head. Since his reign was short, his words would most likely be attributed to the Silent King by later civilizations. In this way, even if Tarasim's words were biased, his reputation would be preserved.

It still doesn't know how to make a sound—so Tarachin continues to rely on its imagination.

It imagined itself walking step by step onto the high platform, the light from the outer layer scorching the living metal transforming into the platform's dazzling light, shining upon it—

Tarasim, the last emperor of the Fearful Civilization, the culprit who destroyed the Fearful Civilization, the clown who usurped the throne, and the traitor who betrayed the civilization.

It tapped the microphone held up to its mouth and coughed.

The outermost shriek was deafening, and the light almost materialized into a tangible ocean, rushing towards Tarasin. Looking up, one could not see the edge of the sea of ​​light.

+Cough cough. +

Tarasin coughed once, then opened its mouth and spoke solemnly and solemnly.

To those who come after, this is *civilization*.

(A direct translation of the Egyptian word for the fear of death)

Tarasin took a deep breath. At least as a god, he could breathe, instead of mimicking breathing like a space undead.

Standing at the end of civilization, I am sorry for the pain left in the galaxy. For the prosperity of our race, for the eternal flourishing of our civilization, or simply for survival in this cruel galaxy, we have taken many wrong paths and made many wrong decisions, which led to the ultimate destruction of our civilization and further chaos in the galaxy.

However, we solemnly declare that we have paid a heavy price for our wrongdoings, and will henceforth dedicate the entire nation to rectifying our past mistakes.

In the final moments of civilization, we chose to perish along with the products of our past mistakes, using our last remnants as a sacrifice. Unwilling to linger any longer, we decided on a final act of atonement, to leave as much hope as possible for the galaxy.

+Here I, the last ruler, the last king of the descendants, declare civilization officially destroyed in atonement for its mistakes. +

+Using its own demise as a warning to all those who follow—+

Arrogance is the first and last original sin of civilization.

+Superbia vitae exitium est+

When a bird is about to die, its song is mournful; when a person is about to die, their words are kind.

The final step is to apologize.

Tarasin thought—this was obviously shameful for a civilization. A proud monarch would never leave such a disgraceful last word. It was a self-degrading act that nailed the civilization to the pillar of shame. If the Silent King heard these words, he would probably be so angry that he would spit out liquid metal from his mouth.

But Tarachin was neither a good general nor a good emperor; he was a good historian—and the mission of a historian is to learn something from history, to learn from the past and to know what has been gained and lost. Although Tarachin’s greatest realization was that the fearful dead learn nothing from history.

It really wanted to say that, until the very end, the proud Silent King did not apologize to the Fearful Ones whom it had utterly destroyed, nor to the entire galaxy that had been torn apart and whose warp had been disrupted.

These are words that the Silent King cannot utter! He dares not utter! A dog's mouth can't produce good words! Let that shameless Tarasin say them!

Since the entire race is gone anyway, why bother with saving face?! Right and wrong, merit and demerit—they won't hear any judgment, laughter, anger, or curses from later generations. The Tarachins have seen it all; which alien race, upon learning of the history of the Death-Fearers, hasn't cursed them?! It's better to leave some kind words, some advice, some reassurance, so that the Death-Fearers can salvage some of their reputation.

Tarasin was somewhat angered by the Silent King's joy.

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

The last two words were emphasized by the Endless One, as if speaking to someone face-to-face.

kind.

The virtues that the ancient civilizations mastered from the very beginning were only learned by the civilizations that feared death at the very end.

How could this not infuriate Tarasin? But he had done all he could—who even remembered he was just a historian?!