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

Page 857

The Milky Way has its own choices.

Gods, whether chaos or star gods—the Milky Way's concept and definition of this are extremely rigorous and never ambiguous—

A unified entity of concepts and authority.

This is the complete summary and description of the "gods" in the Milky Way: a kind of individual that brings together the power of nature and the Milky Way, and possesses a certain degree of self-will.

Perhaps the birth of chaos was also a kind of tacit approval from the galaxy, dividing and classifying the disordered subspace—while the Star Gods were a more proactive attempt by the galaxy.

To give authority to the will.

To impose one's will on authority.

Different, similar, and harmonious concepts and rules begin to merge automatically, on those wills that are compatible with them, or perhaps even sprout from these authorities.

But the journey home remains the same.

Will possesses the ability to resist—will itself is a rebellious existence—will is the best illustration of resistance and struggle. No rules will resist their underlying logic, but life and will themselves can deny their own fundamental will to exist and evolve further.

The wind blows away the paper, but it cannot blow away the butterfly. The meaning of life lies in disobedience, in using one's own ability to forcibly change the rules. The universe is a damned porridge of various beans that is slowly merging into one, and the will has the ability to pick out those different beans and reclassify them.

Perhaps, like the will and civilization that arose from it, the galaxy rejects entropy increase and heat death.

It requires a will—a will that integrates the powers of one side of the world—only in this way can it resist the increase of entropy—but direct fusion of powers will only bring disorder and chaos. There must be a true winner who categorizes these powers when unifying them, tolerates the conflict between different concepts and powers, and prevents their complete fusion.

This is the return to oneness.

Like the great game in the highest heaven, the final and ultimate outcome is destined to be oneness, beginning with the number nine, where all powers are united as one.

This is the source of the mutual devouring among the star gods. The curse and blessing bestowed upon them from the beginning of their birth destined them to embark on a path of mutual destruction and cannibalism among their own kind. The last survivors will stand in the temple and be crowned in the galaxy.

The great game of the physical and psionic sides both lead to oneness; this is the law chosen by the galaxy.

The outer one was roaring, at a volume loud enough for the galaxy to hear. It was the last survivor, but not the ultimate winner. A coward who abandoned his armor and fled, a weakling who ran away in disarray, too kind, too hesitant, too cowardly.

If the Milky Way had a will, it would probably be very angry.

If we were to personify the Milky Way further, and allow observers to attempt to translate those magnificent, unclassifiable concepts—

It might be cursing, jumping up and down, yelling that these civilizations and wills must have something wrong with their heads. The physical gods it painstakingly cultivated were crushed by the slaves it cultivated. And those slaves, after breaking their own shackles, did not choose to continue on the path of resisting entropy increase. Instead, they put on collars themselves and chose the same path as the last star god, exiling themselves.

Is there no civilization or being that cares about the ultimate fate of the galaxy and the final outcome of resisting the entire dark universe?

Why do some people, after becoming the largest civilization or will in the galaxy, choose either self-exile or self-indulgence?

First came the Ancient Saints, then the Star Gods, followed by the Space Necromancers, and then the rising Eldar Empire also fell into decline.

In contrast, the shadow of the entire galaxy—the warp—became more benign, starting with nine, counting down, and finally returning to one. The four gods agreed to the start of the Great Game and diligently tried to bring about the birth of the Dark Lord—but that damned bastard Dark Lord rejected it, just like that damned Outer One.

Subsequently, the Chaos God was shattered and fragmented, just as the Star God of the past was scattered into pieces, and his authority was dispersed once again.

Yes, dispersion is a good thing, a manifestation of resisting entropy increase, but dispersion is also a bad thing. Excessively dispersed authority represents weakness. Even if it can have a place in the Milky Way, it is still not enough to look up at the real sky and face the malice of the universe.

*****!

Listen carefully, and you'll hear the Milky Way swearing.

Of course, the Milky Way clearly does not possess a will or a unified personality; these are all manifestations of certain rules and concepts. However, it is obvious that they are not very satisfied with the current scene.

But if you listen carefully and observe closely, you will see the Milky Way's discontent.

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

Hades opened his eyes once again and again.

But what he saw was not the ceiling of the intensive care unit, nor Macardo's face pointing at him and cursing him, nor the twinkling stars in the Milky Way—but darkness.

It was so dark that Hades thought he hadn't opened his eyes.

Hades then tried to open his eyes again. He thought that he was probably already open, but the environment he was in was too dark. With a thought, Hades created several balls of white interiors with black outer flames.

He could barely make out his surroundings—it was still the restaurant where he had been in the illusion, but everything was now dark, and the paintings that used to hang on the walls were gone, including the Mona Lisa.

Instead, there was a huge, chaotic giant painting, the entire oil painting filled with a single color, without any omissions, outlines, or shapes.

It's just one color.

It seemed to fill the entire world and the universe.

Hades scratched his head, unable to describe the color—it was clearly an unnamed and undefined color, a color that no human, no fear of death, no insectoid, no civilization or will had ever seen.

But the moment Hades saw it, he knew that this color was the final color—a uniform mixture of all colors, from which only this one color would exist, with no other vibrant hues to come.

This is clearly a color that makes people feel uncomfortable subconsciously.

Hades blinked, trying to escape the illusion—he had to return to the battlefield. He tried his usual methods, but failed.

So he began trying to find a door or window in the room; the act of "leaving" would allow him to withdraw from his deep will and return to the outside world.

But then he discovered that the whole environment was changing.

As he walked, the restaurant seemed to expand further and further, a rustling sound coming from Hades' feet. He looked down and saw large swathes of Tyrannosaurus Shells—empty inside, their flesh and entrails devoured by something.

Hades subconsciously wiped his mouth and guiltily looked away.

It shouldn't be him.

But I'm guessing it's him.

He continued walking, praying that he wouldn't encounter the rice cooker that spewed macado again; thankfully, nothing happened yet.

He continued walking, but a faint roar came from outside the house; the storm howled, growing louder and louder, accompanied by madness and incoherent chanting.

This seemed to be some kind of being, Hades thought. Hearing the voice made him even hungrier, and it seemed that another being was watching him and drooling, like a bear walking upright toward him in the dark.

But the house now has neither a door nor windows, so they are probably both safe for now.

Finally, he arrived at the place he thought he should be.

The ghostly flames surrounding Hades probed forward and upward, and after seeing what was in front of him, Hades raised an eyebrow in surprise.

He saw a workbench, exactly the same as the one in his home before his dramatic rebirth, except that it didn't have his beloved chess pieces on it, but instead had countless scattered puzzle pieces that were merging together.

Is he being forced to fight?

Hades sat down and pushed the mountain of puzzle pieces aside, intending to clear a clean tabletop before starting the puzzle. But then his hand touched something at the very bottom of the mountain of puzzle pieces. Hades blinked and pulled the object out.

It was a thin little booklet.

It reads "The Galaxy Self-Rescue Guide".

Hades instinctively turned around; clearly, the monster outside seemed to have obtained the same thing as him.

Something chose him, chose Hades—the worst possible option, because the other beings were simply too incompetent.

Oh no, perhaps even the ever-changing Lord of the High Heavens can offer something to look forward to—

That is, provided that the damned Lord of Man stops playing his boring little tricks.

But is that realistic? Obviously not.

Before starting the puzzle, Hades opened the booklet.

Chapter 857 [299] Eat, Eat, Eat

Hades opened the book and saw that the lines inside were all crooked and incomprehensible. He read it forwards and backwards, and finally Hades managed to decipher the words between the twisted and worm-like spells—the whole book was filled with the word "cannibalism"!

It's always been about "eating"! Just one word: "eating"! It's always been this way, and it's always been this way.

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

"Still won't wake up..."

The old man took a deep breath, his eyes deep and thoughtful. He slowly rose from beside Hades, his outstretched hand hovering in the air, still glowing with spiritual energy, though it had dimmed considerably due to the devouring power of the Underworld.

[Does he truly have the ability to deal with outsiders?]

Mortarion, leaning against a pillar, spoke in a muffled voice. The Primarch had his head down, his hair hanging loosely in strands, while the First Rebel simply pressed his demon mask against his face, wisps of black smoke drifting out from the gap between the mask and his cheek, making his voice muffled as well.

"He has."

Makado's face was grim.

“He has to have it, whether he wants it or not. He’s the only one left in this galaxy. Are we supposed to rely on the Silent King?”

Szalak is dead.

Mortarian, the Grim Reaper, who stood with his arms crossed, spoke up. He frowned and stared at Macado, wisps of white mist swirling around him, his massive scythe leaning against the pillar behind him.

Makado let out a loud breath, then turned his head to continue trying to check on Hades, ignoring Mortarian.

"The army is retreating, but most of it cannot leave—the Outer Ones are too fast, and if they were to reach the high heavens, the subspace near them would be thrown into chaos, making further travel impossible."

"Hehe... Now that Pluto has been replaced, the surrounding star sectors and the worlds along the predicted routes of the outer stars will also be unable to receive warnings."

"F**k!!!"

The man with the magic markings seemed to mutter a curse under his breath.

He seemed to realize that involving the Outer Ones in this battle was a mistake, but without them, both of the Space Necromancer's Spears of Destiny would have struck Hades, shattering the King of the Underworld.

Without the sole observer, no one will be able to predict the final outcome of the two fate lines.

But the person who came up with this terrible idea isn't here now. Neos is going all in on another battlefield, using the same old formula. Macado is starting to curse. The Lord of Man always leaves no way out for the future when solving problems.

Makado blinked irritably, trying to keep his mind from cursing that bastard, then squatted down again, attempting to awaken Hades by feeding him psionic energy.

The first rebel, Mortarian, merely watched Macado's movements with cold eyes, remaining silent.

The scene suddenly fell silent, with only the heavy breathing of the two thin, tall figures.

I want to go to the battlefield!

Death suddenly spoke, casually grabbing the giant scythe behind him. The downward-facing scythe scraped against the deck, producing a hissing spark.

I'm going to stall for time.

Mortarian said, about to leave on his own. Makado remained squatting, looking irritable. Mortarian, the Grim Reaper, had tried to awaken Hades, but had failed.

The psionic energy thrown in was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, creating only slight ripples.

Hades was merely unconscious—for these "psychic" beings, it was already difficult enough to see Hades' surface condition, let alone probe the state inside his body.

They also tried to enter Hades' inner world, but were rejected—the world that was originally built on Hades' deep consciousness was now in chaos and disorder, as if everything had been broken down and then pieced back together.

The First Rebel, leaning against a pillar, blinked and peered out at the departing Mortarion.

"You should go and help too."

Makado said in a hoarse voice,

"Go, all of you, we must hold out until he wakes up."

The first rebel shrugged. His soul agreement was with Makado. Although he could rebel, he seemed to have no intention of rebelling now and was just preparing to leave in vain.

The Primarch took a few steps, then stopped again, slowly turning his head to look back. His gaze fell on the sleeping Hades' face, then remained silent for a moment before looking away again.

[She's so much healthier than him, that's great.]

The first rebel threw out a nonsensical remark, then turned and strode into the still-lingering white mist of Mortarion, the god of death.

The fog was like rain, obscuring the people within.

"..."

Undeterred, Makado tried again to channel his psychic energy into the Underworld, but to no avail. The old man lowered his head, shadows falling on half of his face, and he muttered curses under his breath, cursing the Emperor and Hades.

At last……

"Trazyn!"

Makado shouted suddenly, raising his head to look at the air beside him as if waiting for something. Time seemed to pass for a long time before the unreliable voice of the Endless Emperor finally came through intermittently.

It seemed chaotic over there, so Taracin had to shout at Makado to communicate.

"run!"

"The Endless One roared," and Makado heard a sound like popping popcorn on his end—the sound of space warping.

"You're not planning to send Hades back to help you?!"

Makado shouted impatiently, but Taracin's tone brightened up.

"What? Hades is awake?!"

"That's why I came to find you!!!"