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

Page 848

"Well? Say something, Neos."

[Erda] frowned as she watched [The Emperor] merely glance at his child before expressionlessly—even with disgust—handing the angelic child back into Erda's hands.

The little boy, abandoned by his father, suddenly reddened at the corners of his eyes. He stared at his father's departing figure with such incomprehension that Erda felt the little Primarch was about to cry.

"What?! You're not going to give him a name, Neos?!"

"Call them by their numbers first."

I strode out of the lab, feeling my soul throbbing with pain—but ultimately I did not choose to stick to my original idea.

I think I might love my child.

I love the empire.

I love humanity.

Even though my soul is in excruciating pain right now—I think my fate and future will likely follow a certain trajectory. I will sacrifice myself for what I love, and that is the source of all my pain and unease.

I will do everything in my power to avoid that worst future, the future in which humanity perishes, but as long as I do not choose to ascend to godhood, all the pain I feel now, at this very moment, proves my future success—humanity will eventually be unified.

at that time.

I still don't know what I love, what I cherish deeply, what I've sacrificed everything for.

They will not choose me in the distant future.

But it doesn't matter, because in my plan, the first person to give up on me was myself.

I paid the price for it.

Chapter 846 [288] You've already cursed me like that, wouldn't it be a huge loss not to use it?

The black flames were burning fiercely, just like they had back then.

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Another Fate Line

Terra

Breathing, breathing, breathing became increasingly difficult, and the Primarch felt as if he had returned to Barbaros.

Thick smoke and the stench of blood filled his nostrils, the pungent smell of gunpowder piercing his lungs. Looking into the distance, the once blue and white sky was torn open, and countless sharp smoke and light spears rained down from the sky.

Nearby, angry roars and screams pierced the air.

He simply swung his sickle.

The enormous, clumsy scythe that appeared huge to others now moved with incredible force in his hands. As the scythe swung down, sonic booms and blood and flesh splattered, and the three flames that echoed with the maniacal laughter of the subspace danced on the originally pale blade. In the eerie atmosphere, countless innocent ghosts screamed and were bound by the ever-burning three eerie flames.

Ignoring everything else, he was solely focused on reaching that enormous throne—a hundred years ago, on that stormy night when the Primarchs were scattered, Mortarion had caught a glimpse of that massive structure beneath the palace.

Before him appeared a fortress composed of dark gray, bright yellow, and pitch black. He drew his gun and fired. A bright blue fireball the size of a cannon descended like heavenly fire. A huge explosion rang out, and the seemingly indestructible fortress was blasted open, revealing the exposed tissue beneath.

Before the steel warriors inside the fortress could even draw their swords in retaliation, a gust of wind swept past them. The sickle's speed was too fast for the naked eye to catch. The next moment, those who had not yet reacted tried to understand what had happened—but then their corpses, their heads already smashed by the sickle, fell to the ground with a thud, like fireworks exploding in the middle of summer.

【Motalian】smelled the stench of evil, a stench far more foul than the poisonous fog of Barbarus, a scent that made him frown. It came from the depths of his soul, and the more he slaughtered against his will, the more haunting and lingering this scent became.

It was as if the three gods were deliberately mocking the mark he had left behind.

It doesn't matter... it doesn't matter...

Mortarion sensed that the connection between the warp and the physical world was becoming distorted and blurred. From the shadows beneath his feet, countless laughing demons emerged—swamp green, crimson, violet, and other abstract colors—one after another, pulling one another along, as if leaping into a grand banquet with joy and excitement. These ugly creatures didn't even bother to greet Mortarion before leaping directly into Terra's current slaughter feast.

The subspace is cheering.

Mortarion sensed this, and the High Heavens unleashed even more power upon him. Some of it was the familiar power of Chaos, while others were more enigmatic. The Primarch believed that some of it came from his own essence, while others... he was unsure.

However, his true nature... although he bypassed the demonic treaty by using the soul of his best friend, Mortarian, who devoted himself to forbidden arts, had already made his true nature empty and corrupt in order to seek more power to fight against the False Emperor.

It doesn't matter; this will pave the way for his revenge.

[Motalian] raised his hand again, watching the murky flames burn fiercely. The flames reflected in his pupils, making his eyes, which could originally see through the thick fog of Barbarus, appear cloudy.

He will become powerful—powerful enough—powerful enough to cut off that man's head.

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【Endurance】

【now】

[What a pity, Mortarian...]

The first rebel spoke in a hoarse voice, almost insane at the moment, seemingly just one step away from the state he was in when he fought against the [Emperor].

He could no longer be called the Primarch, nor could he be called [Motalion]. That raging monster—he wasn't originally burning; rather, he was some kind of flammable behemoth that was ignited. Then, for ten thousand years, the flames never went out. Instead, they burned ever brighter under the anger and repression of the soul, until they were completely twisted and became part of the First Rebels.

[When it comes to madness, you're nowhere near as good as me.]

At this moment, the black flames rolled and seemed to engulf the entire world, or perhaps they simply formed the sky and the earth. The entire subspace was like falling into the eighteen kinds of hell, and the shrill cries of ghosts shot at the falling souls like thousands of arrows.

In the deepest part of hell, where the black flames were at their most rampant, the giant moth remained silent, the white mist emanating from beneath its wings instantly scorched away by the black flames.

You are burning your own soul.

"Motalian said, a hint of mockery in his voice.

You had no way out, so you ended up in this sorry state. My other self is truly laughable.

This is the price of falling into chaos, Mortarian thought to himself, and this is why he would never fall into chaos.

[Heh... Mortarion, but you are about to vanish—after you vanish, I will fulfill your little wishes.]

Neither of the two Mortarians seemed inclined to engage in deep conversation—their ability to taunt each other amidst their relentless attacks was already the limit of their communication.

The black flames continued to roar and shriek, burning ever more fiercely, soaring straight into the sky, as if some shrill god was about to climb out from this raging inferno to curse all living beings.

Mortarian remained silent, realizing that the First Rebel was unleashing its true nature. Standing on the steps of demigods, the First Rebel was infinitely extending towards the next step—

Mortarian could see that this wouldn't last. This violent power came at the cost of burning itself. After all, the source of the First Rebel's power still came from another galaxy, and this place was still Mortarian's home turf.

Mortarion stared at the black flames that were burning his soul. He felt pain—a pain that was both strange and familiar. The Primarch was not sitting idly by. His eyes, which had been shrouded in mist, began to shine. A bright golden light appeared in his pupils. This was not from the Emperor's power, but from the divine position that Mortarion had once briefly attained.

In the now-empty royal hall within the subspace, a phantom image flickers on a single chair.

Sensing Mortarion's change, the black flames surged even more, and Mortarion seemed to hear the piercing screams of grief and indignation as his soul burned.

That's really...rare.

Mortarian realized that he was well aware of the dangers of doing so, but his other self seemed determined to perish together with him—the First Rebel couldn't even be said to hope for victory; he was simply burning himself in fury, using black flames to pierce Mortarian's soul.

Even if the First Rebel survives and Mortarion dies, the First Rebel will be exhausted by such intense burning.

The other self—Motalian—believes that things are completely out of control, which is absurd and incredibly foolish.

Within the highest heavens, the phantom on the throne grew increasingly clear. Mortarian was gradually "standing," his figure growing taller and sharper, bright yellow hues clinging to his fingertips, unleashing his true nature. Mortarian was prepared to forcefully suppress himself and reclaim his reason and soul after this—

?

In a daze, Mortarian sensed that familiar presence—which greatly relieved his unease. Although he was still anxious, he seemed to have heard the horns of victory, which made his brain, which had been occupied by anger and anxiety, begin to operate and think further.

Mortarian finally understood what the burning pain of that black flame felt like.

Your flame...

Mortarian stared unblinkingly at the First Rebel, the bright yellow light in his eyes slowly fading.

Is it the Emperor's?

The previously boiling flames momentarily shrank after those words. Motari, of course, didn't let this opportunity pass. He suddenly accelerated, traversing layers of space, and lunged towards the core of the chief rebel's soul—

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Another Fate Line

【past】

[Mortalian, I actually heard our father say that each of us Primarchs inherited a part of him.]

Inside the gleaming blue royal hall, [Killiman]'s voice echoed across the smooth marble floor.

With his head bowed, [Motalian] nodded blankly.

[You said...which part of his inheritance did you inherit? After that, did he change his will again, leaving you any more little things, Mortalian?]

[You jest, my lord.]

In the dim light of Mortalian's eyes, a flame flickered.

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Another Fate Line

【past】

Run! Run! Run! Mortarion ran with long strides, leaving his warriors and offspring behind. The Imperial Guards who came to stop him were cut down by the Primarch's scythe, like crops easily felled in a rice field.

The enormous golden throne, shrouded in golden light, lay at the edge of the horizon, like a setting sun, a dying ember. Unsettling, dark filaments, like some kind of parasite, slithered beneath the immense golden light.

The more Mortalian ran toward the sun, the brighter the golden light became, but for some reason, the Primarch felt his vision growing darker and darker, as if it were about to get dark.

This further confirms the Primarch's preconceived notion—the Emperor has inevitably slid into the abyss of depravity. As he draws power from the Warp and establishes himself as the ruler of humanity, the Warp corrupts him, or perhaps he was always like that.

A mad, brutal person.

Mortarion recalled countless times the cold, golden light in the tyrant's eyes, the countless times he treated the Primarchs with indifference and reprimands, and the countless times he treated human lives like dirt. The Emperor didn't care about the Primarchs' feelings at all—and by the same token, he didn't care about humans either.

This greatest madman in the history of the human empire narrowly hoped that the Primarchs would take over his legions in an orderly manner and continue to expand the empire, while the Primarchs' own dissatisfaction, suffering, demands and hopes were irrelevant to him.

Or rather, the Emperor cannot understand these things.

For him, survival, development, and growth are the true meanings; other matters are as meaningless as whether to step out the door with the left or right foot first.

This king was probably the same to humankind.

Their lifelong suffering, the loss of countless lives, the exploitation and being exploited—all these are but a speck of dust in the face of the survival and development of their race.

Utopia does not exist.

【Motalian】runs, like Kuafu chasing the sun, trying to shoot down a sun that brought them light and heat, but also radiation and flames.

Finally, he was completely engulfed by that blinding golden light.

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

[Original Fateline]

【now】

Mortarian charged forward. A truly fatal attack often comes in a single blow. Taking advantage of the First Rebel's momentary hesitation, Death successfully plunged into the depths of the Black Flame—his soul was thus scorched and boiled.

The First Rebel laughed—he did not believe that Death was capable of killing him in one blow, even though Death was returning to his throne, and the fire boiling in the First Rebel's soul could not be easily extinguished.

I know what you're thinking.

As if he had read the mind of the first rebel, Mortarian laughed loudly, his hoarse voice filled with a manic triumph.

[But since you've insulted me countless times before—I'll show you what it truly means to be "under great power," hahahahaha!]

The next moment, the light surrounding Mortarion dimmed, and the Primarch activated a skill he had used countless times—[Summoning Spell: Descent from the Underworld]

【Hades!!! By Hades!!!】

Yes, Mortarian acknowledged all the slander and defamation the First Rebels had about him regarding Hades, because no one can resist a single, decisive blow, as long as you can endure the screams and pain deep within your soul—then this move is invincible.

So-called justice? Dignity? It's nothing more than a pre-battle provocation from the enemy. Perhaps, apart from a few specific Primarchs, most Primarchs, including the Emperor, do not possess such lofty morals.

Oh, but the premise is still that Pluto still exists—the moment he sensed that Pluto's dark domain was in the nearby star system, Mortarian admitted that he breathed a sigh of relief deep down. He then focused his attention on observing the dark domain and tentatively diagnosed that Pluto had probably fallen into a coma again.

This means that the Dark Domain has entered a fully automated hosting mode, automatically foraging for food—Pluto needs food, and Mortarion provides it.

Although it is unclear why the response range of the Pluto Dark Domain has become much worse, the star sector where the Grim Reaper is now located has already entered this defined range.

So there's nothing more to say—the biggest difference between Mortarion and the First Rebel is that he has a living Hades here, so of course he has to remind his other self how he achieved his greatness today.

The answer is simple: listen to Hades, ignore Neos, and stay away from chaos.

If you can do these three things, you've already achieved 77.7% success in life.

Mortarian smiled as he thought that a vast, unconscious darkness descended, instantly taking the space in which the two of them were located out of the warp and washing away the aura of the Chaos Octagon from Mortarian's body.

Before his consciousness faded, Mortalian caught a glimpse of the First Rebel in his peripheral vision; he only saw the appearance of a loser.