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

Page 798

The armor did not completely cover his body; Slaanesh's favorite was showing off his figure with all his might. Red and purple gauze hung down, revealing his powerful and muscular physique, as if he were a war god. Finely openwork beaded chains filled with ecstasy pierced his skull, trembling and laughing along with him. Dozens of bracelets jingled on his bare forearms, like a flock of birds singing in unison.

The liquid, with its eerie and bright color, surged as it rushed into the hollow ring. Some of this liquid came from the outside, while some came from inside. The ring bit into the flesh and blood, controlling the dosage of the liquid according to its owner's will.

His burgundy hair was braided into gladiator dreadlocks, with countless finely crafted psychic bones embedded in it, along with some shimmering orbs—devices that amplified the madman's control abilities.

The one who indulges in unrestrained lust, the master of mad desires, the king of empathy [Angron]!

The most difficult thing to discern in this world is the human heart; I was born with a pair of discerning eyes that could see through the treacherous nature of humanity, yet I never expected that I, a pure white silk, would fall into that filthy vat of dyeing! My golden eyes had no personal desires, only a wish to fulfill the aspirations of this world, but who knew that this world was so dirty!

Looking back, she was now the darling of the Prince of Bliss, surrounded by fine houses, beautiful maids, handsome boys, fine clothes, delicious food, and fine horses. She indulged in sensual pleasures, her mind clear and bright, but it was not as good as laughing and reveling with others, getting drunk on the pile of flesh! Sleeping together under the same quilt!

Vulcan sensed that something was wrong with Angron beside him—

In fact, this was the most Vulcan could perceive of his brother, for his eyes were now fixed on the Fool, who was also staring back at him.

The Benevolent Fool opposite him could definitely sense the "newborn" authority within Vulcan—and he could also sense the chaotic Nurgle authority within the Benevolent Fool.

Now, apart from Magnus, who doesn't have a counterpart (after all, the other Magnus is dead and incidentally turned into a spinal sword by Guilliman), and Conrad (but Conrad is already getting creeped out by the gaze of another Corax), all the other Primarchs are staring intently at their counterparts.

It's clear that, apart from the two Saints Gilles and Guilliman, who had to maintain necessary diplomatic etiquette, everyone else wanted nothing more than to pounce on their other selves and tear them apart.

It's a pity Hades isn't here now, otherwise he would have witnessed everyone's grotesque behavior in their extreme astonishment and could have described it in more detail afterward.

Even more unfortunately, because our great Tarachin needed to deal with matters within his own race, he did not have the spare capacity to set up camera positions here.

For a moment, apart from the faint music and the pointless banter between the two Guillimans, there was no other sound in the hall; even the sound of breathing was clearly audible.

Time seemed to pass quickly, as if it were just a few seconds, yet it also seemed to pass extremely slowly, as if centuries were passing by in the silent gazes of the Primarchs.

finally--

The two Killiemen nodded almost simultaneously, indicating that their cattle and horses were free to roam.

To Corax's astonishment, Angron, who was usually reckless and drunk, suddenly became even faster than him.

[Angron] directly led the shrike that was rushing towards Conrad by six body lengths. Almost like a gust of wind, he stood in front of Angron the next moment.

At this moment, perhaps only the two Guillimans with smiles that concealed daggers remembered what they had come for and what they had planned to do. Everyone else had forgotten that the allure of their counterparts was simply too great.

Angron steadied himself, controlling himself to avoid revealing any evasiveness or cowardice, as any reaction of fear or avoidance would be seen as a victory for the other side.

He forced himself to remain calm, even though his senses were constantly focused on the beads on the maniac's body.

Anglon waved to Vulcan and Saint-Gilles, who had intended to fight the enemy together, but now... it was time for a one-on-one duel.

While an Slaanesh Angron is shocking, it's not as awe-inspiring as seeing another version of yourself.

Saint Gilles nodded knowingly, picked up his wine glass, and walked directly toward the ghoul [Saint Gilles]—the archangel was certain that his combat strength was superior to that of the opponent.

What is certain at present is that their Mortarion is stronger than all the Primarchs except for the opposing [Guilliman] and [Mortarion], and if we compare the Primarchs among themselves, perhaps only Sangilius is slightly better than the one on the other side.

Shocked? Me too.

Saint Gilles smiled, revealing his fangs, and used one of his wings to wrap up his other self as they went to find a corner to chat.

The ghoul was somewhat astonished. He hadn't expected his other self to have wings. Wasn't that a characteristic of mutants? How tolerant was this empire towards mutants?

But it seems... at least they all sensed a kindred spirit in the other person.

The situation is not so good for the others.

Vulcan also left in shock. The shadow of the maniac was cast on Angron, who was sitting there. What the hell was that there were semi-transparent parts on his body? The lights in the hall shone through, casting all sorts of brilliant colors on Angron.

Angron wanted to use Bloodborne to wipe everyone out right now, and his first axe strike would be aimed at the head of the Frenzied One, hoping to finish the job in one blow and prevent the opponent from getting too carried away.

[I think you wouldn't want to see me, another... more glorious version of myself?]

"The maniac said softly, turning to reach for the wine glass on the table, just as the beads on his chest, which he had been wearing while possessing, struck Angron on the cheek.

The maniac found it very interesting; it was so interesting that even when he secretly went to the [Finus] studio to try playing games with [Fogen], it wasn't this interesting.

He sensed that his other self was significantly more inexperienced—clearly lacking experience in emotional manipulation and insight.

He loved teasing these respectable people the most... Most of his fellow maniacs were completely desensitized to his behavior, which he found quite boring.

The maniac [Angron] held the goblet in his hand, the crystal-clear liquid swirling within. He wasn't in a hurry to return; instead, he lowered his head and gently breathed into Angron's ear, saying...

[But I suppose you wouldn't mind if we played around? My dear other self, you can take your big axe and chop me up; I haven't seen Nukaria play with its battle axe in ages.]

Angron felt himself getting red-hot.

He was acutely aware that the Butcher's Nail, which he had long ago removed, was buzzing on his head, roaring that he should tear the person opposite him to pieces and throw them into Hades's Dark Realm for dismemberment.

Meanwhile, a silent contest had already begun between the two Angrons, and because of the unique nature of their psionic powers, neither of their brothers could detect it.

Angron could feel the emotional perception and control emanating from the Frenzied One's end. It was like countless hairy, barbed little tentacles that nimbly reached up to Angron's head, stroked his scalp, and unabashedly tried to pierce inward.

Angron's eyes flashed with golden light. Without hesitation, he repelled those disgusting things. The next moment, the Frenzied Lustman let out a soft gasp, and then Angron chose to take the initiative.

He didn't care.

The Lord of Red Sand directly grabbed the hand that the other party was trying to reach out further, and then swiftly used brute force to press the other party into a chair. In terms of pure strength, even if the Madman was on drugs, he was no match for Angron.

Well, he finally pushed the other side away a little—before Angron could even think that, he heard the maniac's panting.

[...not rough enough,]

The maniac commented, a hint of dissatisfaction in his eyes.

[You're holding yourself too tight; in doing so, you've completely lost the initiative—do you treat your other brothers the same way?]

other people?

Anglong thought that he had always manipulated other people's minds with his emotional perception, but he never thought that he would be the one to do it.

As for his brother… Angron’s heart trembled. He missed Hades so much, and he believed that no one here was looking forward to Hades’ arrival more than he was.

But Guilliman had told them beforehand not to reveal too much about their world, especially about Hades.

Hades! Ahhhhhh! Hades!!! Please, take this damn thing in front of him! Angron swore he was willing to be Hades's document slave for a thousand years, as long as Hades could make the thing in front of him evaporate on the spot.

Restraint is a virtue; it prevented me from ending up like this inhuman creature.

Angron retorted, trying to sting his opponent, but unfortunately, he watched helplessly as a bulge appeared on the opponent's lower armor.

Ugh... Ahh ...

Angron felt like he was going blind.

At this moment, Angron realized how kind and benevolent Khorne had been. Falling into the path of Khorne was not a fall, but a salvation—at least compared to this thing.

He couldn't stand it anymore.

He couldn't talk to himself who would catch his breath after being beaten and scolded. The opponent's advantage lay in his lack of principles, while Angron would never lower his own!

In a game where he faced another version of himself without collapsing, Angron achieved a remarkable six seconds of endurance, resulting in a total defeat of 0% of the Primarch.

Angron abruptly suppressed his wild thoughts. He decided to call for reinforcements. Amidst the screams of the madman, he grabbed the madman's arm and then looked around to find his allies.

Mortarian.

Mortarion was the only one among them who had faced Slaanesh directly. At this moment, he sat at a small table with another Mortarion, looking gloomy, saying things like "idiot," "idiot bounces back," and "you're the idiot."

Ah! Great Mortarion! It's time for you to save Angron!

Angron stared blankly, ignoring the sigh of the Madman, and then ran straight toward Mortarion!

No more.

Reviewing is good; God said to review, and so there was reviewing.

Exams are bad; Satan said there would be exams, so the final exam for major courses accounts for 70% of the final grade.

Chapter 813 [255] No appearance, yet the MVP of the entire event.

There's nothing left to talk about.

They both knew perfectly well that their fates were sealed, and their glares were sharp as they clashed, wishing they could draw their sickles and slash at each other on the spot.

However, it is clear that not everyone is as aware as the Mortarion. They are unaware of what is happening, so the Mortarion must give his other "brothers" enough time and patience.

But for the two of them... things became simple.

[So reckless... You should have embraced the power from Nurgle more fully. You should have been stronger, yet you weakly relinquished your grip on the hilt of that power.]

"The First Rebel [Motalian] spoke elegantly, his eyes unblinking as he reached out and picked up two empty wine glasses."

[Is that so? Hades made me realize that I need to relinquish some of the power from the warp; it's too dangerous.]

Mortarian spoke slowly, pulling a flat bottle stained with engine oil from his waist. His eyes remained fixed on the First Rebel. He then uncorked the bottle and poured the murky liquid into a glass.

Mortarian clearly saw the pretty boy's eyelids twitch for a moment after he pulled out the flat bottle, which improved his mood somewhat.

To be fair, in some ways, Mortarion is now similar to the Nurgle spirits that throw shit at people.

But he felt no psychological burden at all. In fact, his countless calls to Hades on the battlefield had already made him a qualified master of throwing excrement.

The first rebel, Mortarian, took a few soft breaths and opened his hands.

[Your world's warp is too weak; you will never achieve true liberation... Heh, you should really see the magnificent, vast ocean of my world.]

Oh, you mean this?

Mortarian continued pouring the wine, but unfortunately, the glass looked a bit corroded, and he had to use his psionic powers to stabilize its shape and function.

Hades did it, I admit it. He completely swallowed a portion of the warp.

The First Rebel [Motalian] looked a bit red-hot; he couldn't understand why the Motalian who had been so enraged back then was now grasping the crux of the matter—

Perhaps it was because Hades was not around, or perhaps it was because Mortarion went to study under Karas Typhon afterward.

[You don't dare answer me directly.]

[I answered directly: it was Hades who did it, it was all Hades, but you are not allowed to go to him.]

Mortarian deliberately smeared the greasy liquid from his hand onto the outside of the wine glass before handing it to another version of himself.

It's a pity he couldn't just throw the two glasses of liquid at them, but the other person might suffer even more harm after drinking them.

[Motalian] seemed extremely resistant to the unsettling liquid in Motalian's hand, but his upbringing and habits led him to accept it.

The first rebel had already torn his other self to pieces in his heart, but he still smiled on the surface, though he was gritting his teeth.

[I never imagined I would swallow such a low-quality liquid—a drink as bad as your appearance, personality, and life.]

"Really? But Hades loves to drink it."

[Can you please stop mentioning him?!]

At this moment, Mortarian was incredibly grateful to Karas Typhon for his old comrade's idea. Just as Karas had said, Hades was essentially a pile of shit, and if you were willing to muster the courage to throw it out, he would disgust everyone.

Let's drink.

Mortarian stared blankly at the other glass in his hand. These two glasses were specially made after he was provoked. To ensure the combat effectiveness of these drinks, he had added countless psionic and physical ingredients.

He even went to Hades to conduct experiments to ensure that, under purely physical conditions, this drink could also cause a brief nausea—

No, it's dizziness.

The first rebel sneered, and without hesitation, he raised his glass in response to Mortalian's provocation—

It's just a contest of toxin resistance, and he will win; it's that simple.

despair.

They clinked glasses. Mortarian raised his glass unhurriedly, intending to watch the person opposite him drink first. The First Rebel sneered and tilted his head back to gulp it down!

Alright, Mortarian's lips curled into a slight smile, and he raised his glass, ready to drink—

[Haha, Mortalian, so you're here!]

Angron, dragging a humanoid creature that Mortalian didn't want to look at, strode over. When he saw the wine in Mortalian's hand, which emitted an unknown smell and color, Angron's eyes suddenly lit up.

[Your special blend? I'm sorry, Motalian, I think it's best to offer this precious spirit to foreign guests first.]

Without a word, Angron snatched the glass of wine from Mortarion's hand and, with a fluid motion (or perhaps because he would feel disgusted if he stopped), shoved it into the hand of the maniac.

[Want a thrill? You can try this first; I swear there's no such liquor in your universe.]

Angron stopped pretending and directly gestured for the Frenzied to sit next to Mortalian. Then Angron took a big step and sat on the other side of Mortalian, so that Mortalian would separate the two of them.

I'm sorry, Mortarion, but in return, Angron believes he will help Mortarion attack another First Rebel—provided Mortarion helps him calm down the Frenzied.

Mortalian's attention was indeed not on the exhibitionist; after the brief interlude, the Primarch remained fixed on his other self.

The Frenzied [Angron] accepted the unidentified liquid without even flinching; he even winked at his other self.