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

Page 667

The Church of the Underworld stands on a wetland, where the fog is extremely thick. Primarchs can see a corner of the Death Guard guarding in the distance, before disappearing back into the fog.

Finally, a few crimson lights appeared ahead.

Knights lined up, and the solemn-looking Soulless Ones stood silently with their eyes closed on either side of the door, their eyes and mouths sewn shut. Two ferocious three-headed dog sculptures stood beside the Soulless Ones, staring menacingly at them.

This doesn't look like a church...it looks more like hell.

Angron muttered under his breath as he watched Saint Gilles smile and step forward to speak with the leader of the Death Guard who had come to greet them. The Death Guards were all wearing helmets! Primarchs could only distinguish them by the different patterns on their shoulder armor.

After the conversation ended, a very old, smiling mortal stepped forward. He knelt before the archangel and began to lead the Primarchs, explaining the Cathedral of the Underworld and its doctrines.

The concentration of psionic energy is high here.

Saint Gilles noticed that the archangel had begun to try to probe with his psychic powers, but found nothing.

The three Primarchs, along with their Primarch Guards, entered the church. The interior was simple, maintaining the style of the cathedral's exterior, unlike the State Church which had elaborate paintings on the walls and ceilings.

As they walked further in, through a narrow, long corridor, they saw the sculpture. Angron and Killieman frowned almost simultaneously, the shadow of the hood obscuring the familiar face—but upon closer inspection, they discovered that apart from the scarlet mechanical monocle, there was no sculpted face in the shadow.

Angron could sense Saint Gilles' displeasure, but the archangel remained interested in everything here, after all, he was in charge of the empire's religion.

Gilliman, standing beside the Lord of Red Sand, displayed considerable dissatisfaction and confusion.

Standing beneath the colossal statue, Saint Gilles discussed matters with the cultists. The oppressive atmosphere gave Angron and Guilliman an opportunity to leave the church, where the two Primarchs waited outside.

Angron simply shook his head and sighed. He felt even more confused and bewildered than Guilliman, and he even felt a little annoyed.

【why? 】

The Lord of Red Sand spoke instinctively, voicing the confusion in their hearts.

Why... I mean, what is Mortalian doing?

[Is he elevating his former hometown friends to a pedestal? What is he really thinking?]

Angron recalled his past interactions with Hades, and the Lord of the Red Sand was quite puzzled. He didn't think Hades would like this, so what was Mortarion doing?

Angron knew Mortarion was doing this before, but had never witnessed it firsthand. The atmosphere here was far more troublesome than Angron had imagined.

Mortarion wasn't just building a religion; he was building one on the scale of a state religion, with Hades as its greatest deity.

Angron cares about his brother, but he also values ​​his former comrade-in-arms and savior equally. To the Lord of Red Sand, Hades clearly holds more weight than Mortarion.

He couldn't understand why Mortarion was betraying Hades—he was not only betraying Mortarion himself, but also the Mortarion he once was.

Killieman seemed calmer than him.

The sect's explanation has always been that Hades can cleanse chaos.

Killieman also frowned.

Mortarion's report was his way of hoping people would know how to banish chaos...you know, at least Hades' true name really can drive away demons.

Angron sneered.

This sounds more effective than the God Emperor.

Killieman coughed sharply, silencing Anglon's reply. The regent gave Anglon a stern look, signaling him not to speak like that.

Angron sneered again.

I don't understand.

The Lord of Red Sand spoke, his voice rough and bitter.

[If it were me—no, if it were Mortarion, I think Mortarion would be the last person who wanted to see this happen.]

[A former comrade-in-arms being elevated to a god-like status? No, no, no, what exactly is he up to?]

Angron rubbed his head in pain, as if the nails were still buzzing there.

Hades himself removed the Butcher's Nail for him.

[Guilliman, Hades himself was an atheist—or rather, he believed those beings were false gods; he was a materialist, and Mortalian should have been a materialist as well.]

[I think, I mean, Mortarion could have had other ways to let Hades' true name and the method to banish Chaos get out, so why did he choose the one that caused Hades the most pain?]

Killieman frowned, staring silently at the churning fog in the distance.

[Do you think the Lord of Mankind, Angron, would be pleased to see us worship him as a god?]

Killieman's voice was extremely low, barely reaching Anglon's ears, but Anglon just scratched his head in annoyance.

I didn't participate in that discussion at all!

Angron showed a rare display of anger, but the Primarch immediately took a deep breath, his gaze turning somber once more.

You two were arguing so fiercely back then; I really should describe the scene to you in detail.

The atmosphere at the time was like ripping open Angron's eyelids and throwing flashbangs at his eyeballs—like using flashbangs as machine gun bullets.

Killieman shook his head and raised an eyebrow.

Unfortunately, I can't sense anything.

Angron was silent for a moment, then spoke again, his eyes filled with determination.

I've decided to beat up Mortarion for Hades, unless Mortarion tells me himself that it's Hades' own wish—then I'll go beat up Hades.

After beating him up, try to persuade Mortalian.

Just as Killman was about to speak with a wry smile, a huge explosion suddenly erupted behind them!

? !

The two Primarchs locked eyes for a moment—Sanguielles?! Almost simultaneously, they dashed through the collapsing corridor toward the main hall!

…………

【now】

"Uh."

Hades was ashamed.

“I’ll stop the Lord of Red Sand from beating you, Old Mo, or I’ll take a beating myself.”

After all, this promising start was preserved by Hades, Kirkland, King, and some mortals who prayed to him... If you really want to say something, the old yellow-haired man who pushed him to the position of Om Messiah also deserves to be taught a lesson.

Mortarian exhaled a puff of mist.

He had already hit me—right when he stopped me from assassinating Saint Gillespie. I don't intend to hide it; in fact, that kick hurt a lot, a lot.

Even Mortarion, who was already extremely insensitive to pain and incredibly resilient, said it hurt. Hades could hardly imagine just how much force Angron had used.

Mortarian shook his head, then stared at Hades.

So... what are your thoughts, Hades?

Guilliman glanced at Mortalian without showing any emotion. Primarchs sometimes called Hades by his real name, and Mortalian might have been trying to show his sincerity by doing so, but how did he manage to hold back?

However, given that Motari An consumed Nurgle, Guilliman believed that it had an extremely high level of resistance to nausea.

They had discussed the topic, but Hades's answer was simple, which Mortarian thought was too simplistic. He did something rather absurd, even if the outcome wasn't bad for the time being.

Hades may have chosen not to elaborate in order to protect the Primarch.

But Hades gave almost the same answer.

"At least all of this works—that's good enough. Aside from getting used to people bowing to you, everything else is pretty much the same."

Hades sighed helplessly again, and Mortarian tensed up.

"If I had to say, I feel like I'm a celebrity."

Hades' eyes are dead. Ten thousand years later, he'll have to start learning about image management. Fortunately, most of the time he can fool people by turning off the lights in the Dark Domain.

He saw Mortalian and Guilliman breathe a sigh of relief almost simultaneously, and Hades believed that Guilliman was using his mindset to compare himself to the Lord of Man.

……

【past】

Mortarian coughed violently, laughing as he coughed, his entire body embedded in a single, heavy Hades sculpture base.

A deep crater appeared in his abdomen, from which cracks spread. All the mortals and warriors present were dead, and blood flowed on the black stone floor.

Above him, only the massive, cold statue of Hades looked down at him with a pitying gaze.

Opposite Mortarion, Saint Gilles spread his wings, his spear pointing at Mortarion. There was a gap in his chest armor where a poisonous thorn had been, but it had been removed.

Guilliman held off the enraged Angron, whose kick that sent Mortarion flying came from Angron. The Lord of Red Sand unleashed almost unimaginable speed and explosive power the moment he rushed into the main hall, kicking Mortarion, who was confronting the archangel, away.

Neither Mortalian nor Saint Gilles noticed Angron's arrival; the Lord of Red Sand likely adjusted their emotions and perceptions.

Angron is hiding too deep; he was originally a gladiator...

He cared too much about the relationship between the original bodies. He always wanted to maintain a stable state and didn't want anyone to bleed anymore, after all, they were brothers who had been together for thousands of years.

But Mortarian broke it.

[What are you doing, Mortarian?! You want to kill your brother?! You want to kill Sanguis?! Just because we didn't reach an agreement?!]

The gladiator roared, and Mortarian stared at Guilliman, not believing Guilliman could hold off Angron.

Sure enough, Saint Gilles pulled out a hand and grabbed Anglon's forearm.

Mortarion's calm eyes couldn't even reflect the figures of the three Primarchs; he was completely psionic, and terrifying limbs grew out.

+Save all of this.

Mortarian spoke calmly, as mist gushed from the holes in his armor, and his figure began to rapidly thin and collapse, like an insect shedding its shell.

The fog immediately surged through the main hall.

【careful! 】

Saint Gilles shouted, and suddenly spread his wings, covering his two brothers. The archangel shone brightly, and the mist dissipated from the golden light beneath his wings.

[It's a psionic attack!]

"A not-so-funny hellish joke," Mortarian thought, "I don't want to laugh."

Perhaps only Callas would laugh at this, as it's a joke that even Hades wouldn't laugh at.

He stretched out his hand, and hundreds of hands formed from condensed gas emerged from the mist, the first being Guilliman… He was the easiest to deal with.

The psychic radiance emanating from Saint Gilles caused Mortalian pain, a burning sensation, but it was clear that the archangel didn't practice psychic arts much.

He wounded Mortalian solely out of instinct and with his surging psionic energy reserves.

In terms of manipulating psionic energy, Mortarion had already reached the pinnacle.

The fog receded slightly, but it did not provide a way out for the Primarchs. Soon, the light of Saint Gilles dimmed for a moment, and Mortarion reached out again. This time, he grabbed Guilliman.

The fog was highly poisonous. He poked his head out of the fog, his distorted eyes meeting Guilliman's, and saw endless grayness drifting down into Guilliman's eyes.

In a split second, after struggling for a moment, Guilliman was bewildered by the confrontation between the two psychic energies.

Mortalian tossed Guilliman into a corner of the main hall, into a sufficiently logical illusion aimed at the Regent... enough to keep Guilliman occupied.

Motalian had prepared for this for a long time, consulting a large amount of Macurag material to ensure that every detail was authentic.

Then there's Angron.

This was somewhat difficult, but Mortarion knew Angron's character.

The Pale Lord laughed in the mist, revealing himself slightly as he sat atop Hades' scythe. The monster looked down from Hades' scythe, its wings drooping, dull and lifeless, like a tattered rag drifting in the mist.

As expected, without Guilliman's obstruction and with Saint Gilles's obstruction being merely a pretense, Angron charged forward.

The Primarch exerted force with the soles of his boots, causing the ground to crack! The Primarch leaped into the air, raised his battle axe, and slashed at Mortarion high in the sky!

The fog thickened again, obscuring the view of Saint Gilles and Anglon.

Does Anglon believe he can avoid getting lost by relying on emotional perception?

Mortarian simply sat there, a mocking smile playing at the corners of his eyes, just as Angron was about to arrive—

Mortarion suddenly spread his wings!

Seven thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven eyes simultaneously turned to Angron!

Amidst the dazzling emerald green, the alien souls and skeletons, slaughtered by the Pale Lord, screamed in unison, weeping madly at the Red Sand Lord for their fear and despair.

Mortarian never let his brothers see the full view of his wings.

Mortarian saw Angron's pupils suddenly disappear, his veins bulging, and he began to fall.