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

Page 583

This word lies dormant in the deepest recesses of its underlying logic, and all those who fear death will carefully avoid it, finding it hard to accept, unacceptable—this war, which started strong but ended weakly, has taken away too much of them.

But the Tarachin's calculators were faithfully executing their commands, and the truth they were so deliberately avoiding was right before their eyes: the Deathbringers waged war out of jealousy, but then fell into the trap of the Star Gods in the middle of the war... and the Ancient Saints vanished.

This...this is the mistake of those who fear death.

They chose the wrong path, waged the wrong war, and trusted the wrong people. When their souls were gone and their bodies were nothing but metal, the French emperors, looking at their people who were like robots, realized the enormity of their crimes.

But it was too late.

They are a group of dead guarding a vast treasure, which no amount of money or jewels can take to the other side.

The space necromancers have long been simulating the existence of the former fearful dead using code; once their personality data is lost, it's equivalent to death.

But no matter how sophisticated the instruments or how advanced the technology, hundreds of thousands of years is enough to erase everything; they are merely delaying death.

But that's not all that's deadly.

As those who fear death abandon it, new life also abandons them.

With each data loss, the Necromancers of space forever lose a member of their race.

Necromancers in space cannot have newborns.

With no new life, this race has long been declared dead.

This is why... why Tarachin and other space necromancers so desperately seek to return to the Fearless, attempting to atone for their past mistakes.

They are fixated on this.

But—but—but—ancient saint?

Taracin's calculator was working, and the space necromancers, adept at multitasking, focused their thoughts on this matter. An overheated hum rang out. They rarely mentioned that existence—the Ancient Ones might represent a certain failure, a shameful history, and they represented the folly of those who feared death.

The ancient sages should have been buried in the deepest part of history, undiscovered and forgotten except by the foolish songs of the Eldar.

But the original entity brought it up on its own initiative.

The ancient saint... Tarasin felt a little pain, as it felt its programming being interrupted time and time again by its subconscious, but it continued to think.

Finally… Tarachin was almost incapable of expressing any emotion; it couldn't perceive them, but—

"This possibility exists,"

Tarasin said that for the first time, it felt like one of those low-level space undead, cold and entirely composed of code.

“But it’s impossible,” it said. “The ancient sages are gone, and we can never find them again.”

Tarasin's body slumped down, looking much more exhausted.

"But thank you anyway, it is indeed one approach—but for us..."

Tara shook her head with a forced smile.

[This is just one possibility.]

Mortalian said calmly, "I'm simply seeking the answer to this question—and one possible approach and solution is just that."

"Besides..." Mortarian narrowed his eyes, "you don't possess the technology to travel through time or alter time."

"No!"

Taracin shouted, “Some things cannot be changed—time travel is not as you think, a great paradox lies here, only the best space necromancers can try to change the past—and… if something is too big, then rewinding will fail, only the end of time can be shaken by us.”

The space necromancer looked solemnly at Mortalian.

"I know what you're thinking—you want me to go back to the time of the ancient sages?"

"It's just a suggestion," Mortarian said. "Nothing else matters. Like I said, I'm just solving this problem."

Tarasin shook his head. "Impossible, absurd, utterly impossible."

The space necromancer thought for a moment, then said,

"The river of time we are in now has several fault lines. After the fault lines, it is impossible to trace back. The most recent major fault line is the awakening of Slaanesh."

The Primarch raised an eyebrow in surprise, but said nothing.

Taracin remained silent for a moment, seemingly deep in thought, its arms crossed, its metallic face appearing even more serious. The Primarch's silence gave the Necromancer time to ponder.

Finally, Tarahin shook his head.

“Thank you for your previous advice,” it said, “but after that… don’t mention it again.”

The Primarch nodded.

So, shall we conclude our previous collaboration?

Mortarian asked, and Tarasin paused.

"I may need to provide you with some after-sales service."

The Necromancer of Space said, his gaze fixed on Hades, whose eyes were vacant.

"He...is acting strange, isn't he?"

The Primarch's breathing became sluggish, and finally, Mortalian nodded in undeniable agreement. The Primarch narrowed his eyes.

Could you please explain to me what the Lord of Humanity actually did back then?

"Hey!" Hades shouted, "Wait a minute, why are you skipping over the parties involved and starting the conversation now!"

Neither of them paid him any attention. Tarasin decisively ignored Hades and began to explain—it dared not underestimate its own power to trace back to the Primarch.

"At least give me a minor Death Watcher!"

Hades continued to protest, and Mortarion remained silent for a moment before finally raising his hand. A small Death Watcher appeared beneath his hand and looked at Hades.

The Primarch gave the young soldier a meaningful look.

Do not move.

He won't hurt you.

It remained still, but at least it wasn't shaking.

The Primarch remained silent. For the small Death Guardians who were completely transformed into warp creatures, perhaps... in their view, Hades was closer to the image of Nurgle.

Correction is even harder to accept than filth.

Mortarion tried to persuade the little Death Guard, but the next moment, a black wind suddenly swept over! Hades successfully captured the large piece before the Primarch could even react.

Mortalian's pupils dilated in shock as the Primarch watched Hades's chuckled child screaming for help...

Hades pressed down the struggling little Death Guard's arms, curiously touching the armor, and even lifted the little Death Guard up to examine the armor's wounds and the eyepieces in detail...

Hmm... the weathering is so damn realistic! Hades thought, no, these are real old marks, and the lighting too! He was still painstakingly learning lighting techniques, and Little Guardian just installed a light on his own eyepiece!

No… I must be patient… The Primarch exhaled deeply… Although his comrade had been a bit too rough, he wouldn’t have hurt him—behind him, Hades chuckled and began trying to remove the little Mortal Spirit armor. Hades intended to see if he could change the armor, or perhaps check out the head sculpt—

Tarasin stared in disbelief as a gust of wind swept past him, followed by Hades being struck down by the scythe handle, and Mortarian, who was carrying Little Death in one hand.

【no. 】

Motalian insisted that everyone has a bottom line, and perhaps he should add one more.

The Primarch took a deep breath, and a long plume of white mist was exhaled.

Mortarian looked wearily at Hades.

Hades, I know what I'm about to say will frustrate you.

The Primarch said, "But I still want to say... I hope you have a basic understanding of your own Warp form..."

Motari paused for a moment, then noticed that the little Death Guard in his hand seemed to have suffered a major blow, exhibiting a level seven mental confusion and a severe loss of fighting spirit.

You can't mistreat them anymore.

Motalian said, to which Hades innocently spread his hands, "I didn't do anything!"

Your very existence is the greatest form of abuse.

Mortarian's dead fish eyes: "Hades...do you remember the Amarilia swamp we cleared on Barbaros?"

Hades paused for a moment. Of course he remembered it: an extremely disgusting swamp, like a rotting corpse gathered together, covered in mud, attacking mind and body indiscriminately like a giant dung slime, as if it were throwing dung at them.

After that annihilation, Hades found a secluded corner and lay there for three days, barely alive, believing that his life was over.

It should be noted that clean water is scarce in Barbarossa, making bathing impossible.

Mortalian and Karas adapted well to this, with a dung-type Primarch commanding dung-type villagers.

In reality...

Motalian looked away somewhat guiltily, pulling his hood up.

You are more awe-inspiring than anything that exists there.

Hades opened his arms. "I know, but I see you, Magnus, Macado, Lord of Mankind..."

His voice trailed off.

"Ok."

Hades said, "I understand. Only those with a strong enough will can look me in the eye?"

What kind of ancient gods are they?

Mortarian pulled his hood up again, covering his eyes.

"Perhaps," Mortalian stammered, "but besides that, please don't mistreat them anymore."

The Primarch was silent for a moment. He realized that Hades couldn't fully understand because warp beings have far more senses than those in the physical world. Hades might only understand nausea—but for Hades, this was the one thing he had been able to overcome the most in the long run.

!

Mortarian had an idea.

"Perhaps..." the Primarch said slowly, patting the offspring's head before sitting back down. "Perhaps I can show you the words Karas specifically wrote to insult you, and then you might understand, you wraith."

"But now," the Primarch said cautiously, "no, absolutely not. I cannot give them to you. They may perish in the nauseating Nurgle Garden, but not near you."

Hades was somewhat disappointed, but expressed his understanding, "Perhaps I... understand?"

Motari settled in for a while.

I'll take you flying, and let them go.

Hades' lips curled into a bright smile again. "It's a deal," Hades said.

Talasin seemed thoughtful, a little regretful, perhaps he should have left a few small Death Guards to threaten the Pale Lord.

……

"Star Gods possess a possessive nature; they are beings that can be plundered or plundered."

Tarachin explained, glancing at Hades, who seemed to have lost all purpose in life, lounging around like Ge You.

"But I've only ever seen a Star God possess another Star God—Even Eurycan couldn't [absorb] a Star God. He's the first! The first! I can't imagine the audacity of the Lord of Humanity."

Tarasin was silent for a moment. “Normally, anyone without a soul and with absolute physical existence can be tried, but most of them are possessed. He is the only one who actively possesses a star god.”

Death slightly raised its head.

"Human resilience is enough to defeat the gods," the Primarch said. "I once questioned this, but reality has proven everything to us."

He did it. That's it. That's the will of humanity.

Motalian said that even Hades behind him now has no image.

"Stop praising me," Hades waved his hand. "Old Mo, we're out of wine."

Mortarian pulled a bottle out of the fog and threw it behind him without turning around.

“So,” Tarasin said, “I’m curious to see how far he can ultimately go, to the point of oneness?”

The Primarch remained silent. Behind him, the sound of wine being poured came from behind him. Hades called out.

“No! Absolutely not!” Hades said. “I’ve just devoured… uh… about five fragments? I was trapped in an illusion before.”

Tarasin stared at Hades.

"But the side effects you experience afterward are practically nonexistent—your yearning for the soul might also be the reason you don't eat on your own."

“Moreover,” Taracin paused, “the piece of the Deceit I fed you had already devoured at least three other pieces of the Star God before that.”

The Primarch gazed discontentedly at the space necromancer.

Why did you do this?