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

Page 534

Jin extended a limb and tapped Belinda on the head.

Jin used his limbs to prop up the corpse, dying in the final battle with his nemesis; there could be no more carefree death.

It's better than being caught up by time.

Arrek ultimately outlasted the ravages of time, dying a heroic death with unwavering conviction.

Jin knew this was a stroke of luck.

The longer you live, the more chaotic things become. This is why Kirkland chose asceticism. Physical asceticism reduces the backward thinking of the mind and allows the senses to focus on the present moment.

Jin, however, could not and was unwilling to do so.

He has his own way of fighting the effects of time.

Arrek was lucky; he didn't face the erosion of time and died gloriously in battle. Kirkland was lucky; he was crazy enough to escape the ravages of time. Kim-306 was lucky; through updates, memory overwriting, and personality resets, he was still Kim-306.

But some people aren't so lucky.

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【past】

I finally understood what helplessness meant.

This is a kind of pain that is far more deadly and unbearable than a moment of madness.

It gnaws at me, every moment, like a maggot gnawing at my flesh, my mind, my soul.

Oh.

I no longer have flesh and blood.

I think I understand now why Conrad Coates appeared laughing amidst the chaos of the Soul of Vengeance and generously chose to die—he was simply escaping more severe torture; a clean and decisive madness was far easier to choose than a thousand years of torment.

Thinking about this, I somewhat regret my actions back then when I stood in front of many "brothers" to defend Sevita and his gang.

At least those bastards were living a dream life after cooperating with the court and being led by Corax.

But I continued on my way.

Sometimes, I realize that the reason I keep moving is simply because I don't want to stop, just as I live because I refuse to die—

I simply chose the less bad option out of inertia, given that both were terrible choices.

But the truth is, either way, reality is terrible.

I am dying.

The empire is dying.

I watched coldly as those "brothers," led by Saint Gilles and Guilliman, enthusiastically supported the empire—I initially did not want to help them; I had more important goals to pursue at the time.

Besides, I'm not good at politics.

I'm only good at sowing seeds.

Sow seedlings, sow death.

But later, when I realized my limitations and tried again to help Guilliman and the others, I fell ill myself.

The illness is very serious, it has reached the point of no return.

The cause of my illness is myself.

I knew that, but for some reason, I had been ignoring it before.

After that great calamity, I went alone to the foot of the Golden Throne, dragging my tattered wings, my skin constantly oozing mist, and my body even more emaciated.

I opened my eyes, which were beginning to twist and deform, and looked at the being on the throne, my nominal father.

What am I? What is the Primarch?

He didn't answer me.

So, standing beneath the golden throne, I berated him for a full hour, calling him hypocritical, cowardly, a habitual liar, and two-faced.

My memories of that time are hazy, but I vaguely remember that I used very harsh language and that I was very angry at the time. I am sure that I jumped up and down a few times because of my emotional outburst.

Okay… I wasn’t very good at controlling my wings back then.

And myself.

I beat the guards who tried to stop me while cursing my biological father. Finally, when the guards stopped coming forward and the hourglass ran out, I left.

That night, under the starlight, I glimpsed a glimpse of the truth.

That was the Lord of Mankind's reply to me.

But I wasn't in a good mood.

I hate my father.

I hate anyone who is self-righteous, who takes it for granted and puts themselves above others, treating other people's lives as their own pastime or as bargaining chips for exchanging interest.

I hate Nacre, that ugly alien that arbitrarily decided my fate, shaping me into its scythe in the years before I could resist.

I hate the corrupt heavens; I am but a delicate pawn in the eyes of chaos, as if I were deliberately sculpted for Him.

But I hate emperors the most.

I hate the Lord of mankind.

He created me.

For his great expedition.

It's that simple.

But I was in extreme pain.

Since my essence is that of a creature of the Warp, why did he forcibly seize me from the Ocean of Chaos, then forcibly bestow upon me bones and flesh, human eyes and ears, so that I might see and hear the tragedies of humanity, so that I might hate the Warp, so that I might be twisted, so that I—

I hate myself.

I am a warp-space psionic alien.

I started to have trouble breathing.

I am not me, I am me, I am a Mortarion, I am not a Mortarion... I am not human...

I am a human being, yet my appearance is inhuman.

What pains me most is the realization that I cannot prove myself by rebelling against the emperor; he was right, and his only fault was in giving us thought.

To have thoughts is to suffer.

Pain makes the soul want to escape, sliding into an even more dangerous abyss, but I stopped in time. I didn't want to get entangled in this problem anymore; continuing to stay would only make me more miserable.

Although I really wanted to keep cursing the Lord of Mankind—I wanted to curse him to death—I put all of that aside, everything. I distanced myself from the places that made me unhappy and focused on managing the Storm Starfield.

I shrouded myself in thick fog, concealing my screams with cold words. After everything was over, after the enemy had vanished once more, I was forced to confront my increasingly inhuman self time and time again.

Sometimes, I envy my brothers; they still look perfectly fine.

It still looks like a human.

The good news is that my soldiers and my people are resilient enough, and I am resilient enough.

That long period of time will eventually dilute my sorrow and resentment.

I threw myself into my construction, and I still remember my original intention: I will fight chaos to the death, sweep away all tyranny from the heads of mankind, and sow a peaceful wheat field.

Amidst countless deaths and rebirths, and amidst the expectations, hopes, and love of countless people for me, I gradually accepted my reality.

Slowly, he emerged from the nightmare known as "Father".

At least for now, I still consider myself a human being, and at least I still cannot give up on being human.

Later, I was able to jokingly pat Karas on the wing when his gaze accidentally fell on it.

Unfortunately, Callas wasn't as understanding as Hades and couldn't grasp my humor.

I continued on my way.

I wander through the vast Milky Way, building and learning.

I have only two goals. One is to find and awaken my former comrades-in-arms, and I've already thought about what I'll say to them when the time comes.

Welcome him from the rule of one alien to the rule of another.

Even more unfortunately, this alien also knows numerology.

The other is to eradicate Chaos. This goes without saying. I will not let go of any opportunity to disgust Chaos, just as they disgusted me back then.

But as I journeyed on, I gradually abandoned my plan to find Hades in the short term. I discovered that the Necromancers were an extremely complex race—it involved both physics and the warp, the Astral Gods…

The scene of talking with the foreigner Tarachin is still vivid in my mind.

I realized that I must acquire a greater power in order to try to lure out those cunning alien races in the name of "resurrection".

Therefore, I put this idea aside for the time being.

I began to focus on exploring the warp. The enormous number of human deaths granted me power and new eyes. Under my conscious guidance, I began to grow stronger, stronger, and stronger...

My goal is corruption.

I will kill Him, obliterate Him, and let the Chaos know that they are not omniscient and omnipotent.

I will seize His power; I will control life and death; I will become the Grim Reaper who decides the life and death of souls.

but……

I am sick.

I was consumed by the power that came with authority.

I lost control.

……

……

……

There's not much to say.

All I remember is how nauseating the enhanced black bullet that exploded in front of me was when I regained consciousness.

But what truly makes me despair is myself.

Since returning to Terra, I've rarely looked in the mirror.

I saw an insect that looked like it was carved from white bones.

In my quest for power, I became increasingly grotesque, and I even suspected that I was once the progenitor of the Barbarus alien, or simply an existence within the corrupted realm.

But this time I didn't even have the heart to denounce the Lord of Mankind.

I felt only despair and helplessness, a long, endless despair.

I am certain that at some point, I considered exiling myself back to the ocean of chaos, shattering myself, and never to return.

I would have preferred to die in the battle against Horus.

But I knew all of this was impossible, so I kept walking; I was the most resilient one.

Just go.

I realized that faith would backfire on warp beings, and after failing to find a suitable way, I severed my power and hurled it at Hades.

That was a painful memory.

Although I've seen Hades munching on a bowl countless times, I never realized how bad his breath was. I've finally learned to empathize with Callas. Poor Callas, poor me.

My instincts led me to flee, but reason persuaded me to force myself to come back.

In the very beginning, I was in a daze for a long time, struggling against the backlash of the warp, against my own desires, and against myself.

Gradually, my will and reason began to take over my soul, my essence.

I made my essence realize that it was the consciousness that the Emperor had imposed upon me—[I]—that was the master of this body, this warp creature, this damned skeletal worm, its true owner.

I am Mortarion, I am human—it doesn't matter what I am, but I know what I have to do and where I have to go.

I regained control of myself, but when I opened my eyes again and looked at the human empire, I realized that I was not the only one embraced by faith.

No, not just me, one.