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

Page 458

Mortarion killed Nacre, and then the monster came and killed them all.

Or perhaps Nacre killed Mortarion, but Mortarion believed that his act of challenging and injuring Nacre would help the monster kill Nacre.

Regardless, Mortarion will take another step closer to his ultimate goal—the death of Nacre.

...Hoping he could kill Nacre, Mortalian remained silent, but the Primarch found it laughable; still a child, the inexperienced Primarch seemed completely incapable of fighting the alien wizard.

He is still too young.

But regardless, Mortarian knew that his life would remain at this stage.

He only hoped... A hint of hatred flashed in Mortarian's eyes, he only hoped that Nacre was dead.

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Hades squinted and looked up at the highest peak of Barbarus, where a dense army of gray soldiers was roaming the mountains.

He released a low concentration of dark energy—oh, the giant moth is on the mountaintop.

No, we shouldn't call him Big Moth anymore, let's call him Old Mo instead.

Hades thought for a moment. The Primarch didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, and if he climbed at full speed... he could reach the summit in about fifteen minutes.

Hades was silent for a moment. He could actually summon the underworld and then bypass the Primarch to end the match directly.

However, based on Hades' understanding of Mortarion, this older brother is rebellious by nature and is most likely thinking about how to kill his adoptive father.

Hades thought for a moment. The understanding Hades wouldn't directly kill the Primarch's chance like the stubborn Emperor. Hades swaggered out of his hiding place, having decided how he would fight next.

How to play – speedrun!

Hades swept his hair with his hairspray, confidently tossed his head, and revealed a cool and arrogant smile. A max-level boss slaughtering newbies in the village—that's how fun and how carefree he is.

Big moth, your good daddy is here to save you!

Watch him kill indiscriminately.

The extra chapters will be moved to a different location.

Sorry for the extra chapter, but this is my second playthrough (2)

"Go hide, you useless fellow."

The towering alien lord grabbed the Primarch by the collar and dragged Mortarion into the dimly lit room. It then kicked the Primarch, who was numb and sluggish from the poisonous fog, sending Mortarion flying into the room.

With a bang, the door slammed shut.

Facing his adopted son, the Xenomorph showed no sign of holding back. Mortarian coughed up blood, panting as he drew a dagger from his waist.

He shuffled up against the wall and strode quickly to the door.

Mortarion gripped the dagger in his hand, while the Primarch lay prone on the ground, peering through the crack in the door to observe the Nacre's movements.

Nacre looked... very agitated.

Mortarian felt a chill run down his spine, and only now, seeing Nacre's agitated figure, did he truly realize just how terrifying that monster was.

The puppets' battle reports came one after another. The battle lines that Nacre had spent a huge amount of time and effort on were easily breached, as smoothly as a dagger slicing through cooked fat.

Chosen by his Primarch, the seven cunning psionic lords surrounded Nacre, standing at the very center of the magic circle he had set up. Nacre hoped to use psionic power to kill the monster.

They panicked and kept asking Nacre what to do, but Nacre remained silent, staring coldly at the ground.

Mortarian recognized that look; the Nacre was about to commit slaughter.

Nacre spoke, ordering the lords to stand in the positions corresponding to the magic circle.

The Primarch's mind raced; Mortarion realized that the array's arrangement was unequal—the Nacre was sacrificing those lords to strengthen its own power!

Upon realizing this, Mortarian felt anger, and even more so, a despair as if a flame had been extinguished by a bucket of cold water. No, no, no, no, he was already no match for Nacre, and if Nacre were to further strengthen himself with forbidden spells…

Mortarion has no chance of winning!

We must stop the Nacre sacrifice!

Young Mortarian gritted his teeth, a profound sense of despair creeping into his soul like a spiderweb. Just thinking about what he was about to face... Mortarian exhaled a deep breath; his internal organs, kicked by Nacre, were throbbing with pain.

Just as Mortarion was pondering his next move, Nacre made his move! Arcs of electricity crackled from the tall, alien fingertips, splitting in mid-air and striking directly at the other seven lords!

"Thank you for your sacrifice."

The alien grinned maliciously as it uttered a long incantation praising the god who had stopped life and death.

Amidst wails and curses, Nacre, standing at the very center of the altar, raised its arm. As Nacre chanted its incantation, the space around it distorted, and the boundary between the warp and the physical world began to blur.

Without the slightest hesitation, Mortarion shoved the door open with his shoulder and headed straight for the lord who was being sacrificed closest to him!

The ritual was incomplete, and the alien, tricked by Nacre, was screaming hysterically. Mortarian grabbed the alien's hand and tried to pull it out of the altar.

He needs to destroy the magic circle first—and the destroyed magic circle will also backfire on Nacre!

Upon seeing Mortarion approach, Nacre, which was in the center of the magic circle, let out a roar. It could not easily leave the magic circle, but with its roar, the tall golems rushed towards Mortarion!

With a hiss, Mortarion retreated, and the alien he was holding let out a final, piercing scream as it was torn in two by the immense force of the Primarch and the altar, its blood splattering like a waterfall.

The ongoing ritual was interrupted by the sudden death of the sacrificial offering. Nacre roared deafeningly, pointing angrily at the Primarch, and violent arcs of electricity shot straight at Mortalian.

Mortarian darted to the right! His lean body flashed behind the puppet, and he plunged his knife into the puppet's lower abdomen. The puppet, in pain, instinctively dodged to the left, and was hit by the electric python!

In the blinding white light, the puppet froze in place in agony, emitting mournful howls.

Mortarion crouched low, emerging from the shadows of the golems. The golems that had previously subdued the Primarch now served as his best defense. A dark figure flashed through the shoving golems, and in the gaps between flashes of light, Mortarion, faster than lightning, burst forth! A short sonic boom echoed! The blade's edge was aimed straight for Nacre's neck!

Just this one strike!!!

Mortarian's eyes burned with overwhelming hatred, and Nacre's hideous face loomed large in the Primarch's pupils as he swung his blade—

Nacre laughed in fury, and a blurry figure flashed past Mortarian in the corner of his eye!

Snapped!

The outcome was decided. Mortarion's feet left the ground, and the Primarch struggled desperately, pulling hard on the withered hand that was gripping his neck.

Nacre gripped Mortarian by the neck and lifted him off the ground.

Nacre laughed, and the alien strode over to the sacrifice that Mortarion had killed, bent down, and pinned Mortarion firmly against the circle where the sacrifice was.

The blood and bone fragments from half of the corpse soaked through Mortarian's back, his face pressed firmly to the ground.

Mortarian's pupils dilated as he glimpsed in horror that the spatial distortion caused by the ritual had not subsided but was instead growing stronger. But hadn't Nacre already left the center of the altar?!

"I knew you'd come, you brat. Otherwise, why do you think I didn't lock the door?"

Nacre gripped Mortalian's hand tightly, his white, alien eyes filled with madness.

"Useless trash, make one last, insignificant contribution to my ritual!"

Nacre began chanting the incantation again, and with it, rotting plants began to grow from their bodies. Mortarion let out a hoarse, dying sound, feeling his soul beginning to be stained with a certain color—

No, no, no, no, he tried to grab Nacre's hand and hold it down, but the hand was like a dead tree, gripping him tightly without any feeling.

Mortalian's vision began to blur, and the blasphemous incantations of Nacre began to hum in his ears. In his daze, the Primarch saw that what was before him was not Nacre's hideous figure.

But...but...

Amidst a vibrant scene, that bloated, obese body reached out its hand to him.

No, Mortarian felt as if his very soul was screaming, no, no, no, no! He wouldn't accept it!!

He looked at him, his enormous mouth, overflowing with sticky saliva, opening and closing, and he said—

"Shut up! Get out!!!"

Mortarion snapped back to reality, staring at Nacre, who was suddenly convulsing in front of him, as if waking from a dream. He released his grip on Nacre and struggled to break free. In an instant, the Primarch noticed that the distorted space on the altar was beginning to calm down, and Nacre was struggling to sit up.

Without the slightest hesitation—Motalian felt a chill run down his spine—he swung the dagger down at Nacre's neck again—even though he had just been on the verge of death, Mortalian did not loosen his grip on the dagger.

A faint arc of psionic energy flickered again, but it quickly extinguished. Mortarian's dagger plunged smoothly into his foster father's neck, just like the scene in his daily dreams—his dagger thrust downwards, the ugly head staring wide-eyed at him, its last words murmured in the air—

"waste."

Finally, it veered off course.

Boom!

The head fell to the ground.

Mortarian fell backward, collapsing to the ground in a pool of blood. He gasped for breath, and only then did the Primarch realize that he was covered in a cold sweat. Thick, cold blood mixed with sweat clung to his back along with his clothes.

He instinctively looked at the head lying in a pool of blood. His adoptive father's head was staring at him with unseeing eyes, and his last words were still that curse.

Mortarian's ears were ringing. Everything was too quiet here, except for the sound of his ringing and his heartbeat. The puppets that had been baring their teeth and claws just moments before had all fallen, and the wailing lords had fallen silent in death. There were no more gunshots from the battle outside.

Now, everything has quieted down.

Mortarion stared blankly at Nacre's severed head. Everything that had just happened seemed like a dream to the still-developing Primarch. He had done it! He had done it! He had killed Nacre!

The dream he prayed for day and night, the dream he swore countless times to achieve—it only took fourteen seconds, fourteen seconds, and it was all over!

At this moment, Mortarian was completely unable to think about what truth he had just witnessed. He was immersed in the immense joy and disbelief of successfully killing his adoptive father. He stared blankly at the head that was also staring at him with hatred, as if everything had stopped forever.

Until... until he heard the footsteps in the silence.

Monster... the monster is coming.

Mortarian tried to get up and run for his life, but he couldn't stand up at all. He knew that the words that had just interrupted the illusion came from that monster—a being he could not possibly contend with.

Mortarian gasped for breath; he was going to die, he was going to die—but he had no regrets!

Mortarian stared at Nacre's head, listening to the rapidly approaching footsteps, and a low chuckle crept onto his lips.

Then his laughter grew louder and louder, until it was deafening.

This was the first time Mortarian had laughed so unrestrainedly since he became conscious.

Nacre is dead! That's enough!

Motalian felt a burning sensation in his eyes, and tears streamed down his face.

The footsteps stopped.

A hesitant voice rang out.

"……How are you?"

Mortarian, who was laughing, suddenly froze. He slowly turned his head to see what the monster looked like—it must be something even more repulsive than the Nacre.

But unexpectedly, he saw a tall human, frowning and staring at him in disbelief.

Hades stared at Mortarion, his prepared cool opening abruptly choking him. He had just beaten up Nurgle, snatched his spoon, and blatantly showed off his soup in front of him, warning him that if he came again, he wouldn't get any good juice next time. That's why Hades was a little late.

But a few seconds shouldn't be enough to turn Mortalian into an idiot, right? What's wrong with this kid?

old man, subway, mobile phone.jpg

Hades watched as Mortarian's twisted laughter vanished instantly, replaced by a blank expression.

If you're here to kill me,

Motari paused, his tone hardening, "Please."

In a millisecond, Hades abandoned the option of raising his scythe to frighten Mortarion.

Why would I kill you? You haven't done anything wrong.

Hades said that he walked over to Mortalian and pulled him up from his slumped position in a pool of blood. Mortalian stared at him in disbelief, dumbfounded.

Mortalian watched as Hades pulled out a roasted corn cob from somewhere.

Hades handed it to him, and Mortarian hesitated for a moment before taking it.

The most absurd thing is that the roasted corn was still hot.

Mortarian began to question the meaning of life.

"Eat,"

Hades said casually, as if it were just an ordinary day, “After you finish eating, come down the mountain with me, and we’ll find a village to work in.”

Hades was worried. With his appetite and the Primarch's, if the two of them didn't do farm work, there would be a famine on Barbarus next year.

Hades had been surviving solely by gnawing on those monstrous things on Barbarossa, but he was so sick of them that he didn't want to eat them anymore!

Hades stared hesitantly at Nacre's head, scratching his chin.

"You can also take some souvenirs back with you, after all, it's tiring to go up the mountain."