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

Page 451

He turned his head and stared at Kirkland's dead body, which looked like a statue.

In this star system... the only surviving "person" will be Kirkland.

The first person to "die".

Hades sighed, then carefully wiped the mind storage block in his hand, deciding to give it to Tarasin later so that Tarasin could pass it on to the Empire.

After finishing all that, Hades sat leaning against the wall with his hands hanging down.

The shadows fell over Hades' face as he tilted his head slightly, listening to the explosions outside. If he wasn't mistaken, more and more ammunition was being poured onto the Cadia.

The fleet battle on the orbit of Cardia is nearing its end.

Hades took a deep breath.

Its end will be marked by a Cyclone torpedo landing in Cartier.

Hopefully, it's not too late. Hades looked again at the almost frantic Tarasin. He knew that at this very moment, there were dozens, even hundreds, of Tarasin's clones on other planets adjusting the Black Stone Obelisk.

Trust your invincible alien friend.

Hades thought jokingly that even if there wasn't enough time, the omnipotent Taracin would still be able to stop time—he just didn't know what kind of contract Makado had made with the Figurine King.

Hmm... Hades wondered if Makado would sign a slave contract with Mortarion and sell him to the Figurine King, right?

"That's good..." Hades thought silently. "At least Mortarion won't die."

Hades didn't even need to think about it; he was certain that Mortarion was involved in the fierce battle raging over Kadia.

And he will end his own life.

And the lives of hundreds of millions of people.

Killieman, Anglon, Galo, Vox, Kahn... some with names, some without, some he knew, some he didn't.

Some are willing to accept death, and some are not.

People died. Many people died. A great many, many people died.

Hades felt like coughing at the thought, but he held it in.

All of this will come at the cost of the return of half the galaxy and the prolonged weakness of the four gods.

In exchange for more lives.

Throughout the entire story, Hades and the Emperor's enemy has always been Chaos, one of the Four Gods.

For them, the judgment of "winning or losing" is never based on the outcome of the actual battlefield.

Hades remained silent. On both sides of the scale, the lives that survived outnumbered the lives that died, and hope outweighed despair.

He made the deal!

Hades took a deep breath. He thought of the Emperor; the ruler of mankind must have faced this kind of choice countless times.

However, this time it was his turn.

Hades respects every life, but he is equally ruthless.

Hesitation would lead to greater sacrifices; Hades never hesitated when faced with simple, objective mathematical comparisons of size.

This galaxy only recognizes logic; it does not judge victory or defeat based on emotion.

Tarasim approached, and it seemed everything was ready. Hades tried to struggle to his feet, but Tarasim didn't help him; he merely watched coldly.

“The last choice,” Tarachin said, his tone now completely cold, his mechanical eyes flashing with a merciless green light, his blown-out half-face making him even more grotesque.

Tarachin now resembles the stereotypical image of a true space necromancer.

“You can choose to leave with me now, Hades. You don’t have to worry about them—this is the Empire’s business. You don’t need to make that choice, nor should you have to bear the consequences.”

Hades shakily stood up, leaning against the wall. Cold sweat streamed down his forehead, but thankfully he didn't drop the Kirkland Sage's mind storage block in his hand; the small block remained firmly in his grasp.

Hades asked, trembling.

"Tarachin, do you hate the Silent King back then?"

The Silent King, the ruler of the Space Necromancers, is a bastard who ordered the Fearful Ones to undergo bio-conversion experiments, turning them all into Space Necromancers.

Tarasin's previous coldness had completely vanished; Hades, looking at Tarasin, almost jumped up in anger.

"You fucking asked me this?!"

Tarasin lunged forward, trying to grab Hades by the collar, but the height difference between them made him give up. So Tarasin didn't hesitate to rip a piece of flesh from the hole in Hades' chest, forcing Hades to bend over and look him in the eye.

Hades let out a hissing sound—it hurt.

"That's a bastard! Hades, listen up!!!"

Tarasin spoke loudly and righteously,

"That's a blindly arrogant bastard, the galaxy's number one genocide dealer! You're not like him—at least that bastard never cares—"

Tarachin's voice trembled, electrified and pulsating, "At least he never empathized with us! Never with the slaves he trampled underfoot! He never faced death directly—you don't understand! You don't understand!"

The Fearful Ones are a class-based race, and those in power can kill a few warriors of their race at will, for their own amusement, depending on their mood that day.

Hades gasped, and he spoke quickly.

"Okay, I understand. Please release my trachea first. What I mean is..."

Tarachin abruptly released Hades's lung tubes. Hades let out a long sigh of relief; the intense pain had nearly caused him to faint again. Hades continued...

"Okay, I know the price I pay for what I did."

He swallowed hard, and Tarachin stared at him with a cold glint in his eyes, but remained silent.

Hades chuckled. "Just a tyrant."

Hades scratched his head, guessing that the damage from Tarazin had finally taken away his last drop of health, and he was now under the special buff of Death Guard.

[A final burst of energy: You refuse to succumb to death, stand on the brink of death, feel good, and even want to dance.]

“By the way,” Hades said, extending his hand to Tarasin, handing him the Kirkland block, “give this to King-306. You know who he is.”

Hades was certain that Tarachin was rolling his eyes, but unfortunately, his mechanical body couldn't express it.

Taracin took the cube and said coldly, "One more to the collection. Alright, Hades, get in."

The figure king pointed to the chair he had temporarily constructed out of black stone. The chair resembled a plastic chair from a street food stall, with countless green-glowing pipes extending from the hollowed-out backrest and inserting into the towering black stone obelisk.

Hades's lips twitched.

He realized that having a toilet to sit on in the Warhammer world was a blessing.

Hades unconsciously swallowed another mouthful of blood-tinged saliva. To some extent, the black stone food stall chair triggered his PTSD. "Okay..."

Hades sat down with a death wish, which took more courage than he had imagined. Tarachin helped him connect the bunch of pipes, and the Figurine King mercilessly shoved those pipes directly into his flesh, which was another long and torturous ordeal. Fortunately, Hades was tough.

“Chagatai Khan is locked in combat with Magnus, and I have already informed him to leave—” Tarasin placed a pot-like dome over Hades’s head, plunging Hades’s world into darkness, “but I think, in this situation… it would be better to let them enjoy the thrill of battle in their final moments before they die.”

Hades' trembling voice rang out.

"Is it almost done?"

“No,” Tarasin replied ruthlessly, “It’ll be a while—the process of keeping you alive is far more complicated than letting you explode. Just wait.”

Hades gave two dry laughs.

Tarasim suddenly stood up, staring at Hades. In the long silence, Tarasim suddenly realized something.

"Are you afraid and regretful, Hades?"

The King of Figurines asked in surprise, while Hades spoke directly.

"Anyone would feel the same way. I just hope you can act quickly before I break down from the pain."

Hades chuckled. "But I'm pretty resilient; I don't fall down easily."

Tarasim cursed, but Hades did not understand, for it was the language of the dead.

Great!

Chapter 532 Moths! Moths!

In the dim light, the distinctive flapping of moth wings rang out, and in the green-lit corridor, two dark figures struggling and wrestling on the ground were reflected.

Go to hell.

The sound of gritting teeth came from beneath Mortarian's breathing mask, his eyes wide open, a mixture of flames and bloodshot veins.

He gripped the dagger tightly with both hands and thrust downwards, the tip of the dagger piercing Horus's palm, poisonous blood seeping out and pointing straight at Horus's face, but no matter how hard Mortarian exerted himself, the dagger in his hands could not go any closer.

【--die!】

Mortarion let out a twisted shriek, and the wings behind the Pale Lord flapped even more violently. Horus's eyes were bloodshot. One of his hands was tightly gripping the dagger Mortarion was thrusting at him, while his other hand, with its lightning claws, was plunged into Mortarion's chest and abdomen. The blade came out from behind, crackling with electricity and carrying the smell of burning.

Horus squeezed out bloody foam from his clenched teeth, "...Madman!!"

A dazzling arc of electricity suddenly erupted from his lightning claws, but Mortarian did not flinch despite the pain! A long mist spewed from the Pale Lord's gas mask, and his hand, aimed at Horus, tightened its grip even more!

Horus's pupils trembled, and then he whispered an ancient incantation. The summoned power descended from the four corners, trying to tear apart the authority of the one who stole the power of the warp. The entire Soul of Vengeance seemed to tremble, and a painful groan escaped from beneath Mortarian's mask. Horus immediately kicked him.

boom!

That kick sent Mortarian flying, crashing into the observation window. The force of the impact cracked the window, and dangerous white cracks spread outwards from Mortarian, forming a spiderweb-like pattern.

Mortarian struggled to his feet, mist rising from his damaged armor. He reached out, and the mist swirled, causing the Great Scythe of Annihilation to coalesce once more in his hand.

He felt the seed slowly growing in the subspace. He came again, forever unwilling to give up, forever hoping to receive, forever watching over him, even though He had long since become weak.

But this time, He will not allow Mortarion to bite off His flesh again.

With his scythe dragging on the ground, Mortarion staggered as he charged toward Horus once more, teetering on the brink of collapse, yet each strike was as powerful as thunder!

Mortarion's tall, withered body seemed to be trembling, giving Horus the impression that he might collapse at any moment. However, the sound of his long scythe cutting through the air clearly told Horus that...

This strike possessed immense power!

Horus couldn't guarantee he'd survive Mortarion's attack—but Mortarion had already withstood several of Horus's blows.

But he just wouldn't fall!

If we consider flesh and blood, Mortarian's lower leg has been broken into several pieces, his ribs have long been shattered, his internal organs are in complete disarray, and his arm has been comminuted. If Mortarian had been bleeding instead of wisps of white mist when he was injured, the blood he shed would have been enough to cover his entire body in crimson!

But he just wouldn't fall!

The fog was so deceptive that Horus was unsure whether his attack had worked. Beneath the hard armor, Mortarion seemed to be the fog itself!

Horus took a deep breath. Mortarion had already sold his soul to the High Heavens. He needed the High Heavens' methods of attack, otherwise he would never be able to reach the other side and deliver the fatal blow to Mortarion.

He clenched his teeth, Horus's consciousness irrevocably sliding into the abyss, which was watching him. He remembered the pact with the four gods; he didn't want to use it, but—but—

Horus's gaze pierced through Mortarion and landed on the shattered observation window. He saw the end of the Death Guard fleet and the barrage of fire raining down on Kadia—since death was inevitable, there was no need for him to hide any longer!

Even so, Horus still felt a certain pain at the moment he decided to use the spell. He had planned a more magnificent and fateful duel, either with Saint Gilles or with the Lord of Mankind, rather than with a madman!

Horus willingly sank his soul into the deeper night, drawing upon his power and drinking the gifts of the highest heavens as if drinking poison. At one point, he became aware of his hatred. Horus hated the Death Guard, hated Mortarion and Hades from Barbarossa. Without Hades, none of this would have happened.

He will not fail, he will not witness the destruction of the land entrusted to him by the emperor, he will not witness his brothers turning into false gods and demons. None of this will happen, but all of this has already happened.

A butterfly from Barbarossa flapped its wings, unleashing a storm that tore the entire galaxy apart.

He hated Barbaros and the people from Barbaros.

But all hatred will vanish with the passing of the enemy, leaving only the people and things he hoped would remain.

Horus laughed, the whites of his eyes now completely black, blood trickling from the corners of his eyes. He began to chant, and as he chanted, he felt an endless surge of power flowing into him. The eyes of the High Heavens turned, gradually turning toward Mortarion as Horus continued his incantation.

Doesn't the Death Guard love ending everything with death? Fine, he'll grant their wish.

Horus moved, this time even faster. His afterimage flashed by, and Mortarion raised his scythe to try and block him, but Horus's claw, crackling with lightning, had already reached his throat!

boom!

Mortarion was gripped by the lightning claw and pressed against the observation window, while Horus's long, sharp index finger claw pierced through his chin and gently tapped the observation window.

His other four fingers also pierced through the armor and went inside.

But this time, Mortarian, who had been struggling desperately and acting like a madman, became completely still.

Mortarion gripped Horus's arm tightly with both hands, engaging in a slight struggle.

He simply stared at Horus with his crazed gaze, the overwhelming hatred and murderous intent within him almost engulfing Horus.

As for why Mortalian suddenly stopped moving...