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

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Amidst the frantic clanging of metal, Horus shouted,

That was your spot, wasn't it, Mortarian?!

A blinding green light suddenly burst forth!

Horus tried to close his eyes, but it was too late! His vision blurred, and a bright, almost burning green light lingered on his retina. Tears streamed down his face as he squinted and saw the two-winged moth god rising through the narrow corridor, and the billions of writhing vengeful spirits behind him!

The deafening flapping of wings pounded at Horus's soul, as if something was drawing near—closer—Horus stared blankly at the monster in the air, a gentle breeze brushing against the smooth skin on his left side—

Horus suddenly raised his hammer to his left, and almost at the same moment he raised his defense, the laser-like scythe struck his warhammer hard!

The chainsaw roared violently, tearing off the surface skin of Horus's left neck, the skin curling up to reveal flesh and blood.

Horus turned his head, tears streaming down his face. He stared at the monster to his left, while the illusory figure that had been hovering in the air was left behind by him.

Beside him, Mortarion, with its wings folded and its entire body dull and lifeless, stared intently at him. Mortarion lowered its center of gravity, its back arched like a full moon, and gripped the scythe with both hands, as if determined to sever Horus's head in one blow.

Mortarian let out a threatening roar.

You never understood any of this.

【Yeah? 】

Horus smiled, but his smile grew wider and wider, gradually tearing into a terrifying laugh.

"I remember..." Horus said casually, even as Mortarion's scythe penetrated deeper and deeper, the rapidly spinning chainsaw brutally tearing flesh apart, Horus continued talking to himself as if in a trance.

"I remember the first time we met..." Horus glanced meaningfully at Mortarian. "You knew all this back then, didn't you?"

Mortarion's pupils twitched violently. After stepping into Nurgle's Garden, Mortarion lost most of his memories—even though his emotions remained completely intact!

Mortarian had no idea what happened when he first met Horus, but at this moment, the guilt and self-blame that suddenly welled up in him were real!

So what exactly happened back then?!

Mortarian decisively cut off the doubt, his gaze turning cold again. The little incident just now did not affect the Grim Reaper's harvest. He exerted force with both hands and buried the buzzing chainsaw into Horus's neck.

Blood gushed out as Horus's head was twisted at an unnatural angle, his head turned to stare at Mortarian, blood spilling from his mouth, because one side of his muscle had been severed.

You knew that back then, which is why you rejected me.

Horus said softly, "Was I abandoned so early? Or...?"

He stared at Mortarian, and what struck Mortarian as odd was that even though the chainsaw chain had been buried deep enough, Horus's hands, which were holding the warhammer, remained firmly in place, refusing to crumble.

Mortarion had even seen the gray, symbol of annihilation, creep up Horus's skin—Mortarion's chainsaw was, of course, poisoned.

Horus made a hoarse sound.

You are not the same as Omega. What have you sacrificed? What is acceptable?!

Mortarian did not answer him. The Pale Lord simply spread his wings again, flapping them forward and pressing firmly against the scythe pressed against Horus's neck.

This time, however, Horus's hand remained motionless. He stared intently at Mortarian, his eyes nearly bursting, and his venomous words splattered onto Mortarian's face along with his blood.

So cold-blooded, so cruel, you chose to abandon your brothers, letting them fall into the abyss?

That was your own choice!

Mortarian cursed, and then, to his astonishment, he felt a tremendous force from the scythe, which sent him flying and slamming him against the wall. Countless wisps of mist dissipated from between Mortarian's armor.

Amidst the chaos, Mortarian looked at Horus, and he knew what he was doing—Horus was reclaiming the power bestowed upon him by the Four Gods—in fact, Horus had been rejecting the Four Gods all along! Even though he was half-mad, he had not fully accepted their gifts.

Mortarion's gaze swept past Horus, past the sea of ​​fire of the fleet behind Horus, and then to the quietly rotating planet... Hades... Mortarion realized that if Kadia were destroyed... this would at least not be the ending the false gods desired!

For a moment, Mortarion even hoped that Horus, controlled by the Four Gods, would issue an order to stop the bombing, but his hopes were dashed. Horus naturally reached out and tore off the communication wire on his armor, and the small communication device turned into fragments in Horus's hand.

At the same time, the warp tides surged back into this vast battlefield, and billions of rebels, or their corpses, were immersed in the warp tides, their figures beginning to fade into the background.

But at this moment, the two Primarchs, who were watching each other like enemies, were unaware of this.

Mortarian stared at Horus, feeling the warp energy returning to the area. Horus was right in front of him, and he watched helplessly as Horus's form expanded further, like a balloon being inflated by brute force—

Have you completely compromised?

"I ask softly," Mortarian asked, gripping his scythe tighter as he watched Horus's wounds heal.

Horus gave a mocking look.

The conflict between us will no longer affect the overall situation.

And I have already won.

"Warriors," the warlord said casually, turning his head to look at the ships locked in fierce combat. "Soldiers, ships, ammunition—these are the standards by which war is judged—not a duel between two generals… You are not worthy… Nor am I."

Horus glanced at Mortarian and gave a disdainful laugh.

No, as a general, my legion would be significantly affected without my command—but yours wouldn't, would it?

Mortarian exhaled a breath of poisonous gas. [Natural.]

He completely failed to grasp the sarcasm in Horus's words, or perhaps Mortarian even took pride in it.

At this very moment, Mortarion was racking his brains trying to figure out how to turn things around—how to save Hades—how to kill Horus.

But just as Horus had said, Mortarion realized that the fighting here could no longer affect the course of the war.

They have unleashed a massive war machine, and now it is all moving forward with inertia, crushing each other to reach the final end.

The wins and losses here do not affect the overall situation. The decisive factors are in a larger and smaller dimension, but not here.

Mortarian took a deep breath. Now that the warp concentration here had increased, there was no need for him to suppress his use of psionic energy to prevent himself from increasing the warp concentration and causing Horus to regain his power.

He had no choice but to believe.

I believe in Death Guard, I believe in Vox, I believe in the reinforcements from White Scar...

Believe in Hades.

I believe... a mechanical alien race.

Even the most crucial element of the entire incident was a member of a different race.

Mortarian thought painfully,

Mortarion turned his head and looked at his fleet through the glass window. Well done, Vox... Even if the fighting wasn't as spectacular as Hades', Mortarion knew Vox had done his best.

Mortarian turned his head and stared at Horus. He opened his mouth, his eyes blazing with fury.

【Thank you,】

"Motarian said softly," his words startling Horus, but Mortarian continued.

It's been a long, long time since I've acted so recklessly, without any regard for the consequences.

He had been bound by reason and the bigger picture for too long.

【I want……】

Mortarian recalled the extinguished flames of Gara.

I will make you pay with your blood.

Mortarion suddenly spread his wings, and countless eyes on his giant wings stared intently at Horus.

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【Oh, damn it.】

Conrad Coates cursed under his breath as he lay prone in the corridor of the Soul of Vengeance, casually fiddling with the "corpses."

Those "corpses" were not dead yet, but Conrad knew they were.

Conrad muttered to himself, continuing to climb, and shivered again.

"Oh God..." Conrad whispered, "I heard that vengeful spirit whispering again... the exact same words..."

He touched the blood on the ground, sniffed it, and then licked his fingers.

Who could have provoked him this time...?

Conrad smacked his lips thoughtfully, then suddenly sat up straight, opened his arms, and burst into laughter.

It wasn't me anyway! It's fate!

His loud laughter echoed through the deep corridor, layer upon layer.

But his laughter didn't last long. Conrad suddenly turned around and looked at Sevita standing in the distance.

Go back! Go back! Get out!

Conrad waved impatiently, signaling Sevita to leave.

[Run! Run! My God! Mortarion, Horus, and I are together—have you forgotten what happened last time?!]

But Sevita remained standing there, ever vigilant, yet ramrod straight.

"I need to know what you want to do, sir."

Conrad chuckled.

"[To die,]" the Primarch said gleefully. "[I only have one chance. I don't want to work for Saint Gilles anymore. They forbid me from killing this, forbid me from killing that—the archangel's gaze towards me has long been suspicious.]"

Once the situation in the First Kingdom eases... Saint Gilles's gaze, tinged with dissatisfaction, will turn to Conrad Coz.

They were not on the same path, Conrad knew; he was just a madman temporarily chained up.

Sevita remained unmoved. "The Legion needs you. You cannot abandon us, my lord."

Before he could finish speaking, Sevita jerked back, but he forced himself to stop. Conrad Coates was gripping his shoulders, his breath reeking of foul odor.

"Greedy Sai," Conrad said slowly, "you've already drained ten warehouses' worth of my blood—enough for the Midnight Lords to build an army for ten thousand years to come."

Conrad Coates leaned down, and Severta could feel Conrad trembling, but Coates' voice suddenly became steady and deep.

Iago Sevita, I want to give you a chance—a chance for the newly formed legion.

The archangels use us only as executioners; we lack legitimacy. Once this temporary transitional period ends—the First Kingdom will inevitably face judgment. Perhaps the Blood Angels can protect themselves through Saint Gilles' personal charisma, and the Dark Angels can protect themselves through their unique "first" status, but what about us? What about the Midnight Lords?

Sevita felt his shoulder armor creaking under immense force, and his mind went cold—when had the Primarch become so lucid?

Coz's whispers continued.

[We will be the biggest victims then, the price and sacrifice brought into the open. They will not be merciful. I can already picture Guilliman's sacred land, the affected tears he sheds because he has to be judged—he will confess his actions in the dead of night, and then try to wash away his unease with the false mercy of the Midnight Lord for his past sins.]

Conrad turned his head, quickly hurled dozens of Nostradamus curses, then shook his head and continued,

There is no way out—unless the Legion can prove itself in another way—now is the opportunity, the only opportunity!

Conrad Coz said, "While Mortalians are just as repulsive as the Death Guard, to the point that just looking at them makes me want to vomit, the Empire just happens to love this kind of garbage, and this garbage is just good enough..."

Conrad stopped, staring blankly at Sevita.

[Sufficient loyalty.]

Conrad said in a low voice, "Motalian isn't a man who thinks about the big picture. He would never be like Guilliman, who, even if his brother directly or indirectly killed a warrior he admired, would still smile and talk to the brother who killed his warrior for the sake of the bigger picture, no matter how sad Guilliman was."

hypocrite!

Motalian will not do that—and he simply will not, as Conrad has already learned firsthand.

What a petty, vindictive person!

But this also means... Conrad is tidying up the human skin decorations and chains that Sevita is wearing on his armor, and Mortarion can be used.

The thought of using Mortalian brought back memories of that time, and he shuddered involuntarily. But looking at Sevita and the newborn cubs behind him, Conrad fell silent again.

I will strive to gain Mortarian's trust for you.

Conrad said, "Motalian and his Death Guard will be the only legion after the Order that can operate without being subject to most constraints. Go find them, okay?"

Mortalian... Mortalian is possible...

Conrad bowed his head in anguish, slamming it against Sevita's shoulder armor, striking it repeatedly.

He saw Mortarian stand up during the meeting, stubbornly refusing to budge.

After the Pale Lord spread one of his wings, Sevita stood silently.

This will be the prophecy Conrad himself chooses—he will choose one he desires—like Saint Gilles.

Even if the price will be an even more tragic ending.

Sevita's voice pulled him out of the prophecy just in time.

"My lord, there will be no new order."

Severta said he knew Conrad had relapsed, and that everything the Primarch said was predicated on the war stopping in a short time—but that was unrealistic.